Well, how about turning in now?
There'll be a wind to-morrow.

Hear the trees ?" He filled his pocket with cigarettes and slung a white sweater over his shoulder.
"All right," said Howard.

"I shall read down here a bit.

I won't forget to turn out and lock up." He had forgotten one night and Judson had reported him.
"Good night, old son." "Good night, old man." XII He was not given much to reading, but when Martin left the cottage and stood out in the liquid silver of the moon under the vast dome which dazzled with stars, and he caught the flash of fireflies among the undergrowth that were like the lanterns of the fairies a line came into his mind that he liked and repeated several times, rather whimsically pleased with himself for having found it at exactly the right moment.
It was "the witching hour of night." He remained on top of the incline for a little while, moved to that spirit of the realization of God which touches the souls of sensitive men when they are awed by the wonder and the beauty of the earth.

He stood quite still, disembodied for the moment, uplifted, stirred, with all the scents and all the whisperings about him, humble, childlike, able, in that brief flight of ecstasy, to understand the language of another world.
And then the stillness was suddenly cut by a scream of vacuous laughter, probably that of an exuberant Irish maid-servant, to whom silences are made to break, carrying on, most likely, a rough flirtation with a chauffeur.
It brought Martin back to earth like the stick of a rocket.