ay?

So the pic-nic came off according to the arrangement. The weather and
every thing else looked so promising that even the vinegar in Bessie
Danvers's composition was acidulated; and, when Keene greeted her at
the place of _rendezvous_, she favored him with just such a smile as one
of the grim Puritan dames, in a rare interval of courtesy, may have
granted to Claverhouse or Montrose--the right of reprobation being
reserved. It is greatly to be feared that the Malignant did not
appreciate the condescension, his attention was so entirely taken up in
another quarter.

Cecil Tresilyan was perfectly dazzling in the splendor and insolence of
her beauty: the calm self-possession that usually distinguished her
seemed changed into almost reckless high spirits: even her dress
betrayed a certain intention of coquetry; and her splendid violet eyes
flashed ever and anon with a mischievously mutinous expression that made
their glance a challenge. Such a frame of mind the Scotch describe when
they speak of a person being "fey," holding it to be a sure presage of
impending disaster.

Oh, guileless maidens! be warned, and trust not to attractive
appearances. Lo! there is not a cloud in the sky that smiles over the
Nysian vale; all round the roses and lilies are blooming, till the air
is faint with their perfume; merry and musical rings the laugh of
Persephone, as she goes forth with her comrades a-Maying; but worse
things than serpents lurk beneath the waving grass. We, who have read
the ancient legend, listen already for the roll of the nether thunder:
we know that, in another minute, the earth will disgorge Aidoneus, the
smart ravisher, with his iron chariot: then will come a struggle of the
dove in the clutch of the falcon--a cry for help drowned in a hoarse
growl of triumph--shrieks and wild disorder among the flying nymphs; but
the loveliest of the land will rejoin them never any more. Demeter
(like other careful chaperones), when she is most wanted, is far away,
tending her corn-lands or reveling in the odors of sacrifice. Finding
her after long-baffled search, she will hardly recognize her innocent
child in the pale Queen of Shades, that seems worthy of her awful throne
far-gleaming through the leaden twilight: the little hand that used to
weave garlands so deftly sways the golden sceptre right royally; but the
deep, solemn eyes have forgotten how to smile. She who once wept
bitterly over her pet bird when it died listens,