"You are very welcome," replied the sweetest voice Capitola had ever heard, as the young girl arose and advanced to meet her. "But you have been exposed to the storm. Please come into my room and change your clothes," continued the young hostess, as she took Cap's hand and led her into an adjoining room.
The storm was still raging, but these apartments being in the central portion of the strong old house, were but little exposed to the sight or sound of its fury.
There was a lamp burning upon the mantelpiece, by the light of which the young girl furnished her visitor with dry clothing and assisted her to change, saying as she did so:
"I think we are about the same size, and that my clothes will fit you; but I will not offer you mourning habiliments—you shall have this lilac silk."
"I am very sorry to see you in mourning," said Capitola, earnestly.
"It is for my father," replied Clara, very softly.
As they spoke the eyes of the two young girls met. They were both good physiognomists and intuitive judges of character. Consequently in the full meeting of their eyes they read, understood and appreciated each other.
The pure, grave, and gentle expression of Clara's countenance touched the heart of Capitola.
The bright, frank, honest face of Cap recommended her to Clara.
The very opposite traits of their equally truthful characters attracted them to each other.