But the obscurity of the shadow and the equally disturbing unreality of the moonlight confused him in his attempts to recognize the old landmarks.
A broad and well-kept winding road had taken the place of the old steep, but direct trail to his cabin.

He had walked for some moments in uncertainty, when a sudden sweep of the road brought the full crest of the hill above and before him, crowned with a tiara of lights, overtopping a long base of flashing windows.

That was all that was left of Heavy Tree Hill.

The old foreground of buckeye and odorous ceanothus was gone.

Even the great grove of pines behind it had vanished.
There was already a stir of life in the road, and he could see figures moving slowly along a kind of sterile, formal terrace spread with a few dreary marble vases and plaster statues which had replaced the natural slope and the great quartz buttresses of outcrop that supported it.
Presently he entered a gate, and soon found himself in the carriage drive leading to the hotel veranda.