I wish she would reveal herself; I could lose my heart to her, I believe--if, indeed, I could be in love with anything, you know.

Look at the river--is not it feminine?
it's sad and it's merry, musical and sparkling--and oh, so deep! Always changing, yet still the same.

'Twill show you the trees, or the clouds, or yourself, or the stars; and it's so clear and so dark, and so sunny, and--so cold.

It tells everything, and yet nothing.

It's so pure, and so playful, and so tuneful, and so coy, yet so mysterious and _fatal_.
I sometimes think, Miss Lilias, I've seen this river spirit; and she's like--very like you!' And so he went on; and she was more silent and more a listener than usual.