But the glowing southern sun is not more brilliant than the Spanish gypsy's flashing black eyes, nor the pomegranate blossoms half so ripe and red as her cheeks.

She is Zenith, the Zingara, and you love her!" "In the fiend's name!" Sir Jasper Kingsland cried, "what jugglery is this ?" "One moment more, my Lord of Kingsland," he said, "and I have done.
Let me see how your love-dream ends.

Ah! the old, old story.

Surely I might have known.

She is beautiful as the angels above, and as innocent, and she loves you with a mad abandon that is worse than idolatry--as only women ever love.