Oh well, a word's a word. That's as one likes. Only with your
definition, give me leave to say, marvellous little love, Captain
Maitland, marvellous little you will find in this poor world of ours.
_Mait_. I'll grant ye.
_Andre_. If there is any thing like it outside of a poet's skull, ne'er
credit me.
_Mait_. Strange it should take such shape in the creating thought and in
the yearning heart, when all reality hath not its archetype.
_Andre_. Hist!
_Mait_. A careful step,--one of our party I fancy.
_Andre_. 'Tis time we were at the rendezvous. If we have to recross the
river as we came, on the stumps of that old bridge, we had best keep a
little day-light with us, I think.
[_Exeunt_.
DIALOGUE II.
SCENE. _A chamber in the Parsonage. Helen leaning from the open window_.
(_Annie enters_.)
_Annie_. Helen Grey, where on earth have you been? _Wood flowers!_
_Helen_. Come and look at this sunset.
_Annie_. Surely you have not, you cannot have been in those woods,
Helen: and yet, where else could this periwinkle grow, and these wild
roses?--Delicious!
_Helen_.
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