From that point it was always a pretty look
down or up the river; and her eyes followed with the flow of its waters
towards Inchicore. She loved the river; and in her thoughts she wondered
why she loved it--so cold, so unimpressible--that went shining and
rejoicing away into the sea. And just at that moment she heard a sweet
tenor, with a gaiety somehow pathetic, sing not far away the words she
remembered--
'And she smiled upon the stream,
Like one that smiles at folly,
A dreamer on a dream.'
Devereux was coming--it was his playful salutation. Her large eyes
dropped to the ground with the matchless blush of youth. She was
strangely glad, but vexed at having changed colour; but when he came up
with her, in the deep shadow thrown by the old pier, with its thick
festooneries, he could not tell, he only knew she looked beautiful.
'My dreams take wing, but my follies will not leave me. And you have
been ill, Miss Lilias?'
'Oh, nothing; only a little cold.'
'And I am going--I only knew last night--really going away.' He paused;
but the young lady did not feel called upon to say anything, and only
allowed him to go on.
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