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 an exclamation of joy, for he saw that it was a bay-window projecting over water. As in some charming yacht he stood there between the peaceful, starry heavens and the misty, rumbling gulf. The moon lighted at the window of the castle a hundred fluttering sparks, and they poured into the room like a shower of brilliants, strayed over the opposite forest like fairies hastening to meet their elves, and glimmered through the mist to the surface of the water. Higher up the hill the stream dashed wildly over the dumb, immovable rocks, rose between the black cliffs, and passionately strove to widen its narrow banks by gnawing at the solid walls. In despair at the fruitless task, it showered over them great foaming tears of anger and pain.

“Oh, my beloved Hlohov, praised be the shade of your forests, the coolness of your nights, the freedom of your breezes!” exclaimed the young man, with enthusiasm, bending far out of the window and eagerly drinking in the scene. “Blessings on you, Maria Felicia, for discovering this place of