ed at the stile; she liked the old pier; its partner next the
river was in fragments, and the ruin and the survivor had both been
clothed by good Mrs. Strafford--who drew a little, and cultivated the
picturesque--with the roses I have mentioned, besides woodbine and ivy.
She had old Miss Wardle's letter in her hand, full, of course, of
shocking anecdotes about lunatics, and the sufferings of Fleet
prisoners, and all the statistics, and enquiries, and dry little
commissions, with which that worthy lady's correspondence abounded. It
was open in her hand, and rustled sharp and stiffly in the air, but it
was not inviting just then. 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. In fact, she was piqued, and did not choose to
show the least concern about his movements. 'And I've a great mind now
that I'm departing this little world,' and he glanced, it seemed to her,
regretfully towards the village, 'to put you down, Miss Lily, if you
will allow it, in my codicil for a legacy----'

She laughed a pleasant little careless laugh. How ill-natured! but, oh!
wasn't it musical.

'Then I suppose, if you were not to see me for some time, or maybe for
ever, the village folks won't break their hearts after Dick Devereux?'

And the gipsy captain smiled, and his eyes threw a soft violet shadow
down upon her; and there was that in his tone which for a momen