True, Miss Barbar's partisanship heartened him a trifle, but he still feared for the result.

Cupid, as well as conscience, makes cowards of us all--and Lucian was a doubting lover.
Towards the end of his stay Miss Priscilla--as usual--fell asleep one evening after dinner, and Diana, feeling the house too warm, stepped out into the garden, followed by Lucian.

The sun had just set behind the undulating hills, and the clear sky, to the zenith, was of a pale rose colour, striped towards the western horizon with lines of golden cloud.
In the east a cold blue prevailed, and here and there a star sparkled in the arch of the sky.
The garden was filled with floating shadows, which seemed to glide into it from the dark recesses of the near woods, and in a copse some distance away a nightingale was singing to his mate, and filling the silence with melody.

The notes fluted sweetly through the still air, mingling with the sigh of the rising wind and the musical splashing of the fountain.

This shot up a pillar of silvery water to a great height, and in descending sprinkled the near flower beds with its cold spray.
All was inexpressibly beautiful to the eye and soothing to the ear--a scene and an hour for love.