* * * * *
When the ladies' footsteps had ceased to sound overhead, Laurie went
to the French window, opened it, and passed on to the lawn.
He was astonished at the warmth of the September night. The little
wind that had been chilly this afternoon had dropped with the coming
of the dark, and high overhead he could see the great masses of the
leaves motionless against the sky. He passed round the house, and
beneath the yews, and sat down on the garden bench.
It was darker here than outside on the lawn. Beneath his feet were the
soft needles from the trees, and above him, as he looked out, still
sunk in his thought, he could see the glimmer of a star or two between
the branches.
It was a fragrant, kindly night. From the hamlet of half a dozen
houses beyond the garden came no sound; and the house, too, was still
behind him. An illuminated window somewhere on the first floor went
out as he looked at it, like a soul leaving a body; once a sleepy bird
somewhere in the shrubbery chirped to its mate and was silent again.
Then as he still labored in argument, putting this against that, and
weighing that against the other, his emotion rose up in an
irresistible torrent, and all consideration ceased.
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