ggard Venus." It seized me. I
have had the face before my eyes ever since. You must mean a woman. I
can't be deceived in allusions to a woman: they have heart in them. You
met her somewhere about Carinthia, and gave her the name? You write--may
I refer to the book?'

He received the book and flew through the leaves:

'Here--"A panting look": you write again: "A look of beaten flame: a look
of one who has run and at last beholds!" But that is a living face: I see
her! Here again: "From minute to minute she is the rock that loses the
sun at night and reddens in the morning." You could not create an idea of
a woman to move you like that. No one could, I am certain of it, certain;
if so, you 're a wizard--I swear you are. But that's a face high over
beauty. Just to know there is a woman like her, is an antidote. You
compare her to a rock. Who would imagine a comparison of a woman to a
rock! But rock is the very picture of beautiful Gorgon, haggard Venus.
Tell me you met her, you saw her. I want only to hear she lives, she is
in the world. Beautiful women compared to roses may whirl away with their
handsome dragoons! A pang from them is a thing to be ashamed of. And
there are men who trot about whining with it! But a Carinthia makes pain
honourable. You have done what I thought impossible--fused a woman's face
and grand scenery, to make them inseparable. She might be wicked for me.
I should see a bright rim round hatred of her!--the rock you describe. I
could endure horrors and not annihilate her! I should think her sacred.'

Woodseer turned about to have a look at the man who was even quicker than
he at realizing a person from a hint of description, and almost insanely
extravagant in the pitch of the things he uttered to a stranger. For
himself, he was open with everybody, his philosophy not allowing that
strangers existed on earth. But the presence of a lord brought the
conventional world to his feelings, though at the same time the title
seemed to sanction the exceptional abruptness and wildness of this lord.
As for suspecting him to be mad, it would have been a common idea: no
stretching of speech or overstepping of social rules could waken a
suspicion so spiritless in Woodseer.

He said: 'I can tell you I met her and she lives. I could as soon swim in
that torrent or leap the mountain as repeat what she spoke, or sketch a
feature of her. She goes into the blood, she is a new idea of women. She
has the face that would