‘EUNICE.
‘Whoso for hours or lengthy days
Shall catch her aspect’s changeful rays,
Then turn away, can none recall
Beyond a galaxy of all
In hazy portraiture;
Lit by the light of azure eyes
Like summer days by summer skies:
Her sweet transitions seem to be
A kind of pictured melody,
And not a set contour.
‘AE. M.’
A strange expression had overspread Cytherea’s countenance. It rapidly increased to the most death-like anguish. She flung down the paper, seized Owen’s hand tremblingly, and covered her face.
‘Cytherea! What is it, for Heaven’s sake?’
‘Owen—suppose—O, you don’t know what I think.’
‘What?’
‘“The light of azure eyes,”’ she repeated with ashy lips.
‘Well, “the light of azure eyes”?’ he said, astounded at her manner.
‘Mrs. Morris said in her letter to me that her eyes are black!’
‘H’m. Mrs. Morris must have made a mistake—nothing likelier.’
‘She didn’t.’