The flashing gold and silver of birch and poplar dissolved into a ghostly and unanimated gray that was almost invisible.

A deepening and somber gloom spread itself like a veil over the river that only a short time before had reflected the glory of the sun in the faces of dark-visaged men of the Company brigade.

And with the gloom came steadily nearer a low rumbling of thunder.
For the first time since the mental excitement of his confession Kent felt upon him an appalling loneliness.

He still was not afraid of death, but a part of his philosophy was gone.

It was, after all, a difficult thing to die alone.