Nothing had been heard of him, save that his vessel had been directed, some months after his departure, to sail for Leghorn.

By the gossips of Naples, his existence, supposed so extraordinary, was wellnigh forgotten; but the heart of Viola was more faithful.

Often he glided through her dreams, and when the wind sighed through that fantastic tree, associated with his remembrance, she started with a tremor and a blush, as if she had heard him speak.
But amongst the train of her suitors was one to whom she listened more gently than to the rest; partly because, perhaps, he spoke in her mother's native tongue; partly because in his diffidence there was little to alarm and displease; partly because his rank, nearer to her own than that of lordlier wooers, prevented his admiration from appearing insult; partly because he himself, eloquent and a dreamer, often uttered thoughts that were kindred to those buried deepest in her mind.

She began to like, perhaps to love him, but as a sister loves; a sort of privileged familiarity sprung up between them.

If in the Englishman's breast arose wild and unworthy hopes, he had not yet expressed them.