
cared whither I was going, until a low, soft, well-remembered voice spoke, at a
little distance.
    »There is Mr. Coverdale!«
    »Miles Coverdale!« said another voice - and its tones were very stern - »Let
him come forward, then!«
    »Yes, Mr. Coverdale,« cried a woman's voice - clear and melodious, but, just
then, with something unnatural in its chord - »You are welcome! But you come
half-an-hour too late, and have missed a scene which you would have enjoyed!«
    I looked up, and found myself nigh Eliot's pulpit, at the base of which sat
Hollingsworth, with Priscilla at his feet, and Zenobia standing before them.
 

                            XXV. The Three Together

Hollingsworth was in his ordinary working-dress. Priscilla wore a pretty and
simple gown, with a kerchief about her neck, and a calash, which she had flung
back from her head, leaving it suspended by the strings. But Zenobia (whose part
among the masquers, as may be supposed, was no inferior one) appeared in a
costume of fanciful magnificence, with her jewelled flower as the central
ornament of what resembled a leafy crown, or coronet. She represented the
Oriental princess, by whose name we were accustomed to know her. Her attitude
was free and noble, yet, if a queen's, it was not that of a queen triumphant,
but dethroned, on trial for her life, or perchance condemned, already. The
spirit of the conflict seemed, nevertheless, to be alive in her. Her eyes were
on fire; her cheeks had each a crimson spot, so exceedingly vivid, and marked
with so definite an outline, that I at first doubted whether it were not
artificial. In a very brief space, however, this idea was shamed by the paleness
that ensued, as the blood sank suddenly away. Zenobia now looked like marble.
    One always feels the fact, in an instant, when he has intruded on those who
love, or those who hate, at some acme of their passion that puts them into a
sphere of their own, where no other spirit can pretend to stand on equal ground
with them. I was confused - affected even with a species of terror - and wished
myself away. The intentness of their feelings gave them the exclusive property
of the soil and atmosphere, and left me no right to be or breathe there.
    »Hollingsworth - Zenobia - I have just returned to Blithedale,« said I, »and
had no thought of
