At the further end of the street rose the church, its Gothic flourishes outlined sharply against the lighter background of the sky.

Just behind it stood the full moon, tracing--as if for its amusement--the silhouette of the roof of the church tower upon the ground.

Where the shadow of the church ended, the moon poured its silvery light in a broad flood over the street, and further off painted, with, a bold stroke of the brush, a glittering streak of white light across the sea, away to the semi-transparent mists on the horizon.
Passing first through the shimmering light, and then through the black shadow of the church, Wilhelm reached the hotel, where the lights were already extinguished.

Without lighting the candle, which he found ready for him at the foot of the stairs, he mounted to his room.

He was surprised, on reaching the door, to find Fido lying in front of it, his nose resting on his outstretched paws.
"I suppose they have shut you out, and you want a night's lodging with me," said Wilhelm; "very well, I won't refuse you my hospitality--come in." He opened the door and let the dog pass in before him, then followed, pushed the bolt, and put the candlestick down on the table.