[... the figure became clear and solid ...]
UNCANNY STORIES
WHERE THEIR FIRE IS NOT QUENCHED
There was nobody in the orchard. Harriott Leigh went out, carefully, through the iron gate into the field. She had made the latch slip into its notch without a sound.
The path slanted widely up the field from the orchard gate to the stile under the elder tree. George Waring waited for her there.
Years afterwards, when she thought of George Waring she smelt the sweet, hot, wine-scent of the elder flowers. Years afterwards, when she smelt elder flowers she saw George Waring, with his beautiful, gentle face, like a poet’s or a musician’s, his black-blue eyes, and sleek, olive-brown hair. He was a naval lieutenant.
Yesterday he had asked her to marry him and she had consented. But her father hadn’t, and she had come to tell him that and say good-bye before he left her. His ship was to sail the next day.
He was eager and excited. He couldn’t believe that anything could stop their happiness, that anything he didn’t want to happen could happen.