"Sir, do you really mean it? Oh, if you do, pray let us go to Cecilia _now_; for perhaps there is music to hear, and oh! it is so very, _very_ long since I heard any." "Is it so dear to you that you would rather seek it than all the sunshine and all the heart of spring? Ah! too young to find that anything is better than music, and more to be desired." "Yes, sir, yes! please to take me. I won't be in the way, it will be enough to walk by you; I don't want you to talk." "But I do want to talk; I cannot keep quiet. I have a lady's tongue, and yours, I fancy, is not much shorter. We will therefore go now." "This moment, sir? Oh! I would rather go than have the festival over again." "The festival! the festival! It _is_ the festival! Is it not to-day a festival, and _every_ day in May?" He looked as he spoke so divinely happy that it is so the angels must appear in their everlasting spring. I rushed into my room and rummaged for my cap, also for a pair of new gloves; but I was not very long, though I shook so violently that it was a task to pull on those skins. Returning, I found him still at the window; he was leaning upon the bureau, not near the harpsichord, not before the organ, but gazing, child-like, into the bright blue morning. He was dressed in a summer coat, short and very loose, that hung almost in folds upon his delicate figure. The collar, falling low, revealed the throat, so white, so regal; and through the button-hole fluttered the ribbon of the Chevalier. He carried also a robe-like cloak upon his arm, lined with silk and amply tasselled. I ventured to take it from him, but he gently, and yet forcibly, drew it again to himself, saying, "It is too heavy for thee. May I not already say 'thou'?" "Oh, sir, if you will, but let me go first; it is so dark always upon the stairs." "One does not love darkness, truly; we will escape together." He took my hand, and I tried to lead him; but after all, it was he who led me step by step. I did not know the road to Cecilia, and I said so. "Oh, I suppose not; sly Aronach! But I do, and that is sufficient, is it not? Why, the color is coming back already. And I see your eyes begin to know me. I am so glad. Ah! they tell more now than they will tell some day." "Sir, you are too good, but I thank you. I like to feel well, and I feel more than well to-day; I am too glad, I think." "Never too well or glad, it is not possible. Never too bright and hopeful. Never too blissfully rejoicing. Tell me your name, if you please." "Sir, my name is nothing." "That is better than _Norval_." He laughed, as at himself. "Sir, however did you get to hear that? O!"--I quite screamed as the reminiscence shook me,--"oh, sir, did you write the 'Tone-Wreath'?" He gave me a look which seemed to drink up my soul. "I plucked a garland, but it was beyond the Grampian Hills."