CHAPTER 3.IX.
Dafne: Ma, chi lung' e d'Amor?
Tirsi: Chi teme e fugge.
Dafne: E che giova fuggir da lui ch' ha l' ali?
Tirsi: AMOR NASCENTE HA CORTE L' ALI! "Aminta," At.ii.Sc.

ii.
(Dafne: But, who is far from Love?
Tirsi: He who fears and flies.
Dafne: What use to flee from one who has wings?
Tirsi: The wings of Love, while he yet grows, are short.) When Glyndon found himself without Viola's house, Mervale, still loitering at the door, seized his arm.

Glyndon shook him off abruptly.
"Thou and thy counsels," said he, bitterly, "have made me a coward and a wretch.

But I will go home,--I will write to her.

I will pour out my whole soul; she will forgive me yet." Mervale, who was a man of imperturbable temper, arranged his ruffles, which his friend's angry gesture had a little discomposed, and not till Glyndon had exhausted himself awhile by passionate exclamations and reproaches, did the experienced angler begin to tighten the line.