t.l. *
* Anglicised version of the author's original Greek text.
Or suppose, again, I had said, in a style still more popular:--
The Count advanced towards the maiden. They both were mute for a
while; and only the beating of her heart interrupted that thrilling
and passionate silence. Ah, what years of buried joys and fears,
hopes and disappointments, arose from their graves in the far past,
and in those brief moments flitted before the united ones! How sad
was that delicious retrospect, and oh, how sweet! The tears that
rolled down the cheek of each were bubbles from the choked and
moss-grown wells of youth; the sigh that heaved each bosom had some
lurking odours in it--memories of the fragrance of boyhood, echoes
of the hymns of the young heart! Thus is it ever--for these blessed
recollections the soul always has a place; and while crime perishes,
and sorrow is forgotten, the beautiful alone is eternal.
"O golden legends, written in the skies!" mused De Galgenstein, "ye
shine as ye did in the olden days! WE change, but YE speak ever the
same language. Gazing in your abysmal depths, the feeble ratioci--"
* * * * *
There, now, are six columns* of the best writing to be found in this
or any other book.
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