silence.
Speech would have broken the charm.

The kettle began its low song.

Andrea on a low seat, with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his
hand, sat watching the fair woman so intently that Elena, without
turning, felt that persistent gaze upon her with a sense of physical
discomfort. And while he gazed upon her he thought to himself that she
seemed altogether a new woman to him--one who had never been his, whom
he had never clasped to his heart.

And in truth, she was even more desirable than in the former days, the
plastic enigma of her beauty more obscure and more enthralling. Her head
with the low broad forehead straight nose and arched eyebrows--so pure
and firm in outline, so classically antique in the modelling--might have
come from some Syracusan coin. The expression of the eyes and that of
the mouth were in singular contrast, giving her that passionate,
ambiguous, almost preternatural look that only one or two master-hands,
deeply imbued in all the profoundest corruption of art, have been able
to infuse into such immortal types of woman as the Mona Lisa and Nelly
O'Brien.

The steam began to escape through the hole in the lid of the kettle, and
Elena turned her attention once more to the tea-table. She poured a
little water on the leaves; put two lumps of sugar in one of the cups,
then poured some more water into the tea-pot and extinguished the lamp;
doing it all with a certain fond care, but never once looking in
Andrea's direction. By this time her inward agitation had resolved
itself into such melting tenderness, that there was a lump in her throat
and her eyes filled involuntarily; all her contradictory thoughts, all
her trouble and agitation of heart, concentrated themselves in those
tears.

A movement of her arm knocked the little silver card-case off the table.
Andrea picked it up and examined the device: two true lovers' knots each
bearing an inscription in English--_From Dreamland_, and _A Stranger
here_.

When he raised his head, Elena offered him the fragrant beverage with a
mist of tears before her eyes.

He saw that mist, and, filled with love and gratitude at such an
unlooked-for sign of melting, he put down the cup, sank on his knees
before her, and seizing her hand pressed his lips passionately to it.

'Elena! Elena!' he murmured, his face close to hers as if he would drink
the breath from her lips. His emotion was quite sincere, though some of
the things he said were not. H