They were looking straight
at me, those beloved eyes--they were sparkling with childish
happiness as they had sparkled through the vapours of the pool when
she walked towards me that morning on the brink of Knockers' Llyn.
Starting up and throwing up my arms, I cried, 'My darling!' The
vision vanished. Then turning round, I looked at Sinfi. She seemed
listening to a voice I could not hear--her face was pale with
emotion. I could hear her breath coming and going heavily; her bosom
rose and fell, and the necklace of coral and gold coins around her
throat trembled like a shuddering snake while she murmured, 'My
dukkeripen! Yes, mammy, I've gone ag'in you and broke my promise,
and this is the very Gorgio as you meant.'
'Call the vision back,' I said; 'play the air again, dear Sinfi.'
She sprang in front of me, and seizing one of my wrists, she gazed in
my face, and said, 'Yes, it's "dear Sinfi"! You wants dear Sinfi to
fiddle the Gorgie's livin' mullo back to you.'
I looked into the dark eyes, lately so kind. I did not know them.
They were dilated and grown red-brown in hue, like the scorched
colour of a North African lion's mane, and along the eyelashes a
phosphorescent light seemed to play.
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