We left the house at an hour considerably past the appointed time. Sitting over our brandy-and-water we had fallen into an argument, and had prosecuted it with an industry and enthusiasm that had made us forgetful of the clock. He was the first to recall our scheme.
"See!" he exclaimed, "it is twenty minutes to twelve; close upon the hour when churchyards yawn."
"Come, then," said I; "but lest we encounter more than our nerves—my nerves at all events—are prepared to meet, let us take one glass more."
He refused with a smile. I brimmed a tumbler.
"Ai mali extremi, extremi remedi," said he, laughing.
"You may need the remedy yourself yet," I retorted, as I led the way into the garden.
The air was so silent that, as we marched with soundless tread upon the velvet lawn, I could hear the rustle of an occasional leaf falling from the branches. Among the trees the moon threw level beams, that lay like fallen marble columns. The shadows were swart and stirless.
I was kept silent by my thoughts. He was loquacious. We gained the end of the grounds, passed through the gate, and entered the fields.
"What an oppressive night!" he exclaimed, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. "The moon seems hardly able to pierce her light through the sultry air. I should have thought such a temperature impossible in fifty-five degrees north."