Read it through once

We left Elfonzo standing there, amazed. At what, we do not know. Not at the girl’s speech. No; we ourselves should have been amazed at it, of course, for none of us has ever heard anything resembling it: but Elfonzo was used to speeches made up of noise and vacancy, and could listen to them with undaunted mind like the ‘topmost topaz of an ancient tower’; he was used to making them himself; he—but let it go, it cannot be guessed out; we shall never know what it was that astonished him. He stood there awhile; then he said, ‘Alas! am I now Grief’s disappointed son at last.’ He did not stop to examine his mind, and to try to find out what he probably meant by that, because, for one reason, ‘a mixture of ambition and greatness of soul moved upon his young heart,’ and started him for the village. He resumed his bench in school, ‘and reasonably progressed in his education.’ His heart was heavy, but he went into society, and sought surcease of sorrow in its light distractions. He made himself popular with his violin, ‘which seemed to have a thousand chords—more symphonious than the Muses of Apollo, and more enchanting than the ghost of the Hills.’ This is obscure, but let it go.