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 Walter was left for some moments alone in a little parlour:—he required those moments to recover himself from the past that rushed sweepingly over him. And was it—yes, it was Ellinor that now stood before him! Changed she was, indeed; the slight girl had budded into woman; changed she was, indeed; the bound had for ever left that step, once so elastic with hope; the vivacity of the quick, dark eye was soft and quiet; the rich colour had given place to a hue fainter, though not less lovely. But to repeat in verse what is poorly bodied forth in prose—

And years had past, and thus they met again; The wind had swept along the flower since then, O'er her fair cheek a paler lustre spread, As if the white rose triumphed o'er the red. No more she walk'd exulting on the air; Light though her step, there was a languor there; No more—her spirit bursting from its bound,— She stood, like Hebe, scattering smiles around."

"Ellinor!" said Walter mournfully, "thank God! we meet at last."