195 < 24 > A CITY IN GREECE, 589 B. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. Oh, you must believe me. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. It has. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand.
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