Gradually,
however, her countenance had grown more composed; much of the
suffering manifest on her first appearance had vanished, and a
kind of quiet, hopeful expression had taken its place; which,
however, frequently gave way to an anxious, troubled look,
mingled with something of sympathetic pity.
Meantime, how fared Cosmo? As might be expected in one of his
temperament, his interest had blossomed into love, and his
love--shall I call it RIPENED, or--WITHERED into passion. But,
alas! he loved a shadow. He could not come near her, could not
speak to her, could not hear a sound from those sweet lips, to
which his longing eyes would cling like bees to their
honey-founts. Ever and anon he sang to himself:
"I shall die for love of the maiden;"
and ever he looked again, and died not, though his heart seemed
ready to break with intensity of life and longing. And the more
he did for her, the more he loved her; and he hoped that,
although she never appeared to see him, yet she was pleased to
think that one unknown would give his life to her. He tried to
comfort himself over his separation from her, by thinking that
perhaps some day she would see him and make signs to him, and
that would satisfy him; "for," thought he, "is not this all that
a loving soul can do to enter into communion with another? Nay,
how many who love never come nearer than to behold each other as
in a mirror; seem to know and yet never know the inward life;
never enter the other soul; and part at last, with but the
vaguest notion of the universe on the borders of which they have
been hovering for years? If I could but speak to her, and knew
that she heard me, I should be satisfied.
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