had but childhood's growth; yet the body
had the clumsy decrepitude of old age. The shoulders were high and
pointed; the long, emaciated arms reached almost to the ground. Enormous
hands hung on these poor limbs--hands for a very big woman, beautiful
hands; for in spite of their huge size they were wonderfully modelled and
imposingly strong, with the long, nervous fingers of the artist or the
enthusiast. The head was grotesquely oversized, though essentially
beautiful; but it seemed like some sculptor's masterpiece placed upon a
ridiculous figure, or some fine boulder rock balanced absurdly on a
narrow, crooked flower-stem. The face arrested attention immediately; it
was beautiful, finely chiselled and of classic line, without a hint of
deformity or disease on its glowing health. The eyes were large, liquid,
appealing, yet painfully watchful, as are the eyes of all the deformed. A
yearning soul looked out of them, longing for sympathy, suspicious of
pity--pity which is of all things most hateful to the cripple and the
hunchback. As she stood in the doorway, there was a look of almost stern
disapproval on her face, though the eyes softened with the tenderness of
a woman watching the gracious naughtiness of a child.

'Wilhelmine,' she said, her grave glance meeting the other's angry frown,
'Wilhelmine, what is it now? Has the mother been singing her usual song
of poverty and marriage? Come, beloved one, never frown at me so; you
know it hurts me when you frown, more than the sneers and laughter which
I always hear around me.--My friend! Nothing is worth a frown, though
many things are worth tears.'

Wilhelmine turned away abruptly. Anna Reinhard was her friend, one of the
few people in the world for whom she felt affection; but the pedantic
words of the deformed girl often irritated her, and she found that spoken
wisdom of Anna's infinitely wearisome, yet she was seldom querulous to
her, partly because of the real affection she bore her, partly from a
certain fear of the hunchback's quick wit and vehemence.

'No,' said Wilhelmine, 'it is not really the recollection of mother's
lectures which disturbs me; but oh, Anna, this existence is becoming
unbearable! It is all very well for you; you have your beloved books, and
your religion to occupy you, but I have got nothing, and I want so much!
Believe me, all those things you call amusement and luxury are
necessities to me. I want to lie soft in sweet linen, to wear rich
clo