her quick
eyes examined every corner of the room.
"Not bad! It will be a good field for me to work in, and the harder the
task the better I shall like it. Merci , old friend. You put heart and courage into me when
nothing else will. Come, the curtain is down, so I may be myself for a few
hours, if actresses ever are themselves."
Still sitting on the floor she unbound and removed the long abundant braids
from her head, wiped the pink from her face, took out several pearly teeth, and
slipping off her dress appeared herself indeed, a
haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least. The metamorphosis was
wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than in any
art of costume or false adornment. Now she was alone, and her mobile features
settled into their natural expression, weary, hard, bitter .
She had been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender; but nothing of all this
remained to the gloomy woman who leaned there brooding over some wrong, or
loss, or disappointment which had darkened all her life. For an hour she sat
so, sometimes playing absently with the scanty locks that hung about her face,
sometimes lifting the glass to her lips as if the fiery draught warmed her cold
blood; and once she half uncovered her breast to eye with a terrible glance the
scar of a newly healed wound. At last she rose and crept to bed, like one worn
out with weariness and mental pain.
Chapter II
A GOOD BEGINNING
Only the housemaids were astir when Miss Muir left her room next morning and
quietly found her way into the garden. As she walked, apparently intent upon
the flowers, her quick eye scrutinized the fine old house and its picturesque
surroundings.
"Not bad," she said to herself, adding, as she passed into the
adjoining park, "but the other may be better, and I will have the
best."
Walking rapidly, she came out at length upon the wide green lawn which lay
before the ancient hall where Sir John Coventry lived in solitary splendor. A
stately old place, rich in oaks, well-kept shrubberies, gay gardens, sunny
terraces, carved gables, spacious rooms, liveried servants, and every luxury
befitting the ancestral home of a rich and honorable race. Miss Muir's eyes
brightened as she looked, her step grew firmer, her carriage prouder, and a
smile broke over her face; the smile of one well pleased at the prospect of the
success of some cherished hope. Suddenly her whole air changed, she pushed back
her hat, clasped her hands loosely before her, and seemed absorbed in girlish
admiration of the fair scene that could not fail to charm any beauty-loving
eye. The cause of this rapid change soon appeared. A hale, handsome man,
between fifty and sixty, came through the little gate leading to the park, and,
seeing the young stranger, paused to examine her. He had only time for a
glance, however; she seemed conscious of his presence in a moment, turned with
a startled look, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and looked as if
hesitating whether to speak or run away. Gallant Sir John took off his hat and
said, with the old-fashioned courtesy which became him well, "I beg your
pardon for disturbing you, young lady. Allow me to atone for it by inviting you
to walk where you will, and gather what flowers you like. I see you love them,
so pray make free with those about you."
With a charming air of maidenly timidity and artlessness, Miss Muir replied,
"Oh, thank you, sir! But it is I who should ask pardon for trespassing. I
never should have dared if I had not known that Sir John was absent. I always
wanted to see this fine old place, and ran over the
eyes examined every corner of the room.
"Not bad! It will be a good field for me to work in, and the harder the
task the better I shall like it. Merci , old friend. You put heart and courage into me when
nothing else will. Come, the curtain is down, so I may be myself for a few
hours, if actresses ever are themselves."
Still sitting on the floor she unbound and removed the long abundant braids
from her head, wiped the pink from her face, took out several pearly teeth, and
slipping off her dress appeared herself indeed, a
haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least. The metamorphosis was
wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than in any
art of costume or false adornment. Now she was alone, and her mobile features
settled into their natural expression, weary, hard, bitter .
She had been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender; but nothing of all this
remained to the gloomy woman who leaned there brooding over some wrong, or
loss, or disappointment which had darkened all her life. For an hour she sat
so, sometimes playing absently with the scanty locks that hung about her face,
sometimes lifting the glass to her lips as if the fiery draught warmed her cold
blood; and once she half uncovered her breast to eye with a terrible glance the
scar of a newly healed wound. At last she rose and crept to bed, like one worn
out with weariness and mental pain.
Chapter II
A GOOD BEGINNING
Only the housemaids were astir when Miss Muir left her room next morning and
quietly found her way into the garden. As she walked, apparently intent upon
the flowers, her quick eye scrutinized the fine old house and its picturesque
surroundings.
"Not bad," she said to herself, adding, as she passed into the
adjoining park, "but the other may be better, and I will have the
best."
Walking rapidly, she came out at length upon the wide green lawn which lay
before the ancient hall where Sir John Coventry lived in solitary splendor. A
stately old place, rich in oaks, well-kept shrubberies, gay gardens, sunny
terraces, carved gables, spacious rooms, liveried servants, and every luxury
befitting the ancestral home of a rich and honorable race. Miss Muir's eyes
brightened as she looked, her step grew firmer, her carriage prouder, and a
smile broke over her face; the smile of one well pleased at the prospect of the
success of some cherished hope. Suddenly her whole air changed, she pushed back
her hat, clasped her hands loosely before her, and seemed absorbed in girlish
admiration of the fair scene that could not fail to charm any beauty-loving
eye. The cause of this rapid change soon appeared. A hale, handsome man,
between fifty and sixty, came through the little gate leading to the park, and,
seeing the young stranger, paused to examine her. He had only time for a
glance, however; she seemed conscious of his presence in a moment, turned with
a startled look, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and looked as if
hesitating whether to speak or run away. Gallant Sir John took off his hat and
said, with the old-fashioned courtesy which became him well, "I beg your
pardon for disturbing you, young lady. Allow me to atone for it by inviting you
to walk where you will, and gather what flowers you like. I see you love them,
so pray make free with those about you."
With a charming air of maidenly timidity and artlessness, Miss Muir replied,
"Oh, thank you, sir! But it is I who should ask pardon for trespassing. I
never should have dared if I had not known that Sir John was absent. I always
wanted to see this fine old place, and ran over the
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