It broke, in part it obliterated, line and modeling; the whole seemed on the point of dissolving into a vast and silent unity.

"Like a dying man," thought Strickland.

He came upon the narrow level space about the house, passed the great cedar planted by a pilgrim laird the year of Flodden Field, and entered by a door in the southern face.
Davie met him.

"Eh, sir, Mr.Alexander's come!" "Come!" "Aye, just! An hour past, riding Black Alan, with Tam Dickson behind on Whitefoot, and weary enough thae horses looked! Mr.Alexander wad ha' gane without bite or sup to the laird's room, but he's lying asleep.

So now he's gane to his ain auld room for a bit of rest.
Haith, sir," said Davie, "but he's like the auld laird when he was twenty-eight!".