outward manifestation, lost in absorbing self-devotedness and absorbing
sorrow; and every thought, feeling, and word is characterised by an
ineffable depth of calm.

Those closing lines, whose still, deep, melancholy cadence lingers upon
ear and heart as do the concluding lines of 'Paradise Lost'--

"Straining he gazed, and knew not if he gazed
On aught but blackness overhung with stars"--

tell us how Fedalma passes away from the sight, the life, and all but the
heart of Don Silva. Not thus does she pass away from our gaze. One star
overhanging the blackness, clear and calm beyond all material brightness
of earth and firmament, for us marks out her course: the star of
unwavering faith, unfaltering truth, self-devotion to the highest and
holiest that knows no change for ever.

"A man of high-wrought strain, fastidious
In his acceptance, dreading all delight
That speedy dies and turns to carrion.
. . . . . .
A nature half-transformed, with qualities
That oft bewrayed each other, elements
Not blent but struggling, breeding strange effects.
. . . . . A spirit framed
Too proudly special for obedience,
Too subtly pondering for mastery:
Born of a goddess with a mortal sire;
Heir of flesh-fettered weak divinity.
. . . A nature quiveringly poised