AFTER SUNSET The sun had set.

Back from his flight over the hills with Sherrill, Philip had bathed and shaved, whistling thoughtfully to himself.

Now as he descended the steep Sherrill lane to the valley, ravine and hollow were already dark with twilight.

From the rustling trees arching the lane overhead came the occasional sleepy chirp and flutter of a bird.

Off somewhere in the gathering dusk a lonely owl hooted eerily.