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228 "We are not in the days of Castilian courtesies! Farewell until to-morrow!" And with that graceful negligent movement which gave her so languid a charm, she passed away from him into the villa; and for Erceldoune the sun died out of the heavens, and all its beauty faded oil the bright earth about him.

He spent the remaining hours of the day alone—alone till long after nightfall—pushing a boat far out to sea, and letting it float at hazard, in the sunset, in the twilight, in the phosphor-brilliance of the moon, till the chant of the Muezzin rang over the waves with the dawn. His existence seemed dreamy, unreal, trans figured; he neither heeded how time went nor what he did; but lay leaning over the side of his boat gazing all through the night at the lighted lattices of her windows, where they glittered through the cypress and myrtle woods. He was in the first trance of a passion he had scorned.