3£U& 3 £ dsz . 81 
She recalled his attitude as he untwined himself from 
her embrace, and hurried off in pursuit of his steed, 
which had snapped the rein that secured it to the 
branch of a neighbouring oak, and started at full speed 
down one of the wild avenues of the forest. In fancy 
she again saw him, as he sat panting upon the ground, 
weary with the fruitless pursuit; and how, kneeling 
down, she then 
“Took him gently by the hand, 
A lily prisoned in a jail of snow, 
Or ivory in an alabaster band: 
So white a friend engirt so white a foe; 
A beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Showed like two silver doves that sat a-billing.” 
And as she looked upon him, she imagined that his 
lips moved again, as when they said, “Give me my 
hand, why dost thou feel it?” she fancied she again 
felt his face upon her cheek—his kisses upon her lips, 
as when she fell down and feigned herself dead; the 
while he bent her fingers, and felt her pulse, and en¬ 
deavoured by a hundred endearments and tender ex¬ 
pressions, to restore her. And how, when she pretended 
to recover, she paid him back again with unnumbered 
kisses, whilst he, wearied with opposing her, no longer 
offered any resistance; and how, at last, he broke from 
her fair arms, and, darting down the “dark lawn,” left 
her seated alone upon the ground. 
As picture after picture rose before her of what had 
been, and every close pressure of the cold, inanimate, 
but still dearly-loved form, told her what the hand of 
