Meantime this much is certain, that she was drawing Hugh closer and closer to her side; that a soothing dream of delight had begun to steal over his spirit, soon to make it toss in feverous unrest —­ as the first effects of some poisons are like a dawn of tenfold strength.  The mountain wind blew from her to him, sometimes sweeping her garments about him, and bathing him in their faint sweet odours —­ odours which somehow seemed to belong to her whom they had only last visited; sometimes, so kindly strong did it blow, compelling her, or at least giving her excuse enough, to leave his hand and cling closely to his arm.  A fresh spring began to burst from the very bosom of what had seemed before a perfect summer.  A spring to summer!  What would the following summer be?  Ah! and what the autumn?  And what the winter?  For if the summer be tenfold summer, then must the winter be tenfold winter.

But though knowledge is good for man, foreknowledge is not so good.

And, though Love be good, a tempest of it in the brain will not ripen the fruits like a soft steady wind, or waft the ships home to their desired haven.

Perhaps, what enslaved Hugh most, was the feeling that the damsel stooped to him, without knowing that she stooped.  She seemed to him in every way above him.  She knew so many things of which he was ignorant; could say such lovely things; could, he did not doubt, write lovely verses; could sing like an angel; (though Scotch songs are not of essentially angelic strain, nor Italian songs either, in general; and they were all that she could do); was mistress of a great rich wonderful house, with a history; and, more than all, was, or appeared to him to be —­ a beautiful woman.  It was true that his family was as good as hers; but he had disowned his family —­ so his pride declared; and the same pride made him despise his present position, and look upon a tutor’s employment as —­ as —­ well, as other people look upon it; as a rather contemptible one in fact, especially for a young, powerful, six-foot fellow.

The influence of Euphrasia was not of the best upon him from the first; for it had greatly increased this feeling about his occupation.  It could not affect his feelings towards Harry; so the boy did not suffer as yet.  But it set him upon a very unprofitable kind of castle-building:  he would be a soldier like his father; he would leave Arnstead, to revisit it with a sword by his side, and a Sir before his name.  Sir Hugh Sutherland would be somebody even in the eyes of the master of Arnstead.  Yes, a six-foot fellow, though he may be sensible in the main, is not, therefore, free from small vanities, especially if he be in love.  But how leave Euphra?

Again I outrun my story.

CHAPTER X.

Italian.

Per me si va nella citta dolente.

DANTE