There would be a moon soon after nightfall.

There was plenty of time.

That far-off ancestress of the middle-ages had, it would appear, handed down to her sons forever, with the clear cut profile, the philosophy which allows itself time to get through life unruffled.
The Count de Sarrion was taking his early coffee the next morning at the open window in Saragossa when Marcos, with the dust of travel across the Alkali desert still upon him, came into the room.
"I expected you," said the father.

"You will like a bath.

All is ready in your room.