.

"O LIBERTY! O LOVE! THESE TWO I NEED!".
When Zilah came the next day he found Marsa perfectly calm.

At first he only questioned her anxiously as to her health.
"Oh! I am well," she replied, smiling a little sadly; and, turning to the piano at which she was seated, she began to play the exquisitely sad romance which was her favorite air.
"That is by Janos Nemeth, is it not ?" asked the Prince.
"Yes, by Janos Nemeth.

I am very fond of his music; it is so truly Hungarian in its spirit." The music fell upon the air like sighs--like the distant tones of a bell tolling a requiem--a lament, poetic, mournful, despairing, yet ineffably sweet and tender, ending in one deep, sustained note like the last clod of earth falling upon a new-made grave.
"What is that called, Marsa ?" said Andras.
She made no reply.
Rising, he looked at the title, printed in Hungarian; then, leaning over the Tzigana till his breath fanned her cheek, he murmured: "Janos Nemeth was right.

The world holds but one fair maiden." She turned very pale, rose from the piano, and giving him her hand, said: "It is almost a madrigal, my dear Prince, is it not?
I am going to be frank with you.