And mighty Westarwan, noting the rosy radiance in the east, turned his proud eyes towards it; and, lo! the perfection of her beauty smote upon his senses with a sharp, wistful wonder that such loveliness could be–that such worthiness could exist in the world which he despised. The setting sun sank lower, reflecting a ruddier glow on Gwashbrari’s face; it seemed as if she blushed beneath the great King’s gaze. A mighty longing filled his soul, bursting from his lips in one passionate cry–‘O Gwashbrari! kiss me, or I die!