The very exquisiteness of the enjoyment made her know that it ought to be a forbidden one.
"Donatello," she hastily exclaimed, "for your own sake, leave me! It is not such a happy thing as you imagine it, to wander in these woods with me, a girl from another land, burdened with a doom that she tells to none.

I might make you dread me,--perhaps hate me,--if I chose; and I must choose, if I find you loving me too well!" "I fear nothing!" said Donatello, looking into her unfathomable eyes with perfect trust.

"I love always!" "I speak in vain," thought Miriam within herself.
"Well, then, for this one hour, let me be such as he imagines me.
To-morrow will be time enough to come back to my reality.

My reality! what is it?
Is the past so indestructible?
the future so immitigable?
Is the dark dream, in which I walk, of such solid, stony substance, that there can be no escape out of its dungeon?
Be it so! There is, at least, that ethereal quality in my spirit, that it can make me as gay as Donatello himself,--for this one hour!" And immediately she brightened up, as if an inward flame, heretofore stifled, were now permitted to fill her with its happy lustre, glowing through her cheeks and dancing in her eye-beams.
Donatello, brisk and cheerful as he seemed before, showed a sensibility to Miriam's gladdened mood by breaking into still wilder and ever-varying activity.

He frisked around her, bubbling over with joy, which clothed itself in words that had little individual meaning, and in snatches of song that seemed as natural as bird notes.