He was living only for her.
The man, the dreamer, the idealist that lurked behind the adventurous soul, lived an exquisite dream as he gazed upon that vision.

He closed his eyes so that it might last all the longer, so that through the open window opposite he should not see the great gloomy walls of the labyrinthine building packed to overflowing with innocent men, women, and children waiting patiently and with a smile on their lips for a cruel and unmerited death; so that he should not see even through the vista of houses and of streets that grim Temple prison far away, and the light in one of the tower windows, which illumined the final martyrdom of a boy-king.
Thus he stood for fully five minutes, with eyes deliberately closed and lips tightly set.

Then the neighbouring tower-clock of St.Germain l'Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight.

Blakeney woke from his dream.

The walls of his lodging were once more around him, and through the window the ruddy light of some torch in the street below fought with that of the lamp.
He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the night.