r remarks with this
expression, she walked slowly away, leaving Elfonzo astonished and
amazed. He ventured not to follow or detain her. Here he stood alone,
gazing at the stars; confounded as he was, here he stood.

Yes; there he stood. There seems to be no doubt about that. Nearly half
of this delirious story has now been delivered to the reader. It seems a
pity to reduce the other half to a cold synopsis. Pity! it is more
than a pity, it is a crime; for to synopsize McClintock is to reduce
a sky-flushing conflagration to dull embers, it is to reduce barbaric
splendor to ragged poverty. McClintock never wrote a line that was not
precious; he never wrote one that could be spared; he never framed one
from which a word could be removed without damage. Every sentence that
this master has produced may be likened to a perfect set of teeth,
white, uniform, beautiful. If you pull one, the charm is gone.

Still, it is now necessary to begin to pull, and to keep it up; for lack
of space requires us to synopsize.

We left Elfonzo standing there amazed. At what, we do not know. Not at
the girl's speech. No; we ourselves should have been amazed at it,
of course, for none of us has ever heard anything resembling it; but
Elfonzo was used to speeches made up of noise and vacancy, and could
listen to them with undaunted mind like the "topmost topaz of an ancient
tower"; he was used to making them himself; he--but let it go, it cannot
be guessed out; we shall never know what it was that astonished him. He
stood there awhile; then he said, "Alas! am I now Grief's disappointed
son at last?" He did not stop to examine his mind, and to try to find
out what he probably meant by that, because, for one reason, "a mixture
of ambition and greatness of soul moved upon his young heart," and
started him for the village. He resumed his bench in school, "and
reasonably progressed in his education." His heart was heavy, but
he went into society, and sought surcease of sorrow in its light
distractions. He made himself popular with his violin, "which seemed to
have a thousand chords--more symphonious than the Muses of Apollo, and
more enchanting than the ghost of the Hills." This is obscure, but let
it go.

During this interval Leos did some unencouraged courting, but at last,
"choked by his undertaking," he desisted.

Presently "Elfonzo again wends his way to the stately walls and
new-built village." He goes to the house of his beloved; she open