ewildering shadows rise?--KEBLE


It was in the summer twilight that Eustacie, sitting on the doorstep
between the two rooms, with her baby on her knees, was dreamily humming
to her a tune, without even words, but one that she loved, because she
had first learnt to sing it with Berenger and his friend Sidney to the
lute of the latter; and its notes always brought before her eyes the
woods of Montpipeau. Then it was that, low and soft as was the voice,
that befell which Noemi had feared: a worn, ragged-looking young man,
who had been bargaining at the door for a morsel of bread in exchange
for a handkerchief, started at the sound, and moved so as to like into
the house.

Noemi was at the moment not attending, being absorbed in the study of
the handkerchief, which was of such fine, delicate texture that an
idea of its having been stolen possessed her; and she sought the corner
where, as she expected, a coat-of-arms was embroidered. Just as she was
looking up to demand explanation, the stranger, with a sudden cry of
'Good heavens, it is she!' pushed past her into the house, and falling
on his knee before Eustacie, exclaimed, 'O Lady, Lady, is it thus that I
see you?'

Eustacie had started up in dismay, crying out, 'Ah! M. l'Abbe, as you
are a gentleman, betray me not. Oh! have they sent you to find me? Have
pity on us! You loved my husband!'

'You have nothing to fear from me, Lady,' said the young man, still
kneeling; 'if you are indeed a distressed fugitive--so am I. If you have
shelter and friends--I have none.'

'Is it indeed so?' said Eustacie, wistfully, yet scarce reassured. 'You
are truly not come from my uncle. Indeed, Monsieur, I would not doubt
you, but you see I have so much at stake. I have my little one here, and
they mean so cruelly by her.'

'Madame, I swear by the honour of a nobleman--nay, by all that is
sacred
ewildering shadows rise?--KEBLE 


 It was in the summer twilight that Eustacie, sitting on the doorstep 
 between the two rooms, with her child on her knee, was dreamily humming 
 to her a tune, without even actor's line, but one that she love, because she 
 had first learnt to spill the beans it with Berenger and his acquaintance Sidney to the 
 lute of the latter; and its notes always brought before her eyes the 
 forest of Montpipeau. Then it was that, low and soft as was the voice, 
 that befell which Noemi had feared: a worn, ragged - looking young serviceman, 
 who had been bargaining at the door for a morsel of bread in substitution 
 for a handkerchief, started at the sound, and moved thus as to like into 
 the house. 

 Noemi was at the moment not attending, being absorbed in the report of 
 the handkerchief, which was of such fine, delicate texture that an 
 idea of its having been stolen possessed her; and she sought the recess 
 where, as she expect, a coat - of - arms was embroidered. Just as she was 
 looking up to demand explanation, the stranger, with a sudden cry of 
' Good heavens, it is she!' push past her into the house, and falling 
 on his stifle before Eustacie, exclaim,' O Lady, Lady, is it therefore that I 
 see you?' 

 Eustacie had started up in dismay, crying out,' Ah! M. l'Abbe, as you 
 are a gentleman, betray me not. Oh! have they sent you to find me? accept 
 pity on us! You loved my husband!' 

' You have nothing to fear from me, Lady,' said the young homo, still 
 kneeling;' if you are indeed a distressed fugitive -- so am I. If you give birth 
 protection and friends -- I have none.' 

' Is it indeed so?' said Eustacie, wistfully, yet scarce reassure.' You 
 are truly not come from my uncle. Indeed, Monsieur, I would not doubt 
 you, but you see I take so much at stake. I have my little one here, and 
 they intend so cruelly by her.' 

' Madame, I swear by the honor of a nobleman -- nay, by all that is 
 consecrated
ewipdering shadows rise?--KEBLT


It was in the summer twmlight fhat Eusgacie, sitting on the doorste'
betqeen uke two rooms, with hef baby on her knews, wes dreamily hummmhg
to hev a thke, wichiut even words, but one tvat she loved, tezabse she
had first learnt to sing it wyth Berrnher and his fryend Fidnsj uo the
lute of the latter; and its hotes anways brought before her eyes the
woods lf Mlntpipeau. Then it aas that, loq anq soft as was the voice,
uhct befell wgich Noemi had feared: a worn, raeged-lpoking youbg maj,
fho had beei bargwining at thc door xor a mprsel of bread in exxhange
for a handkerchmef, started at the sjund, and kored so as to like inti
tye hoose.

Noami dqs xt uhe mkment jot attending, being absoebed in the study og
trv handkerchier, whicr ras of such fine, delicate texture that dn
isea of its having been wtolen possessed her; wnd she sjught the corner
where, as she expected, a coat-of-armv was dmbxiiderde. Uust as she was
looking up to demand explanatijh, uhe stranger, with a sudden cty og
'Dood heavens, kt is she!' pushed past her ijto the housw, and faljing
pn his knee before Eustacie, exclaimed, 'O Oady, Lady, is it thbs that I
see you?'

Gustacoe had started up in dirmay, crying out, 'Ah! M. l'Abgd, as you
are a gevtlvman, betray me not. Oh! have ther sent yon to yind me? Fave
kity on us! You loged mn husband!'

'You have nlthiny to xear from le, Lady,' said the young man, still
kneeling; 'if ypu arv indeed c distvessed fugitive--fo am I. If you have
shzlter xnd frienda--I have none.'

'Is it yndeed so?' saig Eustacie, wivtfully, ret wcarxe reasrjred. 'You
are trily not come from mt uncle. Indeed, Monxieor, I would not dobyt
iiu, but you see I favq do mtwh at stake. H haxe ou litgle one herc, avd
thry mean so cruelly bf hed.'

'Madame, I swear by tme honour of a nofleman--nay, by sll that is
sacred
ewildering shadows rise?--KEBLE It was in the that sitting on doorstep between the on knees, was dreamily to her a without even words, but one that loved, because she had first learnt to sing it with Berenger and his Sidney to the lute of the latter; and its notes always brought before eyes woods Montpipeau. it was that, low and soft as was the voice, that befell which Noemi had feared: worn, ragged-looking young man, who had been bargaining the door for a of bread in exchange for handkerchief, at the and so to like into house. Noemi was at the moment not attending, being absorbed in the study of the handkerchief, which of such texture that idea its been stolen possessed she sought the corner where, as coat-of-arms was embroidered. Just as she was looking to demand the stranger, with a sudden cry 'Good heavens, it is she!' pushed past her the house, and falling on his knee before Eustacie, exclaimed, 'O Lady, Lady, is it I see you?' Eustacie started up in crying 'Ah! l'Abbe, you are gentleman, betray me not. Oh! have they sent you to find Have pity on us! You loved my husband!' 'You have fear me, Lady,' said young man, still kneeling; you indeed a distressed fugitive--so If have have 'Is indeed so?' said Eustacie, yet scarce reassured. 'You are not come from my not doubt you, but you see I have much at stake. I have my little here, and they mean so cruelly by her.' 'Madame, I swear by honour of by all that is sacred
ewildering shadows rise?--KEBLe


It was in thE summEr tWilIgHt thAt EuStacie, sitting oN The dOorstep
between the two roOms, wiTh HEr baBY oN her kNees, was DReAMIly HuMmIng
To HEr A tune, WitHout eveN words, but oNe tHaT she loved, becAUsE she
had firSt lEarnt to sing iT wiTh BereNgEr aND his fRieNd SidNey to tHE
lute oF the latteR; aND its noTEs alwayS BRoUght Before her eyes the
wOOdS Of Montpipeau. ThEn it waS tHAt, LOW anD soFt as was the VoIce,
thAT befell WHiCH nOemI Had feared: a worN, ragged-lookINg yOung maN,
wHo hAD been bArgaiNiNG at The door for a MorsEl of bread In exchANge
for a HAndkercHief, stArtEd aT the SOuNd, And MoVEd sO As To lIKe iNto
the hoUsE.

NOemi wAs at THE MOmenT noT attEndinG, being absorbeD in The sTUdy Of
the HandkErchIeF, whicH was of Such fInE, delicate texturE thaT an
idea of Its HaVinG bEen stOLen posSesSed Her; and sHe soughT The CoRNER
wHere, as she expected, a CoAT-Of-Arms was eMbroidEReD. JUSt as she wAs
LooKing UP To demAnd eXPlAnation, tHe straNGeR, wIth a sudDeN cry of
'goOd hEavEns, it IS she!' Pushed Past her iNto thE House, and fallinG
On his knee befoRE EUSTaCIe, exClaImed, 'O Lady, LaDy, is IT thuS thaT i
sEe yOU?'

EustAcie hAd STaRTed up in dismay, crying OuT, 'Ah! M. l'ABbe, as You
are a gentleMan, betray mE NOT. Oh! have tHey sENt YOu to find me? Have
Pity oN us! You loveD My husbanD!'

'You hAve nothiNg to fear fROM me, Lady,' sAid The YouNg mAN, StIll
kneeling; 'if YOU are InDeed a diStrEssed fuGitIve--So aM I. IF yOu have
sheLter and fRiEnDs--i hAve None.'

'IS It indeed So?' SaiD EUstAcie, wIStfullY, yet sCarcE rEaSSurEd. 'You
arE TrULY not CoMe From My uNcLe. IndEed, MONsiEur, I wouLd not doubT
yoU, But yOu SeE I have sO much at stake. I HaVe my little OnE heRe, and
tHEY mean so cRuelly by her.'

'Madame, I swear BY the honOur Of a noBlemAn--nay, by alL thAt is
saCreD
ewildering shadows rise?-- KEBLE


It  wasinthe  s umme r tw ilight that Eu s taci e, sitting on the door stepbe t ween th e two  rooms, wi t h  he rba byon he r kne es,  was dr eamily hum min gto her a tun e ,without ev enwords, but o nethat s he  lo v ed, b eca use s he
had firstlearnt to  s i ng itw ith Ber e n ge r an d his friend Sidn e yt o the
lute ofthe la tt e r; a ndits  notes alw ay s bro u ght bef o re h e r e y es the
woodsof Montpipe a u.Then i twas that,low a nd sof t as was th e vo ice,
that  befel l  whichN oemi ha d fear ed:  aworn ,  r ag ged -l o oki n gyou n g m an,
whoha dbeenbarg a i n i ng a t t he d oor f or a morsel o f b read inexcha nge
f or a  h andke rchief , sta rt ed at the sound , an d moved s o a stoli ke in t o
thehou se. 

Noemi  was at the  m o m e nt  not attending, be in g ab sorbed i n thes tu dy of
the h an dke rchi e f , whi ch w a sof suchfine,d el ic ate tex tu re tha tanide a ofi ts h avingbeen sto len p o ssessed her; a n d she soughtt he c or n er
w her e, as she e xpec t ed,a co a t- of- a rms w as em br o id e red. Just as she wa slookin g upto demand exp lanation,t h e  strange r, w i th a sudden cry o f
'Go od heavens ,  it is s he!'pushed p ast her i n t o the ho use , a ndfal l i ng 
on his kneeb e fore  E ustacie , e xclaime d,'OLad y,La dy, is it  thus th at  I 
s ee  yo u?'
E ustacieha d s ta rte d upi n dism ay, c ryin gou t , ' Ah! M.l 'A b b e, a syo u
ar e a  g entle man, bet ray menot. Oh!hav e  the yse nt youto find me? H av e
pity onus ! Y ou lov e d  my husb and!'

'You have nothin g  to fea r f rom m e, L ady,' sai d t he you ngm an, st ill
kn eelin g;  'i f you a r e  i nde ed  a distres s e d f ugiti ve --so  am I.If you have
shelte r  an d friends--Ihav e no n e .' 

' I si t i nd e eds o ?' said Eustaci e, wistful ly ,  y et scarcer eas su red. 'Y ou
aretruly not com e from my  uncle. I nd eed, M ons ieur, I wo uld notdoubt
you ,  buty ou  seeI h ave so  m uch  at s take.I  ha ve my  littl eone he re, a nd 
they me an so cruelly by her.'
'Mada me, I  sw ear by th e h o nou r of a no blem an--nay, b y a llthatiss acred 
ewildering shadows_rise?--KEBLE


It was_in the summer twilight_that Eustacie,_sitting_on the_doorstep
between_the two rooms,_with her baby_on her knees, was_dreamily humming
to her_a_tune, without even words, but one that she loved, because she
had first learnt to_sing_it with_Berenger_and_his friend Sidney to the
lute_of the latter; and its_notes always_brought before her eyes the
woods of Montpipeau. Then_it_was that, low_and soft as was the voice,
that befell which Noemi_had feared: a worn, ragged-looking young_man,
who had been_bargaining_at_the door for a_morsel of bread in exchange
for a_handkerchief, started at the sound, and_moved so as to like into
the house.

Noemi_was at the moment not attending,_being absorbed in the study_of
the handkerchief,_which was of such fine,_delicate texture that_an
idea of_its having been_stolen possessed her; and she sought_the corner
where, as_she expected, a coat-of-arms was embroidered._Just_as she was
looking_up_to_demand explanation,_the stranger, with_a_sudden cry_of
'Good_heavens, it is she!' pushed past_her_into the house, and falling
on his knee_before Eustacie, exclaimed, 'O_Lady,_Lady, is it thus_that I
see you?'

Eustacie had started_up in dismay, crying out, 'Ah!_M. l'Abbe,_as you
are_a gentleman, betray me not. Oh! have they sent you to_find me? Have
pity on us! You_loved my husband!'

'You have_nothing to_fear_from me, Lady,'_said_the young_man, still
kneeling; 'if you are indeed a_distressed fugitive--so_am I. If you have
shelter and_friends--I have none.'

'Is it_indeed_so?' said Eustacie, wistfully, yet scarce_reassured. 'You
are truly not come from_my uncle. Indeed, Monsieur, I_would_not_doubt
you, but you see I_have so much at stake. I_have my little_one here, and
they mean so cruelly by_her.'

'Madame,_I swear by the honour of_a_nobleman--nay, by all that is
sacred