..." He broke off suddenly, and Stanton, looking up at him, saw that his face had changed utterly.

The patient humorous look had gone and it was like a tragic mask, drawn and strained with suffering.

They were passing by a little town cemetery and, as if by some instinct, had halted.
The place looked strange and pitiful in the hazy moonlight.

It was badly tended, and most of the headstones were only of painted wood, warped and buckled by the weather.

But in the dimness the rows of crosses and slabs seemed to extend into the far distance, and the moon gave them a cold, eerie whiteness as if they lay in the light of another world.