y once more tasting the life his glance can give me？ I rave： perhaps at this moment he is watching the sun rise over the Pyrenees； or on the tideless sea of the south。”
I had coasted along the lower wall of the orchard—turned its angle： there was a gate just there； opening into the meadow； between two stone pillars crowned by stone balls。 From behind one pillar I could peep round quietly at the full front of the mansion。 I advanced my head with precaution； desirous to ascertain if any bedroom window…blinds were yet drawn up： battlements； windows； long front—all from this sheltered station were at my mand。
The crows sailing overhead perhaps watched me while I took this survey。 I wonder what they thought。 They must have considered I was very careful and timid at first； and that gradually I grew very bold and reckless。 A peep； and then a long stare； and then a departure from my niche and a straying out into the meadow； and a sudden stop full in front of the great mansion； and a protracted； hardy gaze towards it。 “What affectation of diffidence was this at first？” they might have demanded； “what stupid regardlessness now？”
Hear an illustration； reader。
A lover finds his mistress asleep on a mossy bank； he wishes to catch a glimpse of her fair face without waking her。 He steals softly over the grass； careful to make no sound； he pauses—fancying she has stirred： he withdraws： not for worlds would he be seen。 All is still： he again advances： he bends above her； a light veil rests on her features： he lifts it； bends lower； now his eyes anticipate the vision of beauty—warm； and blooming； and lovely； in rest。 How hurried was their first glance！ But how they fix！ How he starts！ How he suddenly and vehemently clasps in both arms the form he dared not； a