s of dreamland.
Now that he has looked upon it in reality--sees it in all its blazing
beauty, surrounded by scenes picturesque as its own expression, amid
incidents romantic as his fancy could conjure up--now that he knows it
as the face of her who has saved his life, is it any wonder the slight,
tender sentiment first kindled by the painted picture should become
stronger at the sight of the living original?

It has done this--become a passion that pervade his soul, filling his
whole heart. All the more from its being the first he has ever felt--
the first love of his life. And for this also all the more does he
tremble as he thinks of the possibility of its being unreciprocated.

He has been calculating the chances in his favour every hour since
consciousness returned to him. And from some words heard in that very
hour has he derived greater pleasure, and draws more hope than from
aught that has occurred since. Constantly does he recall that
soliloquy, speech spoken under the impression that it did not reach his
ears.

There has been nothing afterwards--neither word nor deed--to give him
proof he is beloved. The lady has been a tender nurse--a hostess
apparently solicitous for the happiness of her guest--nothing more.
Were the words she had so thoughtlessly spoken unfelt, and without any
particular meaning? Or was the speech but an allusion, born from the
still lingering distemper of his brain?

He yearns to know the truth. Every hour that he remains ignorant of it,
he is in torture equalling that of Tantalus. Yet he fears to ask, lest
in the answer he may have a painful revelation.

He almost envies Walt Wilder his commonplace love, its easy conquest,
and somewhat grotesque declaration. He wishes he could propose with
like freedom, and receive a similar response. His comrade's success
should embolden him; but does not. There is no parallelism between the
parties.

Thus he delays seeking the knowledge he most desires to possess, through
fear it may afflict him. Not from any lack of opportunity. Since
almost all the time is he left alone with her he so worships. Nothing
stands in his way--no zealous watchfulness of a brother. Don Valerian
neglects every step of fraternal duty--if to take such ever occurred to
him. His time is fully occupied in roving around the valley, or making
more distant excursions, in the companionship of the _ci-devant_ Ranger,
who narrates to him a strange chapter in the li