Sinopsis

“The night grows wondrous dark; deep-swelling gusts And sultry stillness take the rule by turn, While o‟er our heads the black and heavy clouds Roll slowly on. This surely bodes a storm.” Baillie. Overhead, the storm-clouds were scudding wildly across the sky, until all above was one dense pall of impenetrable gloom. A chill, penetrating rain was falling, and the wind came sweeping in long, fitful gustspiercingly cold; for it was a night in March.