The garden lay close under the house; a bright spot enough by day; for in that soil, whatever was planted grew and blossomed in spite of neglect.

The white roses glimmered out in the dusk all the night through; the red were lost in shadow.

Between the low boundary of the garden and the hills swept one or two green meadows; Ruth looked into the grey darkness till she traced each separate wave of outline.
Then she heard a little restless bird chirp out its wakefulness from a nest in the ivy round the walls of the house.

But the mother-bird spread her soft feathers, and hushed it into silence.

Presently, however, many little birds began to scent the coming dawn, and rustled among the leaves, and chirruped loud and clear.