CHAPTER II.
"Farewell! though in that sound be years Of blighted hopes and fruitless tears-- Though the soul vibrate to its knell Of joys departed--yet farewell." MRS.

HEMANS.
To attempt description of either face or form would be useless.

The exquisite proportions of the rounded figure, the very perfection of each feature, the delicate clearness of the complexion--brunette when brought in close contact with the Saxon, blonde when compared with the Spaniard--all attractions in themselves, were literally forgotten, or at least unheeded, beneath the spell which dwelt in the _expression_ of her countenance.

Truth, purity, holiness, something scarcely of this nether world, yet blended indescribably with all a woman's nature, had rested there, attracting the most unobservant, and riveting all whose own hearts contained a spark of the same lofty attributes.

Her dress, too, was peculiar--a full loose petticoat of dark blue silk, reaching only to the ankle, and so displaying the beautifully-shaped foot; a jacket of pale yellow, the texture seeming of the finest woven wool, reaching to the throat; with sleeves tight on the shoulders, but falling in wide folds as low as the wrist, and so with every movement displaying the round soft arm beneath.