She glided along, tranquil as a goddess, smote him with beauty and perfume, and left him staring after her receding figure, which was, in its way, as captivating as her face.
She was walking up and down for exercise, briskly, but without effort.
Once she passed within a few yards of him, and he touched his hat to her.
She inclined her head gently, but her eyes did not rest an instant on her gardener; and so she passed and repassed, unconsciously sawing this solitary heart with soft but penetrating thrills.
At last she went indoors to luncheon, and the lawn seemed to miss the light music of her rustling dress, and the sunshine of her presence, and there was a painful void; but that passed, and a certain sense of happiness stole over James Seaton--an unreasonable joy, that often runs before folly and trouble.
The young lady was Helen Rolleston, just returned home from a visit.

She walked in the garden every day, and Seaton watched her, and peeped at her, unseen, behind trees and bushes.

He fed his eyes and his heart upon her, and, by degrees, she became the sun of his solitary existence.

It was madness; but its first effect was not unwholesome.

The daily study of this creature, who, though by no means the angel he took her for, was at all events a pure and virtuous woman, soothed his sore heart, and counteracted the demoralizing influence of his late companions.