It was a red eye, and therefore it was quiet. The cabin was dark.

Red Eye

Happiness is the harvest of a quiet eye

That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.

The eye can't see outside the red after 42 degrees,

In a dark time, the eye begins to see.