But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. ‘But then again, possibly not. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. ” He made his voice very low and full, and looked closely into her face.
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