Fitzsimmons could hardly believe that it was his wife speaking; she had been such a keen champion of animals, and had boxed the ears of more than one London ragamuffin whom she had caught ill-treating a dog or cat. However, he gave way, and agreed that the children should be committed to the care of a benevolent old lady whom Mrs. Fitzsimmons knew, and who might be engaged as governess and domiciled in the house. This matter was barely settled when Mr. Merryweather, an artist friend of Robert Fitzsimmons, came to stay at Shane Garth, and it was on the evening after his arrival that Fitzsimmons first came to realise that the coombe was haunted. He had been out all day fishing, alone, his friend, Merryweather, being engaged painting a portrait of Mrs. Fitzsimmons and Jane; and the evening having well set in, he was now on his way home. Passing the site of the ancient barrow, he could see in the hollow beneath him the welcome lights of Shane Garth. He paused for a moment to refill his pipe, and then commenced to descend into the coombe. It was an exquisite night, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of newly mown hay, the moon full, and the sky one mass of scintillating stars. Fitzsimmons was enchanted. Again and again he threw back his head and drew in the air in great gulps. When halfway down the hill, however, he became aware of a sudden change; the atmosphere was no longer light and exhilarating, but dark, heavy, and oppressive. He noticed, too, that there were strange lights and that the shadows that flickered to and fro the broad highway continually came and went, and differed, in some strangely subtle fashion, from any shadows he had ever seen before. But what attracted his attention even more was a tree--a tall tree with a trunk of the most peculiar colour. In the quick-changing light of the coombe it looked yellow--a lurid yellow streaked with black after the nature of a tiger's skin--and Fitzsimmons never remembered seeing it there before. He halted for a moment to look at it more intently, and it seemed to him to change its position. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming and looked again. Yes, without a doubt it was nearer to the roadway, and very gradually it was getting nearer still. Moreover, although the night was still, so still that hardly a leaf of any of the other trees quivered, its branches were in a state of the most violent agitation.