There came no warning to her that bright summer
morning. The south wind lifted the hair from her brow and wafted
the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring flowers to greet her,
but it brought no warning message; the birds singing gayly, the
sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the first link in
a terrible chain was to be forged that morning.
Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow,
Beatrice suddenly met the stranger. A stranger was a rarity at
the Elms. Only at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek
shelter and hospitality at the old farm house. The stranger
seemed to be a gentleman. For one moment both stood still; then,
with a low bow, the gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl
pass. As he did so, he noted the rare beauty of that brilliant
face--he remembered the longing words.
"No wonder," he thought; "it is a sin for such a face as that to
be hidden here."
The beauty of those magnificent eyes startled him. Who was she?
What could she be doing here? Beatrice turning again, saw the
stranger looking eagerly after her, with profound admiration
expressed in every feature of his face; and that admiring gaze,
the first she had ever received in her life, sank deep into the
vain, girlish heart.
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