ABSTRACT
A day now scarcely elapsed that the fair Ida was not visited by Angelo. Unconsciously he had abandoned all thought of hastening his departure, and felt himself gradually and irresistibly attracted towards this newly discovered magnet. Still, however, the fair one was only Ida to him, still her manners were the same – frank, and graceful, and delicately modest; all around her still wore the self same air, and still impenetrable to the foot of other man than himself, appeared her fair abode. Inclined to suspect, yet unable to ascertain; involuntarily admiring, yet afraid to trust, Angelo revolved in vain in his mind some means of deciding at once the real character of the mysterious recluse; he could not deny but there shone in all her actions a beautiful simplicity – yet was it real? or was it not rather merely assumed?
