Miss Lyon turned her head in that direction, and saw standing there a slight, pale young creature, enveloped in a long gray cloak, with its hood drawn over her head and shading her face.
CHAPTER III.
THE HOUSELESS WANDERER AND THE BRIDE ELECT.
They whispered—sin a shade had cast,
Upon her youthful frame,
And scornful murmurs as she past
Were mingled with her name.
“She is not beautiful,” they said,
I saw that she was more;
One of those women, women dread,
Men fatally adore.—Anon.