'Blue eyes with black eyelashes are
awfully fine; you don't see 'em in Egypt. But I suppose that's the
type of something too. Types always floor me, don't you know?'
'But the scene is no longer Egypt, my lord; it is Corinth,' replied
Wilderspin.
During this dialogue I stood motionless before the predella: I could
not stir; my feet seemed fixed in the floor by what can only be
described as a wild passion of expectation. As I stood there a
marvellous change appeared to be coming over the veiled figure of the
predella. The veil seemed to be growing more and more filmy--more and
more like the 'steam' to which Sleaford had compared it, till at last
it resolved itself into a veil of mist--into the rainbow-tinted
vapours of a gorgeous mountain sunrise--and looking straight at me
were two blue eyes sparkling with childish happiness and childish
greeting, through flushed mists across a pool on Snowdon.
That she was found at last my heart knew, though my brain was dazed.
That in the next room, within a few yards of me, my mother and
Sleaford and Wilderspin were looking at the picture of Winifred's
face unclouded by the veil, my heart knew as clearly as though my
eyes were gazing at it, and yet I could not stir.
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