Hanging between two heavens on the lake: floating to her voice: the moon stepping over and through white shoal's of soft high clouds above and below: floating to her void—no other breath abroad! His soul went out of his body as he listened.
They must part. He rows her gently shoreward.
"I never was so happy as to-night," she murmurs.
"Look, my Lucy. The lights of the old place are on the lake. Look where you are to live."
"Which is your room, Richard?"
He points it out to her.
"O Richard! that I were one of the women who wait on you! I should ask nothing more. How happy she must be!"
"My darling angel-love. You shall be happy; but all shall wait on you, and I foremost, Lucy."
"Dearest! may I hope for a letter?"
"By eleven to-morrow. And I?"