The moon seemed the shepherd, laboring for control.

Then the clouds themselves seemed the wolves, and the moon a traveler against whom they leaped, who was thrown among them, and rose again....

Then the moon was a soul, struggling with the wrack and wave of things.
Strickland went down the old, winding Glenfernie stair, and came at last to the laird's room.

Tibbie Ross opened the door to him, and he saw it all in low firelight and made ready for the night.

The laird lay propped as before in the great bed, but seemed asleep.