Miss Bryarly, who was introduced to our hero as the niece of Mr. Pluribusi, received him with a soft, enchanting grace, which completed his fascination. This passage of Moore came into his mind, for he felt —
As if his soul that moment caught,
An image it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to have all his sighs,
And never to forget again,
Sparkled and smiled before him then.
Miss Bryarly was not one of those who pass the time within doors, when the light, the air, and the glorious sunshine tempted her abroad. She invited her guests to take a stroll through the grounds, and pointed out the most beautiful spots, with an animated face glowing with enthusiasm; and Harry’s eyes sparkled with delight, as he listened to the eloquent tones of her low, sweet voice. There were here groves of lofty trees, with winding avenues between them, and shrubbery of the rarest and most beautiful kinds, with flowers of every hue and fragrance, which loaded the air with odorous sweets, and lawns which looked like velvet. A stream of water, pure as crystal, wound along with gentle murmurs, and served to impart an Eden-like aspect to the place. Their walk was prolonged until after sunset had lent its golden light to beautify the scene; then a summons to the tea-table was almost reluctantly obeyed. It was late when Harry tore himself away, charmed with Mr. Bryarly, and completely fascinated by his daughter. His enthusiastic nature afforded a striking contrast to the calm, dignified temper of Mr. Bryarly, and, as it frequently happens in such cases, they were mutually pleased with each other. Mr. Bryarly liked Harry’s frankness and warm-heartedness, while Harry was delighted with the cordial kindness, the strong good sense, and the deep insight into human nature which he found in his new friend. It is unnecessary to expatiate upon our hero’s gratification at finding himself invited to partake of the hospitality of Mr. Bryarly, or to say that he took full advantage of it. A few days glided swiftly by, each one finding him at Mary Bryarly’s side, studying the changes of her sweet face, which appeared to him like a volume of “unwritten poetry,” which no one could read but himself. Sometimes they walked together, and often he would read passages from his favorite authors to her; then, in return, she would point out the beauties, and explain the character and qualities of her various plants; and the interest he seemed to take in her tastes and pursuits, gave them new importance in her eyes. “With her conversing he forgot all time;” but at length a letter from his father recalled him to Virginia.
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