I was very
happy, as usual; but somehow my thoughts went roaming off into
the yellow haze as if the landscape had been my life, and I
were trying to pick out points of light here and there, and
sporting on the gay surface. I danced my dances over again in
the flow of the river; heard soft words of kindness or
admiration in the song of the birds; wandered away in mazes of
speculative fancy among the thickets of tree stems and under-
brush. The sweet wonderful note of a wood thrush, somewhere
far out of sight, assured me, what everything conspired to
assure me, that I was certainly in fairyland, not on the
common earth. But I could not somehow get on with my Bible.
Again and again I began to read; then a bird or a bough or a
ripple would catch my attention, and straightway I was off on
a flight of fancy or memory, dancing over again my dances with
Mr. Thorold, dwelling upon the impression of his figure and
dress, and the fascination of his brilliant, changing hazel
eyes; or recalling Captain Vaux's or somebody else's insipid
words and looks, or Faustina St.
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