Wogan went from the parlour and climbed out of the house by the rope-ladder.

He left it hanging at the window and walked up the glimmering road, a ribbon of ghostly white between dim hills.

It was then about half-past twelve of the night, and not a feather of cloud stained the perfection of the sky.

It curved above his head spangled like a fair lady's fan, and unfathomably blue like Clementina's eyes when her heart stirred in their depths.

He reached the little footway and turned into the upward cleft of the hills.