A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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A FAERIE ROMANCE.                        73
sprang away several paces, always keeping her face full towards me, and then stood looking at me, slightly stooping, in the attitude of one who fears some half-seen enemy. It was too dark to discern the expression of her face. Then she would return and walk close beside me again, as if nothing had happened. I thought this strange ; but, besides that I had almost, as I said before, given up the attempt to account for appearances in fairy land, I judged that it would be very unfair to expect from one who had slept so long and had been so suddenly awakened, a behaviour correspondent to what I might unreflect­ingly look for. I knew not what she might have been dreaming about. Besides, it was possible that, while her words were free, her sense of touch might be exquisitely delicate.
At length, after walking a long way in the wroods, we arrived at another thicket, through the inter-texture of which was glimmering a pale rosy light.
" Push aside the branches," she said, " and make room for us to enter."
I did as she told me.
n Go in," she said; " I will follow you."
I did as she desired, and found myself in a little cave, not very unlike the marble cave. It was fes-
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