A half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds.

In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor.

I closed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was in keeping with the rest.
And yet it was not quite the last.

I found myself weary and yet wakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would not come.

Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house.