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Chapter 1
The Night of the Beacons
It is strange to me, Jock Calder of West Inch, to feel that though now, in
the very centre of the nineteenth century, I am but five-and-fifty years of
age, and though it is only once in a week perhaps that my wife can pluck
out a little grey bristle from over my ear, yet I have lived in a time when
the thoughts and the ways of men were as different as though it were another
planet from this.
The Night of the Beacons
It is strange to me, Jock Calder of West Inch, to feel that though now, in
the very centre of the nineteenth century, I am but five-and-fifty years of
age, and though it is only once in a week perhaps that my wife can pluck
out a little grey bristle from over my ear, yet I have lived in a time when
the thoughts and the ways of men were as different as though it were another
planet from this.
