So startling and unnatural was it all, that he found himself wondering
fearfully if these outside things were really all blood-red, or whether
something had gone wrong with his brain and eyes, and only caused them
to look so to him alone, or whether it was indeed the end of all things
shaping itself slowly under his very eyes. And in that thought and fear
he was not by any means alone.
But the wonderful red, which in its universality and intensity had
become overpowering and fearsome, faded at last, and he hailed its going
with a sigh of relief. His eyes and his brain were all right, he had not
killed Tom Hamon, and this was not the earth's last sunset.
And again that night, as he sat on the ridge on sentinel duty till the
rising tide should lock the doors of his castle, the sea all round him
shone with phosphorescence; every breaking wave along the black plain
was a lambent gleam of lightning, and where they tore up the sides of
his rock they were like flames out of a fiery sea, so that he sat there
looking down upon a weltering band of nickering green and blue fires,
which clung to the black ledges and dripped slowly back into the
seething gleam below.
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