It was a Blue Book, full of figures.
Erskine rode on in disgust, consoling himself with the recollection of Gertrude's face.
The highway now swerved inland from the river, and rose to a steep acclivity, at the brow of which he turned and looked back.

The light was growing ruddy, and the shadows were lengthening.

Trefusis was still prostrate in the meadow, and the old woman was in a field, gathering hemlock.
Erskine raced down the hill at full speed, and did not look behind him again until he found himself at nightfall on the skirts of a town, where he purchased some beer and a sandwich, which he ate with little appetite.

Gertrude had set up a disturbance within him which made him impatient of eating.
It was now dark.

He was many miles from Brandon Beeches, and not sure of the way back.