Forhalfanhourmorethemusicstillwenton。AfterthatthebeautyofthemoonlightviewontheterracetemptedMissFairlieouttolookatit，andIfollowedher。WhenthecandlesatthepianohadbeenlightedMissHalcombehadchangedherplace，soastocontinueherexaminationofthelettersbytheirassistance。Welefther，onalowchair，atonesideoftheinstrument，soabsorbedoverherreadingthatshedidnotseemtonoticewhenwemoved。
Wehadbeenoutontheterracetogether，justinfrontoftheglassdoors，hardlysolongasfiveminutes，Ishouldthink；andMissFairliewas，bymyadvice，justtyingherwhitehandkerchiefoverherheadasaprecautionagainstthenightair——whenIheardMissHalcombe’svoice——low，eager，andalteredfromitsnaturallivelytone——pronouncemyname。
`MrHartright，’shesaid，`willyoucomehereforaminute？Iwanttospeaktoyou。’
Ienteredtheroomagainimmediately。Thepianostoodabouthalfwaydownalongtheinnerwall。OnthesideoftheinstrumentfarthestfromtheterraceMissHalcombewassittingwiththelettersscatteredonherlap，andwithoneinherhandselectedfromthem，andheldclosetothecandle。Onthesidenearesttotheterracetherestoodalowottoman，onwhichItookmyplace。InthispositionIwasnotfarfromtheglassdoors，andIcouldseeMissFairlieplainly，asshepassedandrepassedtheopeningontotheterrace，walkingslowlyfromendtoendofitinthefullradianceofthemoon。
`IwantyoutolistenwhileIreadtheconcludingpassagesinthisletter，’