Her beauty never dazzled, never took any one by storm;
it won by slow degrees a place in one's heart.
She was of a thoughtful, unobtrusive nature; nothing could have
made her worldly, nothing could have made her proud.
Sweet, calm, serene, ignorant alike of all the height of
happiness and the depths of despair--gifted, too with a
singularly patient disposition and amiable temper, no one had
ever seen Lillian Earle angry or hasty; her very presence seemed
full of rest and peace.
Nature had richly endowed her. She had a quick, vivid fancy, a
rare and graceful imagination; and perhaps her grandest gift was
a strong and deep love for things not of this world. Not that
Lillian was given to "preaching," or being disagreeably "goody,"
but high and holy thoughts came naturally to her. When Lord
Earle wanted amusement, he sent for Beatrice--no one could while
away long hours as she could; when he wanted comfort, advice, or
sympathy, he sought Lillian. Every one loved her, much as one
loves the sunbeams that bring bright light and warmth.
Lionel Dacre loved her best of all. His only wonder was that any
one could even look at Beatrice when Lillian was near.
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