d; and, indeed, with all her singular
and admirable qualities, there was not anything more remarkable about
Henrietta Temple than her voice. It was a rare voice; so that in
speaking, and in ordinary conversation, though there was no one whose
utterance was more natural and less unstudied, it forcibly affected you.
She could not give you a greeting, bid you an adieu, or make a routine
remark, without impressing you with her power and sweetness. It sounded
like a bell, sweet and clear and thrilling; it was astonishing what
influence a little word, uttered by this woman, without thought, would
have upon those she addressed. Of such fine clay is man made.

That beautiful voice recalled to Ferdinand all his fading visions; it
renewed the spell which had recently enchanted him; it conjured up again
all those sweet spirits that had a moment since hovered over him with
their auspicious pinions. He could not indeed see her; her form was
shrouded, but her voice reached him; a voice attuned to tenderness, even
to love; a voice that ravished his ear, melted his soul, and blended
with his whole existence. His heart fluttered, his pulse beat high,
he sprang up, he advanced to the window! Yes! a few paces alone divide
them: a single step and he will be at her side. His hand is outstretched
to clutch the curtain, his------, when suddenly the music ceased. His
courage vanished with its inspiration. For a moment he lingered, but his
heart misgave him, and he stole back to his solitude.

What a mystery is Love! All the necessities and habits of our life sink
before it. Food and sleep, that seem to divide our being as day and
night divide Time, lose all their influence over the lover. He is a
spiritualised being, fit only to live upon ambrosia, and slumber in an
imaginary paradise. The cares of the world do not touch him; its most
stirring events are to him but the dusty incidents of bygone annals. All
the fortune of the world without his mistress is misery; and with her
all its mischances a transient dream. Revolutions, earthquakes, the
change of governments, the fall of empires, are to him but childish
games, distasteful to a manly spirit. Men love in the plague, and forget
the pest, though it rages about them. They bear a charmed life, and
think not of destruction until it touches their idol, and then they die
without a pang, like zealots for their persecuted creed. A man in love
wanders in the world as a somnambulist, with eyes that se