e,"--that was what he called her to himself; but it was
only, on emerging from the reverie, to attack his work with fresh
vigour. She was so young, so plainly girlish, that as yet there was
no room for dread or jealousy; the feeling in his heart was a kind
of gentle angel-worship; and he would have turned from the idea of
marrying her, if indeed it had ever presented itself, as an
irreverent thought, which he dared not for a moment be guilty of
entertaining. It was besides, an idea too absurd to be indulged in
by one who, in his wildest imaginations, always, through every
Protean embodiment, sought and loved and clung to the real. His
chief thought was simply to find favour in the eyes of the girl.
His ideas hovered about her image, but it was continually to burn
themselves in incense to her sweet ladyhood. As often as a song
came fluttering its wings at his casement, the next thought was
Ginevra--and there would be something to give her! I wonder how
many loves of the poets have received their offerings in
correspondent fervour. I doubt if Ginevra, though she read them
with marvel, was capable of appreciating the worth of Donal's. She
was hardly yet woman enough to do them justice; for the heart of a
girl, in its very sweetness and vagueness, is ready to admire alike
the good and the indifferent, if their outer qualities be similar.
It would cause a collapse in many a swelling of poet's heart if,
while he heard lovely lips commending his verses, a voice were to
whisper in his ear what certain other verses the lady commended
also.

On Saturday evenings, after Gibbie left him, Donal kept his own
private holiday, which consisted in making verses, or rather in
setting himself in the position for doing so, when sometimes verses
would be the result, sometimes not. When the moon was shining in at
the windows of the large room adjoining, he would put out his lamp,
open his door, and look from the little chamber, glowing with
fire-light, into the strange, eerie, silent waste, crowded with the
chaos of dis-created homes. There scores on scores of things, many
of them unco, that is uncouth, the first meaning of which is
unknown, to his eyes, stood huddled together in the dim light. The
light looked weary and faint, as if with having forced its way
through the dust of years on the windows; and Donal felt as if
gazing from a clear conscious present out into a faded dream.
Sometimes he would leave his nest, and walk up a