No wonder that her looks were betrayers: her whole deportment
manifested some hidden power controlling her high spirit, insomuch that
her favourite maiden was fain to abate her morning gossip; yet Isabella
was not averse to speech, though the words seemed to linger heavily on
her tongue, losing that lightness and exuberance which betokens the mind
free from care and oppression.
She had dreamed that in her own wild woods a knight accosted her: she
attempted to fly, but was withheld by some secret influence. He raised
his visor, smiling as he bent his knee in token of homage. He was a
stranger. Grasping her hand, she felt the cold hard pressure of his
gauntlet. She awoke, and sure enough there was the impression as of some
mailed hand upon her delicate fingers! While marvelling at this strange
adventure, a deep slumber again overpowered her, when a graceful
cavalier, unarmed, was at her side. He raised her hand to his lips, and
her whole soul responded to the touch. He was about to speak, when her
father suddenly appeared, with a dark and forbidding aspect. He began to
chide, and the stranger, with a glance she could not erase from her
recollection, disappeared.
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