The man of science, Skelton by name, passed some seven days in business and pleasure at home among men of his own class, and then, impelled by an intolerable curiosity, he went to seek the home of the woman with whom he had so strange a meeting.

Concerning the mad delusion from which he had suffered in her presence, his mind would give him no rest.

Some further effort he must make to understand the cause of an experience which he could not reason from his memory.

The effort might be futile; he could form no plan of action; yet he found himself again upon the highroad which led from the nearest station to the village of West Chilton.
The autumn leaf that had bedecked the trees was lying upon the ground, its brightness soiled and tarnished.

The cloud rack hung above, a vault of gloom in which the upper winds coursed sadly.
'This is the field,' said Skelton within himself.