[Footnote:  Morning of the golden cloud, Eryrl was thy castle, King of the wild and tame, Glory of the spirits of air!]

[Eryri—­the Place of Eagles, i.e.  Snowdon.]

Intense curiosity now made me suddenly forget my troubles.  I scrambled back through the trees not tar from that spot and looked around.  There, sitting upon a grassy grave, beneath one of the windows of the church, was a little girl, somewhat younger than myself apparently.  With her head bent back she was gazing up at the sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny cloud that hovered like a golden feather over her head.  The sun, which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair (for she was bare-headed) gave it a metallic lustre, and it was difficult to say what was the colour, dark bronze or black.  So completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her strange song or incantation seemed addressed, that she did not observe me when I rose and went towards her.  Over her head, high up in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gauzy cloud was singing, as if in rivalry.  As I slowly approached the child, I could see by her forehead (which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of pearl), and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly lovely, and I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close to her, and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my face.  She did not, however, seem to hear me coming along the grass (so intent was she with her singing) until I was close to her, and throwing my shadow over her.  Then she suddenly lowered her head and looked at me in surprise.  I stood transfixed at her astonishing beauty.  No other picture has ever taken such possession of me.  In its every detail it lives before me now.  Her eyes (which at one moment seemed blue grey, at another violet) were shaded by long black lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched in hue her eyebrows, and the tresses that were tossed about her tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight.

All this picture I did not take in at once; for at first I could see nothing but those quivering, glittering, changeful eyes turned up into my face.  Gradually the other features (especially the sensitive full-lipped mouth) grew upon me as I stood silently gazing.  Here seemed to me a more perfect beauty than had ever come to me in my loveliest dreams of beauty beneath the sea.  Yet it was not her beauty perhaps, so much as the look she gave me, that fascinated me, melted me.

As she gazed in my face there came over hers a look of pleased surprise, and then, as her eyes passed rapidly down my limbs and up again, her face was not overshadowed with the look of disappointment which I had waited for—­yes, waited for, like a pinioned criminal for the executioner’s uplifted knife; but the smile of pleasure was still playing about the little mouth, while the tender young eyes were moistening rapidly with the dews of a kind of pity that was new to me, a pity that did not blister the pride of the lonely wounded sea-gull, but soothed, healed, and blessed.