It isn't in the least cold, and the moon is just coming up over the sea.
I came out," she went on, as he walked obediently by her side, "because the house somehow stifled me." She led him to a seat.

Below, the long waves were breaking through upon the rocks, throwing little fountains of spray into the air.

The village which lay at their feet was silent and lifeless--there was, indeed, a curious absence of sound, except when the incoming waves broke upon the rocks and ground the pebbles together in their long, backward swish.
Very soon the sleeping country, now wrapped in shadows, would take form and outline in the light of the rising moon; hedges would divide the square fields, the black woods would take shape and the hills their mystic solemnity.

But those few minutes were minutes of suspense.
Lessingham was to some extent conscious of their queer, allegorical significance.
"I have come," he reminded her quite steadily, "for my answer." She showed him the small bag by her side upon the seat, and touched her cloak.

She was indeed prepared for a journey.
"You see," she told him, "here I am." His face was suddenly transformed.