It was a strange idea, transplanting it to another soil; for the atmosphere of Spring Bank was not suited to such as she.

But she came, and, as by magic, the whole atmosphere was changed--changed at least to one--the bad, wayward Hugh, who dared to love this fair young girl with a love stronger than his life.

For her he would do anything, and beneath her influence he did improve rapidly.

He was conscious of it himself--conscious of a greater degree of self-respect--a desire to be what she would like to have him.
"She was very, very beautiful; more so than anything Hugh had ever looked upon.

Her face was like an angel's face, and her hair--much like yours, Alice;" and he laid his hand on the bright head, now bent down, so that he could not see that face so like an angel's.
The little hand, too, had slid from his knee, and, fastlocked within the other, was buried in Alice's lap, as she listened with throbbing heart to the story Hugh was telling.
"In all the world there was nothing so dear to Hugh as this young girl.
He thought of her by day and dreamed of her by night, seeing always in the darkness her face, with its eyes of blue bending over him--hearing the music of her voice, like the falling of distant water, and even feeling the soft touch of her hands as he fancied them laid upon his brow.