It is curious that the sound of a weir is
never uniform, but is perpetually changing in the ear even of a
person who stands close by it. One of the arches of the bridge was
dry, and Clara went down into it, stood at the edge and watched that
wonderful sight--the plunge of a smooth, pure stream into the great
cup which it has hollowed out for itself. Down it went, with a
dancing, foamy fringe playing round it just where it met the surface;
a dozen yards away it rose again, bubbling and exultant.
She came up from the arch and went home as the sun was setting. She
found Mrs Caffyn alone.
'I have news to tell you,' she said. 'Baruch Cohen is in love with
my sister, and she is in love with him.'
'The Lord, Miss Clara! I thought sometimes that perhaps it might be
you; but there, it's better, maybe, as it is, for--'
'For what?'
'Why, my dear, because somebody's sure to turn up who'll make you
happy, but there aren't many men like Baruch. You see what I mean,
don't you? He's always a-reading books, and, therefore, he don't
think so much of what some people would make a fuss about. Not as
anything of that kind would ever stop me, if I were a man and saw
such a woman as Miss Madge. He's really as good a creature as ever
was born, and with that child she might have found it hard to get
along, and now it will be cared for, and so will she be to the end of
their lives.
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