She was attired in a plain, straight gown, of some soft white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat; her round, graceful arms were partially bare, and as the wheel turned swiftly, and her slender hands busied themselves with the flax, she smiled, as though some pleasing thought had touched her mind.

Her smile had the effect of sudden sunshine in the dark room where she sat and span,--it was radiant and mirthful as the smile of a happy child.

Yet her dark blue eyes remained pensive and earnest, and the smile soon faded, leaving her fair face absorbed and almost dreamy.

The whirr-whirring of the wheel grew less and less rapid,--it slackened,--it stopped altogether,--and, as though startled by some unexpected sound, the girl paused and listened, pushing away the clustering masses of her rich hair from her brow.

Then rising slowly from her seat, she advanced to the window, put aside the roses with one hand, and looked out,--thus forming another picture as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the first.
Lorimer drew his breath hard.