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With but one affection not poisoned by a sense of obligation and condescension, and that a sentiment in which her intellect had little share, a gentle, protective, household love, which quickened no daring fancy, inspired no dream of freedom or power, Zelma's mind was driven in upon itself, and out of the seclusion and triteness of her life fashioned a fairy world of romance and beauty.
Bury personated the imperial Tartar, a noble rôle, which so well became him, costumes and all, and brought him so much applause, that Zelma's heart was effectually softened, and she even felt a regretful pride in having received and rejected the homage of a man of such parts.
In the deepening, misty twilight, there was something awful in the spot. It was easy to fancy unquiet spectres lurking in its gloomy shadows, waiting for the night Yet Zelma's heart yearned toward it, and she murmured softly, as she turned away, "Wait for me, love!" The play, on this night, was "The Fair Penitent." In the character of Calista Mrs.
Adonis, hastening to the hunt, His heavenly mistress shuns, The mountain boars before him flee, And, 'Die, the motto runs." 'Twas thus the Moor Azarco spoke, Just as the war begun, To stout Almoralife Of Baza, Zelma's son. Almoralife, brave and wise, Full many a minstrel sings, A knight who in Granada Was counted with its kings.
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