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He smiled at her with a sense of inquisition, with an air that seemed to say, "I have lifted the veil of this woman's heart; I am the master of the situation." She did not answer to the obvious meaning of his words, but said: "Thee has done little else but change, so far as eye can see. Thee and thy family were once of Quaker faith, but thee is a High Churchman now.

Matho had been greeted with great shouting when he had come back bearing the veil of the goddess; even those who were not of the Chanaanitish religion were made by their vague enthusiasm to feel the arrival of a genius.

Yet, had he looked not down but up, he would have lifted at least a fringe of the Isian veil. The sun, taken as a symbol only, the symbol of life, death, and resurrection phases which its rising, setting, and return suggest was the deity, the one really existing god.

"You will know soon enough," she said gravely, evading his hand. "You must not go further now. Good-night." She had stopped at the corner of the wall. He again held out his hand. Her little fingers slid coldly between his. "Good-night, Miss Rivers." "Stop!" she said suddenly, withdrawing her veil and lifting her clear eyes to his in the moonlight. "You must not say THAT it isn't the truth.

"Preserve yourself for the unfortunate Trenck; protect his friends by your silence, and we may still hope to form a better and happier plan of escape." "Be it so," said the princess with a sigh. "I will bring him this additional sacrifice. I will be silent. God knows that I would willingly lay down my life for him. I would find this easier than to veil my love in cowardly silence.

The morning-glory vines on the lattice reached up and out; brushed by the wind, they made a sheltering veil. He drew her closer. He lifted her face to his by a smoothing caress of her hair. He kissed her. "My dearest! My splendid girl!" He shook his head roguishly at her. "So wild, she was, with the bit in her teeth. And now she eats right out of my hand."

I handed the paper to her, without a word on my side. Without a word on hers, she looked where I pointed, and read the news of Michael Vanstone's death. The paper dropped out of her hand, and she suddenly pulled down her veil. I caught one glance at her face before she hid it from me. The effect on my mind was startling in the extreme.

Even the officiating priest was only a harmless, humble-looking old man, who went through his duties resignedly, and felt visible rheumatic difficulties every time he bent his knees. The one remarkable person, the Countess herself, only raised her veil at the beginning of the ceremony, and presented nothing in her plain dress that was worth a second look.

He had taught Russia to read; had raised the veil of ignorance that hung between his people and the rest of civilization. They had read of the Bulgarian atrocities, and there was no holding them. To rule autocratically what was then the vastest empire in the world was in itself more than one brain could compass.

Even when obliged to approach the subject openly, it is curious to observe how, under a slight veil of impartiality, imputations are raised and calumnies accredited.