It was at the latter end of the month of September when the nights have become chill.

But the weather was serene, and as I walked on I fell into no unpleasing reveries.

I thought of Woodville with gratitude and kindness and did not, I know not why, regret his departure with any bitterness.

It seemed that after one great shock all other change was trivial to me; and I walked on wondering when the time would come when we should all four, my dearest father restored to me, meet in some sweet Paradise[.] I pictured to myself a lovely river such as that on whose banks Dante describes Mathilda gathering flowers, which ever flows -- -- bruna, bruna, Sotto l'ombra perpetua, che mai Raggiar non lascia sole ivi, ne Luna.[76] And then I repeated to myself all that lovely passage that relates the entrance of Dante into the terrestrial Paradise; and thought it would be sweet when I wandered on those lovely banks to see the car of light descend with my long lost parent to be restored to me.

As I waited there in expectation of that moment, I thought how, of the lovely flowers that grew there, I would wind myself a chaplet and crown myself for joy: I would sing _sul margine d'un rio_,[77] my father's favourite song, and that my voice gliding through the windless air would announce to him in whatever bower he sat expecting the moment of our union, that his daughter was come.