ich hair, save by a single band, was uncovered; and as
her slight and exquisite form moved along the velvet sod, so beautiful
a shape, and a face so rare in its character, and delicate in its
expression, were in harmony with the sweet superstition of the spot, and
seemed almost to restore to the deserted cave and the mourning stream
their living Egeria.

Godolphin stood transfixed to the earth; and Lucilla, who was walking
in the direction of the grotto, did not perceive, till she was almost
immediately before him. She gave a faint scream as she lifted her eyes;
and the first and most natural sentiment of the woman breaking forth
involuntarily,--she attempted to falter out her disavowal of all
expectation of meeting him there.

"Indeed, indeed, I did not know--that is--I--I--" she could achieve no
more.

"Is this a favourite spot with you?" said he, with the vague
embarrassment of one at a loss for words.

"Yes," said Lucilla, faintly.

And so, in truth, it was: for its vicinity to her home, the beauty of
the little valley, and the interest attached to it--an interest not the
less to her in that she was but imperfectly acquainted with the true
legend of the Nymph and her royal lover--had made it, even from her
childhood, a chosen and beloved retreat, especially in that dangerous
summer time, which drives the visitor from the spot, and leaves the
scene, in great measure, to the solitude which befits it. Associated
as the place was with the recollection of her earlier griefs, it was
thither that her first instinct made her fly from the rude contact and
displeasing companionship of her relations, to give vent to the various
and conflicting passions which the late scene with Godolphin had called
forth.

They now stood for a few moments silent and embarrassed, till Godolphin,
resolved to end a scene which he began to feel was dangerous, said in a
hurried tone:--

"Farewell, my sweet pupil!--farewell!--May God bless you!"

He extended his hand, Lucilla seized it, as if by impulse; and conveying
it suddenly to her lips, bathed it with tears. "I feel," said this wild
and unregulated girl, "I feel, from your manner, that I ought to be
grateful to you: yet I scarcely know why: you confessed you cannot love
me, that my affection distresses you--you fly--you desert me. Ah, if you
felt one particle even of friendship for me, could you do so?"

"Lucilla, what can I say?--I cannot marry you."

"Do I wish it?--I ask thee b