"I should not have spoken!" he said--"And yet, why not! You were my
first friend!--you found me working in the fields, a peasant lad,
untrained and sullen, burning up my soul with passionate thoughts
which, but for you, might never have blossomed into action,--you
rescued me--you made me all I am! So why should I not confess to you
at once that there is a woman I love!--yes, love with all my soul,
though I have seen her but once!--and she is too far off, too fair
and great for me: she does not know I love her--but I heard she had
been murdered--that she was dead--"
"Angela Sovrani!" cried Aubrey.
Cyrillon bent his head as a devotee might at the shrine of a saint.
"Yes--Angela Sovrani!"
Aubrey looked at his handsome face glowing with enthusiasm, and saw
the passion, the tenderness, the devotion of a life flashing in his
fine eyes.
"Love at first sight!" he said with a smile--"I believe it is the
only true fire! A glance ought to be enough to express the
recognition of one soul to its mate. Well! Angela Sovrani is a woman
among ten thousand--the love of her alone is sufficient to make a
man better and nobler in every way--and if you can win her--"
"Ah, that is impossible! She is already affianced--"
Aubrey took his arm.
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