“Take care, Zabra;” said the young merchant, with a smile. “An ancient poet has said that music is the food of love. The harmony of sweet sounds, breathed around two such hearts as yours and Lilya’s, will be sure to put them in unison. If you go on in this way, existing in a state of such intimate communion, it will be utterly impossible for either of you to resist the soft influence of the tender passion, and you have both of you arrived at a time of life when the disposition is peculiarly susceptible to its impressions.”
“There is no fear of such feelings being created, I assure you;” replied Zabra.
“It seems to me very probable,” observed Oriel; “your being so much together is sufficient to produce such an effect. Besides, she is so very pretty. What a depth of tenderness there exists in the soft blue of her beautiful eyes! and her smile is positively exquisite. The rich bloom of her complexion reminds me of some delicious fruit, it is so warm, and soft, and tempting; and then the expression,—so innocent, so artless, and so bashful, it is absolutely enchanting. I must not forget her graceful figure, it is worthy of the highest eulogium for being so delicately rounded. I am glad she has not thrown aside her dress of skins and feathers, for, in my opinion, its simplicity and picturesqueness would put fashion out of countenance. I never behold her, whenever she does venture into my presence, but I imagine her to be the Psyche of the heathen mythology, or some other amiable character in that system of dreams:—the object of devotion to the immortal youth, or the rosy cup-bearer to the gods. I assure you, I admire her very much.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Zabra, who had listened to these praises of Lilya in evident uneasiness.
“Yes, she has interested me very deeply;” replied Oriel. “I am charmed at the gentle being who has been so unexpectedly thrown on my protection. I feel delighted at being able to gratify her unambitious wishes; and when she comes shrinking into my presence, like a delicate flower before the breeze, nothing pleases me so much as endeavouring to assure her of her safety. And then the simple creature is so grateful, and thanks me with such looks, that there is no resisting them.”
Zabra’s eyes gleamed restlessly, his lips became pale, and his cheeks bloodless.
“I wish I could see her more frequently, and she would be somewhat less reserved;” continued his patron. “It is so difficult to get her to converse; yet her voice is so subdued and melodious that it is a pleasure to hear her. It is seldom any thing beyond a murmur. She never attempts to raise her voice into a more audible sound. She seems as if she was afraid of hearing herself speak. After having been used to the affectations and hypocrisies of female society, the artlessness of Lilya’s conduct and the purity of her nature becomes exceedingly refreshing: I certainly do admire her very much.”
Zabra, as if unable to conceal the emotions that were evidently producing a most powerful effect upon him, with a look of indescribable anguish hastily left the cabin.
“How strange!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, astonished at the sudden departure of his young friend. “He must love her. I am certain from his appearance while I was speaking in her praise, that he loves her, and is jealous of the admiration I have expressed. How very strange!”