'It is too beautiful,' said Justina.
'Why too beautiful?'
'I don't know. It hurts me somehow, like actual pain!'
'You are like Byron's Lara,—
"But a night like this,
A night of beauty, mocked such breast as his."
I hope it is not a case of bad conscience with you, as it was with him?'
'No, it is not my conscience. The worst I have ever done has been to grumble at the profession; and though father says it is wicked, the thought of my wickedness has never troubled me. But to me there's something awful in the beauty of night and stillness, a solemnity that chills me. I feel as if there were some trouble hanging over me, some great sorrow. Don't you?'
'Not the least in the world. I think moonlight awfully jolly. Would you much mind my lighting a cigar? You'll hardly feel the effects of the smoke out here.'