But I could see into those divine orbs, and knew that she was
not looking at any particular object. All the ever-varying
expressions--inquisitive, petulant, troubled, shy, frolicsome had now
vanished from the still face, and the look was inward and full of a
strange, exquisite light, as if some new happiness or hope had touched
her spirit.

Sinking my voice to a whisper, I said: "Tell me what you have seen in my
eyes, Rima?"

She murmured in reply something melodious and inarticulate, then glanced
at my face in a questioning way; but only for a moment, then her sweet
eyes were again veiled under those drooping lashes.

"Listen, Rima," I said. "Was that a humming-bird we saw a little while
ago? You are like that, now dark, a shadow in the shadow, seen for
an instant, and then--gone, oh, little thing! And now in the sunshine
standing still, how beautiful!--a thousand times more beautiful than
the humming-bird. Listen, Rima, you are like all beautiful things in the
wood--flower, and bird, and butterfly, and green leaf, and frond, and
little silky-haired monkey high up in the trees. When I look at you I
see them all--all and more, a thousand times, for I see Rima herself.
And when I listen to Rima's voice, talking in a language I cannot
understand, I hear the wind whispering in the leaves, the gurgling
running water, the bee among the flowers, the organ-bird singing far,
far away in the shadows of the trees. I hear them all, and more, for
I hear Rima. Do you understand me now? Is it I speaking to you--have I
answered you--have I come to you?"

She glanced at me again, her lips trembling, her eyes now clouded with
some secret trouble. "Yes," she replied in a whisper, and then: "No, it
is not you," and after a moment, doubtfully: "Is it you?"

But she did not wait to be answered: in a moment she was gone round the
more; nor would she return again for all my calling.

CHAPTER IX

That afternoon with Rima in the forest under the mora tree had proved so
delightful that I was eager for more rambles and talks with her, but the
variable little witch had a great surprise in store for me. All her wild
natural gaiety had unaccountably gone out of her: when I walked in
the shade she was there, but no longer as the blithe, fantastic being,
bright as an angel, innocent and affectionate as a child, tricksy as a
monkey, that had played at hide-and-seek with me. She was now my shy,
silent attendant, only occasionally visible, a