She felt something she could not explain.
And that something was scarcely owing to this young man's pitiful position between duty to his father and love for his country.

It had to do with his blazing eyes; intangible, dreamlike perceptions of him as not real, of vague sweet fancies that retreated before her introspective questioning.

What alarmed Lenore was a tendency of her mind to shirk this revealing analysis.

Never before had she been afraid to look into herself.

But now she was finding unplumbed wells of feeling, secret chambers of dreams into which she had never let the light, strange instinctive activities, more physical than mental.