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310 an ancient helmet, every plait glittering with diamonds: it was peculiar, but it suited her. "What," thought Edward, "the poet says in praise of one beauty, I say in dispraise of another: This is very well for indifference, but very bad for vanity. I trust (and the lover smiled in scornfulness at the very idea) my Beatrice will be more exclusive of her smile." And with this wish, which with him took the shape of conviction, Edward turned into the gallery which led to the turret. It was a narrow, gloomy passage, hung with very old tapestry. How strange did the fantastic and discoloured shapes appear by the dim light of the single lamp! At first the sounds of music seemed like a connexion with the gay and the bright left behind—soon the tones became confused—and before Edward had threaded two-thirds of the many turnings, the music was quite inaudible. One large room only remained to cross: it had in former days been a picture gallery, but now, being apart from the other suite of