She then started violently, so agitated that the colour faded at once from her countenance, leaving it white as in a swoon, then as suddenly returning, flushed her neck and face, from the emerald shoulder clasps to the silver snood, with a pink deeper than that of her robe.

Now, said she, in the heart of the woods The sweet south-winds assert their power, And blow apart the snowy snoods Of trilliums in their thrice-green bower.