There was no sport, no wild adventure; all was tame, tame, tame, compared to what I had been used to.
But if following game in Scotland seemed tame to me, what could I say of sport in English fashion? I tried both; grew sick of both. Hunting the wild gorilla in the jungles of Africa was more in my line.
One night, soon after the first snow had fallen, a carriage drove up to my door. It was to bear me away to the distant railway-station. The moon was shining brightly down upon our little village as we drove through; here and there in the windows shone a yellow light; but all was silent, and neither the horses’ hoofs nor the carriage wheels could be heard on the snow-muffled street.
It was a peaceful scene, and I heaved one sigh—well, it might have been of regret. For many and many a long year to come I never saw Dunryan again.
Chapter Nine.
“The dismal wreck to view
Struck horror to the crew.”
Old Song.