"I am afraid that in this case, persuasion, argument, and reason would be in vain. Lance, take Lady Marion to see the lamps in the almond trees—they are really very fine."
He took the soft, silken wrapper from her and wrapped it round her shoulders.
"Let us go and see the lamps," he said, and they went.
Ah, well. The sky above was filled with pale, pure stars; the almond-trees filled the air with delicate perfume; the nightingales were singing in the distant trees; great floods of silver moonlight fell over the grounds, in which the lilies gleamed palely white, and the roses hung their heavy heads.
They went together to the grove where the lamps shone bright as huge pearls. The path was a narrow one and he drew the white hand through his arm. How did it come about? Ah, who shall tell? Perhaps the wind whispered it, perhaps the nightingales sung about it, perhaps something in the great white lily leaves suggested it, perhaps the pale, pure stars looked disapproval; but it happened that the white hand felt the arm, and was clasped in a warm, strong hand—a clasp such as only love gives.
Who shall say how it happened? She raised her fair face to his in the soft, pure moonlight, and said to him:
"Must you really go back to England, Lord Chandos?"
The voice was sweet as music—the face, so fair, so pure, so proud.
"Must you," she added, "really go?"
"Yes, I am compelled to return," he answered slowly.