He could see them, all silent together, pass up, more and more dim in the darkness of the hedge, the two men walking together, the girl a yard behind them.
Then they turned the corner and were gone.

But Jack still stood where Frank had left him, listening, until long after the sound of their footfalls had died away.
(VII) Jack had a horrid dream that night.
He was wandering, he thought, gun in hand after grouse, alone on the high moors.

It was one of those heavy days, so common in dreams, when the light is so dim that very little can be seen.

He was aware of countless hill-tops round him, and valleys that ran down into profound darkness, where only the lights of far-off houses could be discerned.
His sport was of that kind peculiar to sleep-imaginings.

Enormous birds, larger than ostriches, rose occasionally by ones or twos with incredible swiftness, and soared like balloons against the heavy, glimmering sky.
He fired at these and feathers sprang from them, but not a bird fell.
Once he inflicted an indescribable wound ...