It was then that the beauty of the maiden's nature shone resplendently, showering scintillations of pure native goodness that forever sparkled as sunshine and cheered the rugged path of Phillip Lawson's life!
A crimson flush momentarily suffused Jennie Montgomery's face, then she became pale and agitated.
"Mr. Lawson!" she exclaimed, "I love my cousin dearly, and I grieve for her more than I can tell you."
The young man's face blanched under the effect of the girl's tones, but he made no reply.
"Forgive me if I weary you, but I seem to feel in you a friend—one in whom I find sympathy."
"Trust me fully, Jennie, I will try to be all that you think me."
Phillip Lawson's earnest tones went straight to the girl's heart, and tremulously she continued:
"Mr. Lawson, you have not been a frequent visitor at my Uncle Verne's without seeing much to condemn in my worldly aunt. I know it is wrong to judge, but I cannot help it. I cannot help judging the motive of Aunt Verne—indeed I cannot."
The listener had fixed his eyes upon the huge trunk of a venerable oak tree covered with a luxuriant growth of velvety moss.
"I really cannot feel kindly towards cousin Evelyn, for she has ruled with an iron rod, and she is so wily that Auntie thinks her every action something perfect. Now, Mr. Lawson," said Jennie, with greater earnestness, "Mrs. Arnold is determined that Marguerite shall marry that unprincipled Mr. Tracy, and the thought makes me sick. I loathe him—he is almost as contemptible as Mr. Montague Arnold."