it; his mind was stored with lovely images and was fruitful in fancies, because in temperament, faith, and use, he was a poet; the evil vapours of fever had just lifted from his brain, and were floating away, in the light of the sun of life; he felt the pressure of no duty--was like a bird of the air lying under its mother’s wing, and dreaming of flight; his childhood’s most cherished dream had grown fact: there was the sylph, the oriad, the naiad of all his dreams, a living lady before his eyes--nor the less a creature of his imagination’s heart; from her, as the centre of power, had all the marvellous transformation proceeded; and the lovely strength had kissed him on the forehead! The soul of Cosmo floated in rapturous quiet, like the evening star in a rosy cloud. But I return to the earthly shore that bordered this heavenly sea. The old-fashioned, out-swelling grate, loose and awry in its setting, had a keen little fire burning in it, of which, summer as it was, the mustiness of the atmosphere, and the damp of the walls, more than merely admitted. The hole in the floor had vanished under a richly faded Turkey carpet; and a luxurious sofa, in blue damask, faded almost to yellow, stood before the fire, to receive him the moment he should cease to be a chrysalis. And there in an easy chair by the corner of the hearth, wonder of all loveliest wonders, sat the fairy-godmother herself, as if she had but just waved her wand, and everything had come to her will!--the fact being, however, that the poor fairy was not a little tired in legs and arms and feet and hands and head, and preferred contemplating what she had already done, to doing anything more for the immediate present. Cosmo lay watching her. He dared not move a hand, lest she should move; for, though it might be to rise and come to him, would it not be to change what he saw?--and what he saw was so much enough, that he would see it forever, and desired nothing else. She turned her eyes, and seeing the large orbs of the youth fixed upon her, smiled as she had not smiled before, for a great weight was off her heart now that the room gave him a little welcome. True, it was after all but a hypocrite of a room,--a hypocrite, however, whose meaning was better than its looks! He put out his hand, and she rose and came and laid hers in it. Suddenly he let it go. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I don’t know when my hands were washed! The last I remember is digging in the garden. I wish I might wash my face and hands!” “You mustn’t think of it! you can’t sit up yet,” said Lady Joan. “But never mind: some people are always clean. You should see my brother’s hands sometimes! I will, if you like, bring you a towel with a wet corner. I dare say that will do you good.”