They were in a land of waterfalls and busy mills, a narrowing vale where the runs of grass grew short and wild, and the glacier-river roared for the leap, more foam than water, and the savagery, naturally exciting to her, breathed of its lair among the rocks and ice-fields.
Her brother said: 'There he is.' She saw the whitecrowned king of the region, of whose near presence to her old home she had been accustomed to think proudly, end she looked at him without springing to him, and continued imaging her English home and her loveless uncle, merely admiring the scene, as if the fire of her soul had been extinguished.--'Marry, and be a blessing to a husband.' Chillon's words whispered of the means of escape from the den of her uncle.
But who would marry me! she thought.

An unreproved sensation of melting pervaded her; she knew her capacity for gratitude, and conjuring it up in her 'heart, there came with it the noble knightly gentleman who would really stoop to take a plain girl by the hand, release her, and say: 'Be mine!' His vizor was down, of course.

She had no power of imagining the lineaments of that prodigy.

Or was he a dream?
He came and went.

Her mother, not unkindly, sadly, had counted her poor girl's chances of winning attention and a husband.