...all at once before him again was the tiny stream and lifting his eyes he saw the far half of the loch, Loch Braighe na h'Aibhne, the water-head.
A deep humour flooded his sight and as he stood still, and his tongue came out searching his lips. His expression was half shy as at the unexpected sight of a loved woman. Then he went on, looking at the streamlet, until presently its water grew quiet, seeming to flow neither way; and when he came to the loch he saw that its shores were not of dove-grey sand but of pure ground quartz, paler than any woman's face in any old poet's dream.