The clock was striking one as I was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight.

I ran along the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I expected.

At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear, I don't know which, of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat.
There was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and shade as they sailed across.

For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St.Mary's Church and all around it.

Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view, and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and churchyard became gradually visible.
Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white.