We must have lain low for a long while, or the summer must have broken very suddenly, for when one late afternoon we set out for our new home, my father telling me we should be able to rest quietly now, there was more than a breath of winter in the keen clear air. I remember as we strode forward, silent for a time, how I watched my breath making a cloud about my face, which I conjured into airy visions of Fairyland; though my Fairyland wasn't a place of beautiful enchantment, but rather one of subtle spells and secret workings which mingled with our human destinies, thwarting them and twisting them awry like the under-currents in a river, or like the oozy bed-weeds that cling about a swimmer's legs entangling him and dragging him downward into the mud. The curling vapour of my breath, tinged to a faint blue, was like some evil emanation, formless yet with a thousand forms melting and merging into one another, like a menacing spirit hesitating to strike, still hovering about its victim, soon to assume its final shape of doom. I think perhaps my mind was dimly aware of the story of the genii imprisoned for a thousand years in a shard beneath the sea, and when at length drawn to earth and set free by some miserable fishermen, steaming out in a towering cloud above the terrified wretch, and threatening him with ruin. For there seemed to be a presence and a shadow beside us and above us as we stepped together across the lonely swelling rises of the moor, and I was vaguely troubled, half wondering whether like the fisherman in the story we should be able to lure the menacing thing back into its prison, or whether we should be enfolded in its snares. All this time we had been making northward; and as we topped a rise we saw on a hill before us, lying away to our left, a great straggling mass of grey stone which my father told me was our new home. I stopped to gaze at it, and felt a throb of delighted awe at the prospect of its huge loneliness standing up into the evening, grave and like a creature on guard, with eyes fixed steadily on the empty distance. Instinctively I looked away to the right, where all was a desolate stretch of abandoned moorland, so lonely that it seemed like the sea, and sniffing I thought I caught a scent of salt and weed. "How will it be, Tommy?" asked my father, and for answer I tightened my grip of his hand and gave a glad sigh. We stepped down into the valley, and lost the setting sun; but rising again as we approached our new home we saw its red rim dipping below the line of hill before us, washing the western sky in a scarlet glow, against which the walls and towers of the great building stood out black and secret, as though now the eyes of the creature were turned in upon itself, brooding on some dark and terrible mystery in its own breast. "Daddy," I said, "we will call it Sunset Towers."