"Was it indeed so lovely? A moment before my soul had wearied of its very beauties; now a feeling of pride that they were mine stole into my thoughts. It certainly was something to be mistress of a place like that. While our visitor seemed to give himself up to enjoyment of the scene, I saw that his eyes were constantly returning to me. I had been sitting in the open air a long time, and felt that my hair and dress must be in some disorder. This idea made me anxious. I arose, and asking him to excuse me, ran up to my room to make sure that I was not altogether hideous. One glance in the great swinging mirror reassured me. No cloud was ever more pure than the muslin of my white dress; a cluster of red and white roses held back the thick ringlets of my hair, and a single half-open bud fastened the white folds on my bosom. My maid Cora had followed me out on the veranda that morning, and thus arranged the finest flowers she could gather. Had I studied at my glass an hour, nothing more becoming could have been invented. That girl is a treasure; she loves and serves me as no other creature ever did or ever will. She was my dower, my inheritance. The only possession I had in the world was this one girl, when Mr. Dennison married me. I sometimes wonder if he knows why I love and prize her so much. I heard her voice through the window. The stranger was asking her some question which she answered modestly, and was going away. I wonder if he thinks her beautiful. To me the pure olive of her complexion, which just admits of a tinge of carnation in the cheek, is wonderfully effective. She is a brunette intensified, but oh, how the poor thing hates the blood that separates her from us by that one dark shade. No wonder! no wonder!
"Why should I think of this, while looking in the glass to assure myself that I was presentable? I cannot tell, except that this unhappy girl is an object of such profound compassion with me at all times. The education which she has received, I sometimes think, renders her life more bitter than it might have been; but my father would have it so, and perhaps he was right.
"I went down to the veranda again, and found the stranger talking to Cora, who stood with her back against one of the pillars, answering his questions with downcast eyes. She moved away as I appeared, and went into the house. I saw the stranger follow her lithe movements with his eyes, and felt myself coloring with anger. Was he searching her features from admiration or curiosity? I wish it were possible to discover.
"I had been reading, and left a book on one of the little marble tables that stood in the veranda. Some richly colored embroidery lay in my work-basket close by it, and in taking it up, the volume fell.
"The stranger stooped to replace it on the table, but his eye caught the title; a flash of crimson shot across his forehead, and he cast a quick glance at me, as if the question in my eyes disturbed him.
"'A new book, I see; have you read it?'
"He was turning over the leaves, as he asked the question.
"'Yes,' I replied, 'I have read it more than once.'
"'More than once?'
"'Yes, it is a book that requires some thought. Full of ideas and original suggestions. The story itself is a painful one. Indeed, I have my doubts—'