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My Darling, Yesterday and today I wished very much to write to you, but owing to a hurly burly of business I have not been able to do so till now, late in the evening, after returning from a walk during which, in the charming summer-night's air, with moonlight and the rustling of poplar-leaves, I have brushed off the dust of the day's documents.
Listening to this, he feared to move lest he should wake from a summer-night's dream. A ragged little shadow flitted down the path behind him, and from a solitary apple-tree, standing like a lonely ghost in the middle of the field, came the woo of a screech owl twice. It was answered twice from a clump of elder-bushes that grew in a fence-corner fifty yards west of the pasture bars.
But when the gust came it was from behind; a sweeping besom to beat down the leaping dragons' tongues; a pouring flood of blessed coolness to turn the ebbing life-tide and to set the dulled senses once more keenly alert. With the wind came the rain, a passing summer-night's shower of great drops spattering on the leaves above and dripping thence to fall hissing in the fires.
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