face until she dropped her tremulous, transparent lids before her eyes; they were too full of light and love to show to any mortal.
The sky was white and blue, the air fresh and sweet; the swallows had just come, and were chattering with the starlings; hundreds of daffodils "danced in the wind" and lighted the ground at their feet; troops of celandines starred the brook that babbled by the bee-skips; the southernwood, the wall-flower, the budding thyme and sweet-brier,--a thousand exhalations filled the air and intensified that intoxication of heart and senses which makes the first stage of love's fever delirious.
Fenwick went away in the afternoon, and his adieus were mostly made to the Squire. He had done his best to win his favour, and he had been successful. He left Seat-Ambar under an engagement to return soon and try his skill in wrestling and pole-leaping with Brune. Aspatria knew he would return: a voice which Fenwick's voice only echoed told her so. She watched him from her own window a