'In the first place you had no business to be reading it--' 'I will go,' Wilfrid said, rising with an effort.
'No, no; it will do to-morrow.' 'May as well get it now,' he said indifferently, and went out by the window.
That part of the garden through which he walked lay in the shadow of the house; the sky was full of moonlight, but the moon itself was still low.
A pathway between laurels led to the summer-house.

Just short of the little building, he passed the edge of shade, and, before entering, turned to view the bright crescent as it hung just above the house-roof.
Gazing at the forms of silvered cloud floating on blue depths, he heard a movement immediately behind him; he turned, to behold Emily standing in the doorway.

The moon's rays shone full upon her; a light shawl which seemed to have covered her head had slipped down to her shoulders, and one end was held in a hand passed over her breast.

There was something in the attitude which strikingly became her; her slight figure looked both graceful and dignified.

The marble hue of her face, thus gleamed upon, added to the statuesque effect; her eyes had a startled look, their lids drooped as Wilfrid regarded her.
'You have been sitting here since you left us ?' he asked, in a voice attuned to the night's hush.
'I was tempted to come out; the night is so beautiful.' 'It is.' He uttered the assent mechanically; his eyes, like hers, had fallen, but he raised them again to her face.