So the depth of August came. The two were standing one moonlight night at the little front gate, lingering in the moonlight. Mr. Knowlton was going, and could not go. "Have you heard anything about the Bear Hill party?" he asked suddenly. "O yes; Miss Delamater came here a week ago to speak about it." "Are you going?" "Mother said she would. So I suppose I shall." "Where is it? and what is it?" "The place? Bear Hill is a very wild, stony, bare hill--at least one side of it is bare; the other side is covered with trees. And the bare side is covered with blackberry bushes, the largest you ever saw; and the berries are the largest. We always go there every summer, a number of us out of Pleasant Valley, to get blackberries." "How far is it?" "Fifteen miles." "That's a good way to go a-blackberrying," said the young man, smiling. "People hereabouts must be very fond of that fruit." "We want them for a great many uses, you know; it isn't just to eat them. Mother makes jam and wine for the whole year, besides what we eat at once. And we go for the fun too, as well as for the berries." "So it is fun, is it?" "I think so. We make a day of it; and everybody carries provisions; and we build a fire, and it is very pleasant." "I'll go," said Mr. Knowlton. "I have heard something about it at home. They wanted me to drive them, but I wanted to know what I was engaging myself to. Well, I'll be there, and I'll take care our waggon carries its stock of supplies too. Thursday, is it?" "I believe so." "What time shall you go?" "About eight o'clock--or half-past." "_Eight!_" said the young officer. "I shall have to revive Academy habits. I am grown lazy." "The days are so warm, you know," Diana explained; "and we have to come home early. We always have dinner between twelve and one." "I see!" said the young man. "I see the necessity, and feel the difficulty. Well, I'll be there." He grasped her hand again; they had shaken hands before he left the house, Diana remembered; and this time he held her fingers in a light clasp for some seconds after it was time to let them go. Then he turned and sprang upon his horse and went off at a gallop. Diana stood still at the gate where he had left her, looking down the road and listening to the diminishing sound of his horse's hoofs. The moonlight streamed tenderly down upon her and the elm trees; it filled the empty space where Knowlton's figure had been; it flickered where the elm branches stirred lightly and cast broken shadows upon the ground; it poured its floods of effulgence over the meadows and distant hills, in still, moveless peace and power of everlasting calm. It was one of the minutes of Diana's life that she never forgot afterwards; a point where her life had stood still--still as the moonlight, and almost as sweet in its broad restfulness. She lingered at the gate, and came slowly back again into the house. "What are you going to take to Bear Hill, mother?" inquired Diana the next day.