13 August.—Another quiet day, and to bed with the key on my
wrist as before. Again I awoke in the night, and found Lucy sitting
up in bed, still asleep, pointing to the window. I got up quietly,
and pulling aside the blind, looked out. It was brilliant
moonlight, and the soft effect of the light over the sea and sky,
merged together in one great silent mystery, was beautiful beyond
words. Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and
going in great whirling circles. Once or twice it came quite close,
but was, I suppose, frightened at seeing me, and flitted away
across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back from the
window Lucy had lain down again, and was sleeping peacefully. She
did not stir again all night.
14 August.—On the East Cliff, reading and wri
