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Rh flowers, and took a fanciful pleasure in seeing them wither.

The imagination shuns to reveal its workings, unless it can clothe them in some lovely and palpable shape, and create into existence the high romance, the mournful song, the animated canvass, or the carved marble; pride then comes to the aid of the gifted one, and says, "Lo! these are the fruits of those hours the busier worldlings deem given but to idle fantasies!" But Guido knew that his summer idlesse had been idlesse indeed. He expected so much from himself, that he believed Francesca must expect something too—and he had nothing to tell her; and this inward consciousness she so little suspected, contributed much towards the constrained tone of the letter.

Gradually it gave its possessor more pleasure. Francesca smiled at what she now termed unreasonable sensitiveness, and began to reckon how long it must be before her brother's return. Moreover, the very mention of Italy brought to her all the most cheerful recollections of her childhood. She recalled the old hall, with its storied frescoes—the woods, where so many mornings had passed so happily away—the little river, where they used to launch their light boats, made of the green rushes which grew beside; she recalled the blithe