Anne Isabella Robertson, Once a Week (1864)
“ The sun, which had been shining warmly all the day, now lessened its power, though the effect of its previous brilliancy yet hovered in the atmosphere. I thought it a very melancholy evening—so still, so unruffled by breath of wind, almost ominous in its oppressiveness. “Well, the day is nearly over, Stapleton, and a short time will bring us to Knockgriffin,” said Barnett, rousing me from a miserable reverie. “So far we have escaped the vigilance of an assassin, if any has been on the watch for me. We are almost within our own boundaries now.” ”
