There was no moon, but the stars were many, and it did not seem dark.

When he came to the verge of the landing, and the river, sighing in its sleep, lay clear below him, mirroring the stars, it was as though he stood between two firmaments.

He descended the steps, and drew toward him a small rowboat that was softly rubbing against the wet and glistening piles.

The tide was out, and the night was very quiet.
Haward troubled not the midstream, but rowing in the shadow of the bank to the mouth of the creek that slept beside his garden, turned and went up this narrow water.

Until he was free of the wall the odor of honeysuckle and box clung to the air, freighting it heavily; when it was left behind the reeds began to murmur and sigh, though not loudly, for there was no wind.