a place combined to cause. John had been silent and depressed the whole
day, nor did Mr. Gaskell himself seem inclined to conversation.
Constance and my brother fell a little way behind, and Mr. Gaskell asked
me to cross the lawn if I was not afraid of the dew, that I might see
the garden front to better advantage from the corner. Mrs. Temple waited
for us on the path, not wishing to wet her feet. Mr. Gaskell pointed out
the beauties of the perspective as seen from his vantage-point, and we
were fortunate in hearing the sweet descant of nightingales for which
this garden has ever been famous. As we stood silent and listening, a
candle was lit in a small oriel at the end, and the light showing the
tracery of the window added to the picturesqueness of the scene.

Within an hour we were in a landau driving through the still warm lanes
to Didcot. I had seen that Constance's parting with my brother had been
tender, and I am not sure that she was not in tears during some part at
least of our drive; but I did not observe her closely, having my
thoughts elsewhere.

Though we were thus being carried every moment further from the sleeping
city, where I believe that both our hearts were busy, I feel as if I had
been a personal witness of the incidents I am about to narrate, so often
have I heard them from my brother's lips. The two young men, after
parting with us in the High Street, returned to their respective
colleges. John reached his rooms shortly before eleven o'clock. He was
at once sad and happy--sad at our departure, but happy in a new-found
world of delight which his admiration for Constance Temple opened to
him. He was, in fact, deeply in love with her, and the full flood of a
hitherto unknown passion filled him with an emotion so overwhelming that
his ordinary life seemed transfigured. He moved, as it were, in an ether
superior to our mortal atmosphere, and a new region of high resolves and