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Rh because he himself, eloquent and a dreamer, often uttered thoughts that were kindred to those buried deepest in her mind. She began to like — perhaps to love him, but as a sister loves; a sort of privileged familiarity sprung up between them. If, in the Englishman's breast, arose wild and unworthy hopes, he had not yet expressed them. Is there danger to thee here, lone Viola? or is the danger greater in thy unfound ideal?

And now, as the overture to some strange and wizard spectacle, closes this opening prelude. Wilt thou hear more? Come with thy faith prepared. I ask not the blinded eyes, but the awakened sense. As the enchanted Isle, remote from the homes of men,

is the space in the weary ocean of actual life to which the Muse or Sibyl (ancient in years, but ever young in aspect), offers thee no unhallowed sail —