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A DRIVE IN SUNLIGHT AND A DRIVE IN MOONLIGHT.
The fatal time to come for her was in the Summer of that year.
Emma had written her a letter of unwonted bright spirits, contrasting strangely with an inexplicable oppression of her own that led her to imagine her recent placid life the pause before thunder, and to sharp the mood of her solitary friend she flew to Copsley, finding Sir Lukin absent, as usual.

They drove out immediately after breakfast, on one of those high mornings of the bared bosom of June when distances are given to our eyes, and a soft air fondles leaf and grass-blade, and beauty and peace are overhead, reflected, if we will.

Rain had fallen in the night.
Here and there hung a milk-white cloud with folded sail.

The South-west left it in its bay of blue, and breathed below.