' And the old lady knew how good she
was to the poor, and she liked her spirit, and candour, and honour--it
was so uncommon, and somehow angelic, she thought. 'Little Lily's so
true!' she used to say; and perhaps there was there a noble chord of
sympathy between the young girl, who had no taste for battle, and the
daring Aunt Becky.
I think Devereux liked her for liking Lily--he thought it was for her
own sake. Of course, he was often unexpectedly set upon and tomahawked
by the impetuous lady; but the gay captain put on his scalp again, and
gathered his limbs together, and got up in high good humour, and shook
himself and smiled, after his dismemberment, like one of the old
soldiers of the Walhalla--and they were never the worse friends.
So, turning his back upon the fiddles and tambourine, Gipsy Devereux
sauntered down to the river-bank, and to the osiers, where the ladies
are looking down the river, and a blue bell, not half so blue as her own
deep eyes, in Lilias's fingers; and the sound of their gay talk came
mixed with the twitter and clear evening songs of the small birds. By
those same osiers, that see so many things, and tell no tales, there
will yet be a parting.
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