Mrs. Wilson Woodrow

“ Close behind him followed Campbell, a withered stump of a man, who crouched, a huddled little figure in the chair Frances offered him, his feet failing to touch the floor by an inch or two. He did not speak, even in answer to her greeting, but watched her every movement with strange, wild eyes peering from a mat of tangled whiskers and grey hair.
"We have come," said Herries, with a certain unctuous formality, a sort of solemn hilarity, "to congratulate you upon your victory." ”

“ Frances flushed to the roots of her hair.
"Why—why——" she stammered helplessly. "Who knew——"
Alexander Herries laughed discordantly. "Who knew?"—his speech as well as that of Campbell was marked by a strong Scotch accent—"who knew? The hills, the trees, the very rocks. If you breathe in Zenith, it is known. You have always lived in cities where you get to know the things that happen. Go to the wilderness to know yourself. Strange shapes will rise and mock you, yourself, yourself, always yourself—a thousand selves you never dreamed of ”

“ She saw again those narrow gorges up which the engine drawing the train had slowly panted, higher, higher, always higher, the way ever growing darker; great rocks overhung the road and were flung about in strange shapes. A dark, terrible region, haunted by hideous dreams of avarice and sordid seeking. ”