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272 leaves, while the sun had already dried the rain that but a few minutes before had shone on crystallised grass, now proposed their proceeding onwards. They wound along a little path, edged on either side with that delicate moss, which is alone enough to make one believe in fairies; for what but their tiny fingers could ever have traced the minute colours of its starred embroidery?

Suddenly, where the luxuriant growth of a bog-myrtle, whose leaves are perfumed as flowers, shut out all view but of itself, they heard voices, and removing one of the boughs, caught a glimpse of Lucy, in deep converse with a female gipsy. Equally unwilling to overhear or to interrupt, they turned aside; but in a few minutes Lucy passed them by, too absorbed in her own reflections to see them. It was obvious that her meditations were very pleasant; for a slight blush yet rested on a cheek dimpled with unconscious smiles.

Francesca was about to speak to her, when she was prevented by Guido. "Nay," said he, "let her dream out her dream; she will waken soon enough. What would not we give again to indulge those once fondly believed illusions!"

"Believed!" exclaimed Francesca: "she cannot possibly believe, that to the ignorant vagrant