The courtyard rang again with their delicate harmony.
"What do you admire most of all these beautiful things, Gerard ?" "You know my name?
How is that ?" "White magic.

I am a--witch." "Angels are never witches.

But I can't think how you--" "Foolish boy! was it not cried at the gate loud enough to deave one ?" "So it was.

Where is my head?
What do I admire most?
If you will sit a little more that way, I'll tell you." "This way ?" "Yes; so that the light may fall on you.

There! I see many fair things here, fairer than I could have conceived; but the fairest of all, to my eye, is your lovely hair in its silver frame, and the setting sun kissing it.