its "swinden blicken," like Von Troneg Hagen's in the Niebelungen
Lied!'

He turned: Honoria was devouring his words. He saw it, for he was
in love, and young love makes man's senses as keen as woman's.

'Look! look at him now!' said Claude, in a low voice. 'How he sits,
with his hands on his knees, the enormous size of his limbs quite
concealed by the careless grace, with his Egyptian face, like some
dumb granite Memnon!'

'Only waiting,' said Lancelot, 'for the day-star to arise on him and
awake him into voice.'

He looked at Honoria as he spoke. She blushed angrily; and yet a
sort of sympathy arose from that moment between Lancelot and
herself.

Our hero feared he had gone too far, and tried to turn the subject
off.

The smooth mill-head was alive with rising trout.

'What a huge fish leapt then!' said Lancelot carelessly; 'and close
to the bridge, too!'

Honoria looked round, and uttered a piercing scream.

'Oh, my dog! my dog! Mops is in the river! That horrid gazelle has
butted him in, and he'll be drowned!'