their chosen attitudes--the
queenly moments when perhaps they enter an assembly, or pour out tea
with an exquisite exhibition of arm, or recline upon a couch, commanding
homage of the world of little men. What else had this girl to count
upon to make her exclusive? A devoted heart; she had a loyal heart, and
perfect frankness: a mind impressible, intelligent, and fresh. She gave
promise of fair companionship at all seasons. She could put a spell
upon him, moreover. By that power of hers, never wilfully exercised, she
came, in spite of the effect left on him by her early awkwardnesses and
'animalities,' nearer to his idea of superhuman nature than anything
he knew of. But how would she be regarded when the announcement of Mrs.
Wilfrid Pole brought scrutinizing eyes and gossiping mouths to bear on
her?

It mattered nothing. He kissed her, and the vision of the critical world
faded to a blank. Whatever she was, he was her prime luminary, so he
determined to think that he cast light upon a precious, an unrivalled
land.

"You are my own, are you not, Emilia?"

"Yes; I am," she answered.

"That water seems to say 'for ever,'" he murmured; and Emilia's fingers
pressed upon his.

Of marriage there was no further word. Her heart was evidently quite
at ease; and that it should be so without chaining him to a date, was
Wilfrid's peculiar desire. He could pledge himself to eternity, but
shrank from being bound to eleven o'clock on the morrow morning.

So, now, the soft Summer hours flew like white doves from off the
mounting moon, and the lovers turned to go, all being still: even the
noise of the waters still to their ears, as life that is muffled in
sleep. They saw the cedar grey-edged under the moon: and Night, that
clung like a bat beneath its ancient open palms. The bordering sward
about the falls shone silvery. In its shadow was a swan. These scenes
are but beckoning hands to the hearts of lovers, waving them on to that
Eden which they claim: but when the hour has fled, they know it; and by
the palpitating light in it they know that it holds the best of them.

CHAPTER XXI

At this season Mr. Pericles reappeared. He had been, he said, through
"Paris, Turin, Milano, Veniss, and by Trieste over the Summering to
Vienna on a tour for a voice." And in no part of the Continent, his
vehement declaration assured the ladies, had he found a single one.
It was one universal croak--ahi! And Mr. Pericles could, affirm that