A lovely moonlight met my view; it was like the moonlight on the fatal evening when Naomi had met John Jago on the garden walk.
My bedroom candle was on the side-table; I had just lighted it.

I was just leaving the room, when the door suddenly opened, and Naomi herself stood before me! Recovering the first shook of her sudden appearance, I saw instantly in her eager eyes, in her deadly-pale cheeks, that something serious had happened.

A large cloak was thrown over her; a white handkerchief was tied over her head.

Her hair was in disorder; she had evidently just risen in fear and in haste from her bed.
"What is it ?" I asked, advancing to meet her.
She clung, trembling with agitation, to my arm.
"John Jago!" she whispered.
You will think my obstinacy invincible.

I could hardly believe it, even then! "Where ?" I asked.
"In the back-yard," she replied, "under my bedroom window!" The emergency was far too serious to allow of any consideration for the small proprieties of every-day life.
"Let me see him!" I said.
"I am here to fetch you," she answered, in her frank and fearless way.
"Come upstairs with me." Her room was on the first floor of the house, and was the only bedroom which looked out on the back-yard.