Bareheaded, and walking with his hands clasped behind him as though
absorbed in deep thought, Sir Adrian comes slowly over the sward until
he stands beneath her window. Here he pauses, as though almost
unconsciously his spirit has led him thither, and brought him to a
standstill where he would most desire to be.

The moon, spreading its brilliance on all around, permits Florence to
see that his face is grave and thoughtful, and--yes, as she gazes even
closer, she can see that it is full of pain and vain longing.

What is rendering him unhappy on this night of all others, when the
woman she believes he loves has been his willing companion for so many
hours, when doubtless she has given him proofs of her preference for him
above all men?

Suddenly lifting his head, Sir Adrian becomes conscious of the face in
the window above, and a thrill rushes through him as he recognizes the
form of the woman he loves.

The scene is so calm, so hallowed, so full of romance, that both their
hearts beat madly for awhile. They are alone; any one still awake within
the house is far distant.

Never has she appeared so spiritual, so true and tender; so full of
sweetness that is almost unearthly. All pride seems gone from her, and
in its place only a gentle melancholy reigns; she looks so far removed
from him, sitting there in the purity of her white robes, that, at
first, he hesitates to address her. To his excited imagination, she
is like an angel resting on its way to the realms above.

At last, however, his heart compelling him, he speaks aloud.

"Florence, you still awake, when all the world is sleeping?"

Her name falling from his lips touches a chord in her breast, and wakes
her to passionate life.

"You too," she says in a whisper that reaches his strained ears. There
seems to her a subtle joy in the thought that they two of all the
household are awake, are here talking together alone in the pale light
of the moon.

Yet she is wrong in imagining that no others are up in the house, as his
next words tell her.

"It is not a matter of wonder in my case," he responds; "a few fellows
are still in the smoking-room. It is early, you know--not yet three. But
you--why are you keeping a lonely vigil like this?"

"The moon tempted me to the window," answers Florence. "See how calm
she looks riding majestically up there. See"--stretching out her bare
white arm until the beams fall full upon it, and seem to change it to
purest m