The song of a nightingale purled and thrilled in an adjacent wood.

The lonely years of the past, the perplexing moments of the present, the uncertain vistas of the future, all rolled away.
She sailed with Garth upon a golden ocean far removed from the shores of time.

For love is eternal; and the birth of love frees the spirit from all limitations of the flesh.
* * * * * A clock in the distant village struck midnight.

The twelve strokes floated up to Jane's window across the moonlit park.

Time was once more.