She was the daughter of the dead woman, but her head was turned away from the churchyard, and her sorrowful glance dwelt on the distant sea.

The contour of her small face was perfect as a flower or gem, and colourless except for vivid scarlet lips and dark eyes gleaming beneath delicate dark brows.

She was very young--not more than twenty--but in the soft lines of her beauty there was a suggestion of character beyond her years.

Her face was dreamy and wayward, and almost gipsy in type.

There was something rather disconcerting in the contrast between her air of inexperienced youth and the sombre intensity of her dark eyes, which seemed mature and disillusioned, like those of an older person.