13 August. Another quiet day, and that night I went to bed with the key to our room tied to my wrist. Again I woke in the night, and found Lucy sitting up in bed. She was still asleep, but pointing to the window. I got up quietly, pulled aside the blind, and looked out. There was brilliant moonlight over the sea and sky, and the two came together in one great silent mystery which was more beautiful than I can describe. Between me and the moon flitted a large bat, coming and going in wide circles. Once or twice it came quite close, but I think it was frightened when it saw me, and flew away across the harbour towards the abbey. When I came back from the window Lucy was lying down again and was sleeping peacefully. She did not stir again all night.

14 August. We have been at the East Cliff, reading and writing all day. Lucy seems to love the spot as much as I do. It is hard to get her away from it when it is time to come home for a meal. This afternoon she said something strange as we were coming home for dinner. We had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do. The sun was low down in the sky, just dropping behind Kettleness. The light was red over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to cover everything in a beautiful rosy glow. We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if talking to herself . . . 'His red eyes again! They are just the same.'