Book One - Chapter 19 In Which I Become a Squire of Dames

Who does not recognize the solemn majesty of Night--that season
of awesome stillness when tired mankind lies supine in that
strange inertia so like death; when the soul, quitting the
wearied body for a space, flies hence--but whither?

What wonder is it if, at such an hour as this, we are prone to
magnify trifles, or that the most insignificant thing becomes an
omen full of ghastly meaning and possibilities? The creak of a
door in the silence, a rustle in the dark, become to us of
infinitely greater moment than the crash of falling empires.

Thus, for a space, I lay, with ears on the stretch, and every
nerve tingling, waiting for--I knew not what.

In a little, I became conscious of yet another sound,
indescribably desolate: the low, repressed sound of a woman's
sobbing.

Once more I rose, and looking down into the lane, found it
deserted; the watcher had vanished. I also noticed that the
casement next to mine had been opened wide, and it was from here,
as it seemed, that the weeping proceeded.

After some little hesitation, I knocked softly upon the wall, at
which the weeping was checked abruptly, save for an occasional sob,
whereupon I presently rapped again. At this, after a moment or so,
I saw a very small, white hand appear at the neighboring window,
and next moment was looking into a lovely, flushed face framed in
bright hair, with eyes woefully swelled by tears--but a glance
showed me that she was young, and of a rare and gentle beauty.
Before I could speak, she laid her finger upon her lip with a
warning gesture.