Sit with me." She pointed to a place beside herself on the fork of a dry log under flowering hawthorn.

A pale shadowy blue centre of light among the clouds told where the moon was.

Rain had ceased, and the refreshed earth smelt all of flowers, as if each breeze going by held a nosegay to their nostrils.
Wilfrid was sensible of a sudden marked change in her.

His blood was quicker than his brain in feeling it.

Her voice now, even in common speaking, had that vibrating richness which in her singing swept his nerves.
"If you cry, there must be a cause, you know," he said, for the sake of keeping the conversation in a safe channel.
"How brave you are!" was Emilia's sedate exclamation, in reply.
Her cheeks glowed, as if she had just uttered a great confession, but while the colour mounted to her eyes, they kept their affectionate intentness upon him without a quiver of the lids.
"Do you think me a coward ?" she relieved him by asking sharply, like one whom the thought had turned into a darker path.