There was a very heavy dew on the broad lawn, and we walked at first only on the paths.
No one spoke, for we were oppressed by the very beauty of the scene, and by the sadness which an imminent parting from friends and from so sweet a place combined to cause.

John had been silent and depressed the whole day, nor did Mr.Gaskell himself seem inclined to conversation.
Constance and my brother fell a little way behind, and Mr.Gaskell asked me to cross the lawn if I was not afraid of the dew, that I might see the garden front to better advantage from the corner.

Mrs.Temple waited for us on the path, not wishing to wet her feet.

Mr.Gaskell pointed out the beauties of the perspective as seen from his vantage-point, and we were fortunate in hearing the sweet descant of nightingales for which this garden has ever been famous.

As we stood silent and listening, a candle was lit in a small oriel at the end, and the light showing the tracery of the window added to the picturesqueness of the scene.
Within an hour we were in a landau driving through the still warm lanes to Didcot.