In front of the window there was a riband of pavement protected by an overhanging section of roof. Catherine stepped out on this pavement. Mark followed her. They stood together facing the spring night. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and starlit. Nature seemed breathing quietly, like a thing alive but asleep. The surrounding woods were a dusky wall. The clearing was a vague sea of dew. And the air was full of that wonderful scent that all things seem to have in spring. It is like the perfume of life, of life that God has consecrated, of life that might have been in Eden. It is odorous with hope. It stings and embraces. It stirs the imagination to magic. It stirs the heart to tears. For it is ineffably beautiful and expectant.
"How delicious!" Mark said.
Catherine's hand tightened on his arm.
"The trees are talking," he said. "That damp scent comes from their roots, and the flowers and grasses round them."
He drew in his breath with a gasp of pleasure.
"Yes?" Catherine said.
He bent down and touched the lawn with his hand.
"What a dew! Look, Kitty, there goes a rabbit!"
A hunched shadow suddenly flattened and vanished.
"Little beggar! He's gone into the wood. What a jolly time he and his relations must have."