t Orsino told her he endured for Olivia, she presently perceived she
suffered for the love of him; and much it moved her wonder, that Olivia
could be so regardless of this her peerless lord and master, whom she
thought no one could behold without the deepest admiration, and she
ventured gently to hint to Orsino, that it was a pity he should affect a
lady who was so blind to his worthy qualities; and she said, "If a lady
were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia (and perhaps there may be
one who does), if you could not love her in return, would you not tell
her that you could not love, and must she not be content with this
answer?" But Orsino would not admit of this reasoning, for he denied
that it was possible for any woman to love as he did. He said, no
woman's heart was big enough to hold so much love, and therefore it was
unfair to compare the love of any lady for him, to his love for Olivia.
Now, though Viola had the utmost deference for the duke's opinions, she
could not help thinking this was not quite true, for she thought her
heart had full as much love in it as Orsino's had; and she said, "Ah,
but I know, my lord."--"What do you know, Cesario?" said Orsino. "Too
well I know," replied Viola, "what love women may owe to men. They are
as true of heart as we are. My father had a daughter loved a man, as I
perhaps, were I a woman, should love your lordship."--"And what is her
history?" said Orsino. "A blank, my lord," replied Viola: "she never
told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her
damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow
melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief." The
duke inquired if this lady died of her love, but to this question Viola
returned an evasive answer; as probably she had feigned the story, to
speak words expressive of the secret love and silent grief she suffered
for Orsino.

While they were talking, a gentleman entered whom the duke had sent to
Olivia, and he said, "So please you, my lord, I might not be admitted to
the lady, but by her handmaid she returned you this answer: Until seven
years hence, the element itself shall not behold her face; but like a
cloistress she will walk veiled, watering her chamber with her tears for
the sad remembrance of her dead brother." On hearing this, the duke
exclaimed, "O she that has a heart of this fine frame, to pay this debt
of love to a dead brother, how will she love, when the