The Torricellian column of mercury has descended to 29.78 inches and continues its slow, ominous fall, while the brass dial of the barometer registers the change with a tremor that mirrors the unease of the heavens. The hair-hygrometer, its strands taut with moisture, betrays the gathering damp, though the fog remains but a light mountain mist, creeping through the valleys like a specter. The copper weathercock, veering to the North-Northeast, whispers of calm air at three knots, yet the stillness feels unnatural, as if the atmosphere itself holds its breath.

At dusk, the sky is a heavy pall …