Or else, in the summer evenings, she would be at the window sewing--always sewing--but so placed that with one glance she could see down the street where John was coming.

Far, far off she always saw him; and at the sight her whole face would change and brighten, like a meadow when the sun comes out.

Then she ran to open the door, and I could hear his low "my darling!" and a long, long pause, in the hall.
They were very, very happy in those early days--those quiet days of poverty; when they visited nobody, and nobody visited them; when their whole world was bounded by the dark old house and the garden, with its four high walls.
One July night, I remember, John and I were walking up and down the paths by star-light.

It was very hot weather, inclining one to stay without doors half the night.

Ursula had been with us a good while, strolling about on her husband's arm; then he had sent her in to rest, and we two remained out together.
How soft they were, those faint, misty, summer stars! what a mysterious, perfumy haze they let fall over us!--A haze through which all around seemed melting away in delicious intangible sweetness, in which the very sky above our heads--the shining, world-besprinkled sky--was a thing felt rather than seen.
"How strange all seems! how unreal!" said John, in a low voice, when he had walked the length of the garden in silence.