nd kneel to you.'

She had a seizure of the nerves.

The likeness between them was, she felt, too flamingly keen to be looked
at further. She reached to the dim idea of some such nauseous devotion,
and took a shot in her breast as she did so, and abjured it, and
softened to her victim. Clotilde opened her arms, charming away
her wound, as she soothed him, both by the act of soothing and the
reflection that she could not be so very like one whom she pitied and
consoled.

She was charitably tender. If it be thought that she was cruel to
excess, plead for her the temptation to simple human nature at sight of
a youth who could be precipitated into the writhings of dissolution, and
raised out of it by a smile. This young man's responsive spirit acted on
her as the discovery of specifics for restoring soundness to the frame
excites the brilliant empiric: he would slay us with benevolent soul to
show the miracle of our revival. Worship provokes the mortal goddess to
a manifestation of her powers; and really the devotee is full half to
blame.

She had latterly been thinking of Alvan's rejection of the part of
centaur; and his phrase, the quadruped man, breathed meaning. He was to
gain her lawfully after dominating her utterly. That was right, but it
levelled imagination. There is in the sentimental kingdom of Love a
form of reasoning, by which a lady of romantic notions who is dominated
utterly, will ask herself why she should be gained lawfully: and she is
moved to do so by the consideration that if the latter, no necessity
can exist for the former: and the reverse. In the union of the two
conditions she sees herself slavishly domesticated. With her Indian
Bacchus imagination rose, for he was pliant: she had only to fancy, and
he was beside her.--Quick to the saddle, away! The forest of terrors
is ahead; they are at the verge of it; a last hamlet perches on its
borders; the dwellers have haunted faces; the timbers of their huts lean
to an upright in wry splinters; warnings are moaned by men and women
with the voice of a night-wind; but on and on! the forest cannot be
worse than a world defied. They drain a cup of milk apiece and they
spur, for this is the way to the golden Indian land of the planted vine
and the lover's godship.--Ludicrous! There is no getting farther
than the cup of milk with Marko. They curvet and caper to be forward
unavailingly. It should be Alvan to bring her through the forest to
the planted vine in