With his own impassioned and earnest language, he spoke to Constance of that scene and that country.

Every tree before him furnished matter for his illustration or his contrast; and, as she heard that magic voice, and speaking, too, of a country dedicated to love, Constance listened with glistening eyes, and a cheek which he,--consummate master of the secrets of womanhood--perceived was eloquent with thoughts which she knew not, but which _he_ interpreted to the letter.
"And in such a spot," said he, continuing, and fixing his deep and animated gaze on her,--"in such a spot I could have stayed for ever but for one recollection, one feeling--_I should have been too much alone!_ In a wild or a grand, or even a barren country, we may live in solitude, and find fit food for thought; but not in one so soft, so subduing, as that which I saw and see.

Love comes over us then in spite of ourselves; and I feel--I feel now"-- his voice trembled as he spoke--"that any secret we may before have nursed, though hitherto unacknowledged, makes itself at length a voice.

We are oppressed with the desire to be loved; we long for the courage to say we love." Never before had Godolphin, though constantly verging into sentiment, spoken to Constance in so plain a language.

Eye, voice, cheek--all spoke.