Such a violet was sweet Perdita, trembling to entrust herself to the very air, cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences; and repaying with a thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her lonely bypath. Idris was as the star, set in single splendour in the dim anadem of balmy evening; ready to enlighten and delight the subject world, shielded herself from every taint by her unimagined distance from all that was not like herself akin to heaven.

I found this vision of beauty in Perdita’s alcove, in earnest conversation with its inmate. When my sister saw me, she rose, and taking my hand, said, “He is here, even at our wish; this is Lionel, my brother.” Idris arose also, and bent on me her eyes of celestial blue, and with grace peculiar said⁠—“You hardly need an introduction; we have a picture, highly valued by my father, which declares at once your name. Verney, you will acknowledge this tie, and as my brother’s friend, I feel that I may trust you.”