There was a general and pleased murmur of assent. Lord Airlie muttered to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German sentiment—at their expense.
Still it was very pleasant. There was a gentle ripple on the deep lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed with a faint, musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy branches rustled in the wind; the birds sang in the trees.
Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not a word of the beautiful story was lost.
Beatrice listened like one in a dream. Her proud, bright face softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad. Gaspar read on—of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young knight and his love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and the cottage where Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and then of proud, beautiful Bertha.
The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like an accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos. Then Gaspar came to Bertha's love for the knight—their journey on the river to the huge hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's soft fingers, while the knight's love grew cold.
Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read on of sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's proud triumph, her marriage with the knight, and the last, most beautiful scene of all—Undine rising from the unsealed fountain and going to claim her love.
"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I did not know there was such a story in the world. That is indeed a creation of genius. I shall never forget Undine."
Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden hair of her sister. Lionel Dacre's glance followed hers.
"I know what you are thinking of," he said—"Miss Lillian is a perfect Undine. I can fancy her, with clasped hands and sad eyes, standing between the knight and Bertha, or rising with shadowy robes from the open fountain."
"It is a beautiful creation," said Beatrice, gently. "Lillian would be an ideal Undine—she is just as gentle, as fair, as true. I am like Bertha, I suppose; at least I know I prefer my own way and my own will."