the original melody among the clashing cords that concealed it; but,
let it be hidden as it might, one felt that it would resolve itself
eventually, through many a jarring modulation and startling cadence,
perhaps, back to the perfect key.

I saw her first at a garden party. She scarcely noticed me when we were
introduced. There were great masses of white cloud drifting up over the
blue above the garden, and she was wholly occupied with them when she
could watch them without rudeness to those about her; and even when she
was obliged to look away, I could see that she was still thinking of
the sky. "Do you live much in cloudland?" I asked, and felt for a
moment I had said a silly thing; but she turned to me quickly, and
looked at me for the first time as if she saw me--and when I say she
looked at me, I mean something more than an ordinary look, for Ideala's
eyes were a wonder, affecting you as a poem does which has power to
exalt.

"Ah, you feel it too," she said. "Are they not beautiful? Will you sit
beside me here? You can see the river as well--down there, beneath the
trees."

I thought she would have talked after that, but she did not. When I
spoke to her once or twice she answered absently; and presently she
forgot me altogether, and began to sing to herself softly:

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver;
No more by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever.