And I remember what I read.

I could"-- A smile trembled upon her lips, and her eyes grew brighter.

Fired by the desire that he should praise her learning, and in her very innocence bold as a Wortley or a Howe, she began to repeat the lines which he had been reading beneath the cherry-tree:-- "'When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll'"-- The rhythm of the words, the passion of the thought, the pleased surprise that she thought she read in his face, the gesture of his hand, all spurred her on from line to line, sentence to sentence.

And now she was not herself, but that other woman, and she was giving voice to all her passion, all her woe.

The room became a convent cell; her ragged dress the penitent's trailing black.