those wan hands to contain the violence of the frenzy that possessed her! the pale, hapless face rigid above the torment in her bosom! She had prayed to be loved like other girls, and her readiness to give her heart in return had made her a by-word in the house. She went to the window and leaned out on the casement, looking towards Fallowfield over the downs, weeping bitterly, with a hard shut mouth. One brilliant star hung above the ridge, and danced on her tears.
“Will he forgive me?” she murmured. “Oh, my God! I wish we were dead together!”
Her weeping ceased, and she closed the window, and undressed as far away from the mirror as she could get, but its force was too much for her, and drew her to it. Some undefined hope had sprung in her suddenly. With nervous slow steps she approached the glass, and first brushing back the masses of black hair from her brow, looked as for some new revelation. Long and anxiously she perused her features: the wide bony forehead; the eyes deep-set and rounded with the scarlet of recent tears, the thin nose—sharp as the dead; the weak irritable mouth and sunken cheeks. She gazed like a spirit disconnected with what she saw. Presently a sort of forlorn negative was indicated by the motion of her head.
“I can pardon him,” she said, and sighed. “How could he love such a face!”
I doubt if she really thought so, seeing that she did not pardon him.
MASTER OLAF. (From the German.)
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Master Olaf, the smith of Heligoland,
At midnight layeth his hammer by;
Along the sea-shore the tempest howls,
When a knock at the door comes heavily.
"Come out, come out, and shoe me my horse!
I must yet far, and the day is at hand!”
Master Olaf opens the door, and sees
A stately Ritter before him stand.
Black is his mail shirt, helm, and shield,
A broad sword hangeth upon his thigh,
His black horse tosses his mane so wild,
And paws the ground impatiently.
"Whence so late! Whither so fast?”
“I yesterday lighted in Nordernie;
My steed is swift, the night is clear,
Ere sunrise I must in Norway be.”
"Haddest thou wings, that might I believe.”
“My horse with the wind right well hath raced,
Yet already a star pales here and there,
So the iron bring hither, and make thou haste.”
Master Olaf taketh the shoe in hand,
It is too small, but it spread and spread:
And as it grew to the edge of the hoof,
There seizèd the master fear and dread.
