"Can you guess nothing of the anxiety that has been mine these two days, of the fears that have haunted me as I thought of you and your wanderings ?" Her lip curled, and her face took on some slight vestige of colour.

Her spirit was a thing for which I might then have come to love her had it not been that already I loved her to distraction.
"Yes," said she, "I can guess something of your dismay when you found your schemes frustrated; when you found that you had come too late to San Domenico." "Will you not forgive me that shift to which my adoration drove me ?" he implored, in a honeyed voice--and a more fearful thing than Ramiro the butcher was Ramiro the lover.
At that scarcely covert avowal of his passion she recoiled a step as she might before a thing unclean.

The little colour faded from her cheek, the scorn departed from her lip, and a sickly, deadly fear overspread her lovely face.

God! that I should stand there and witness this insult to the woman I adored and worshipped with a fervour that the Church seeks to instil into us for those about the throne of Heaven.

It might not be.