de gloomily
contemplating the dust dancing in the sunray. It was bitterly cold, and
the feeble sun seemed only a teasing trick of nature, emphasising the
general unfriendliness of the morning. Wilhelmine shivered in her thin
bedgown, but she made no movement towards clothing herself; she was a
prey to a mood of profound melancholy, and her expression was mournful,
almost sinister. Though hers was a strangely haunting face, giving the
impression of loveliness, yet, had one called this girl beautiful, it
would have conveyed a totally erroneous picture of her, and but ill
defined her subtle fascination. Her features were irregular, a trifle
heavy perchance, with high cheek bones and massive square chin, with a
cleft in the centre as though the Master Sculptor had said: 'This were
too strong a face for a woman; I will give her a hint of tenderness to
make her utterly irresistible,' and so He had planted a child's dimple
in her chin and another near her lips when she smiled. Wilhelmine was
over-tall, lithe of limb, and spare as a Greek runner; then suddenly,
unexpectedly, full breasted--surprising, when one considered the rest of
her proportions. Her hair was deep brown, nearly black, save where the
light showed a tinge of red, a glint of gold. It was almost too abundant;
like a rich, virulent weed it grew triumphant. Her lips were thin yet
perfectly modelled, a long gracious curve; the upper lip a trifle thicker
and short below the sensitive, wide-open nostrils. The brow serene and
white, heavy over the deep-set blue eyes. And the eyes! No one could ever
describe Wilhelmine von Graevenitz's eyes, or no two persons could agree
concerning them, which comes to the same thing. They were blue and deeply
set, the lids heavy, the lashes short and thick, the eyebrows strongly
marked, arched and almost joining over the nose. But these are mere
outward presentments, and tell nothing of the spirit living in those
marvellous eyes. This was a thing of vital force, for ever changeful.
Even the colour of her eyes was varying, and yet there was a curious
persistency of gaze, a power of fixing. The Guestrow citizens called
Wilhelmine von Graevenitz witch and sorceress because of these strange
eyes; they said she could freeze men with a look, that she had a
serpent's gaze that grew cold and petrifying, when she chose, and yet
those who loved her (they were not many) knew that her eyes could dance
with laughter like a child's, that they could s