"My God, Isaac, what's that! that—there!" he gasped.
Isaac felt himself shiver as he looked. Right in the darkness before him he saw what seemed to be two balls of vivid green fire—no, red fire, yellow fire, all sorts of fire, burning, coruscating, and ... fixed on him. And for a second he, like Simpson, stood spell-bound; then with a wild cry of "A gun, a gun!" he turned and dashed for the parlour, followed by his brother. But when they dashed back with their guns a moment later the eyes had gone. And from somewhere in the adjacent wood there suddenly rose into the profound stillness of the night a strange cry, such as neither of them had ever heard before. It was a long, wailing cry as of something in infinite despair.
The brothers, breathing hard, went back into the house and shut the door. Inside the parlour, looking at each other, each saw the other's brow to be dripping with sweat; each, after one look, turned away from the other's eyes. And each, as by mutual instinct, poured out a glass of spirit and drank it off at a gulp.
"Isaac," said Simpson, "there is something!"
Isaac put his gun aside, shook himself, and tried to laugh.
"Pooh!" he said. "We're a couple of fools, Simpson. Happen it's because it's our first night here and we're feeling strange, and haven't forgotten what the lawyer told us. It was a fox."
"A fox hasn't eyes that size," said Simpson. "And, what about that cry? You never heard aught like that, Isaac, never! No more did I."
"An owl in the woods," said Isaac.
"You can't deceive me about owls," answered Simpson. "No, nor dogs, nor foxes, nor anything else that makes a noise at night in the country. Isaac, there is something!"
"Oh, confound it!" said Isaac. "You'll make me think you're as bad as the lawyer. Come on, let's go to bed."