It was a warm night, and very still and airless.
Kitty sat down on the step in the doorway of the summer-house, and staring before her into the dimness, tried to grasp all that had happened, and what it would mean to them.

She thought of their lazy mornings, when they lay in bed till the spirit moved them to get up; of the other mornings when they chose to rise early and go for a long walk to Lantig, or down to Trevoor, the stretch of desolate moorland which lay about a mile outside the town, and was so full of surprises--of unexpected dips and trickling streams, of dangerous bogs, and stores of fruits and berries and unknown delights--that, well though they knew it, they had not yet discovered the half of them.

She thought of their excursions, such as to-day's, to Wenmere Woods, and those others to Helbarrow Tors.

They usually took a donkey and cart, and food for a long day, when they went to this last.

Her mind travelled, too, back over their favourite games and walks, and what she, perhaps, loved best of all, those drives, when she would have the carriage and Prue all to herself, and would wander with them over the face of the country for miles.
At those times she felt no nervousness, no loneliness, nothing but pure, unalloyed happiness.