The serene, mellow light of the moon shone down upon the garden.

The shade appeared spotted with patches of moonlight; the summer breeze rustled the leaves; the insects murmured their night song.

Romance and beauty still lived.

No war could kill them.

Bessy came gliding under the trees, white and graceful like a nymph, fearless, full of her dream, ripe to be made what a man would make of her.
Lane talked to Bessy of the war.