for the sake of peace; and chiefly
for his well-being. She had reserved her full consent: the plighting was
incomplete. Prince Marko knew that there was another, a magical person, a
genius of the ring, irresistible. He had been warned, that should the
other come forth to claim her . . . . And she was about to write to him
this very night to tell him . . . tell him fully . . . . In truth, she
loved both, but each so differently! And both loved her! And she had to
make her choice of one, and tell the prince she did love him, but . . .
Dots are the best of symbols for rendering cardisophistical subtleties
intelligible, and as they are much used in dialogue, one should have now
and then permission to print them. Especially feminine dialogue referring
to matters of the uncertain heart takes assistance from troops of dots;
and not to understand them at least as well as words, when words have as
it were conducted us to the brink of expression, and shown us the
precipice, is to be dull, bucolic of the marketplace.

Sunless rose the morning. The blanketed figures went out to salute a
blanketed sky. Drizzling they returned, images of woefulness in various
forms, including laughter's. Alvan frankly declared himself the
disappointed showman; he had hoped for his beloved to see the sight long
loved by him of golden chariot and sun-steeds crossing the peaks and the
lakes; and his disappointment became consternation on hearing Clotilde's
English friend (after objection to his pagan clothing of the solemn
reality of sunrise, which destroyed or minimized by too materially
defining a grandeur that derived its essence from mystery, she thought)
announce the hour for her departure. He promised her a positive sunrise
if she would delay. Her child lay recovering from an illness in the town
below, and she could not stay. But Clotilde had coughed in the damp
morning air, and it would, he urged, be dangerous for her to be exposed
to it. Had not the lady heard her cough? She had, but personally she was
obliged to go; with her child lying ill she could not remain. 'But,
madam, do you hear that cough again? Will you drag her out with such a
cough as that?' The lady repeated 'My child!' Clotilde said it had been
agreed they should descend this day; her friend must be beside her child.
Alvan thundered an 'Impossible!' The child was recovering; Clotilde was
running into danger: he argued with the senseless woman, opposing reason
to the feminine senti