The hand that clasped the flower takes down a volume.

The girl sits again before the light.

See, O rays! what is the volume?
Moon and Starbeam, ye love what lovers read by the lamp in the loneliness.

No love-ditty this; no yet holier lesson to patience, and moral to hope.

What hast thou, young girl, strong in health and rich in years, with the lore of the leech,--with prognostics and symptoms and diseases?
She is tracing with hard eyes the signs that precede the grim enemy in his most sudden approach,--the habits that invite him, the warnings that he gives.