he least notion of consciousness or design in that beautiful
revelation. But how fine and full and regular are those white treasures
of hers! seeming to speak for a strong and perfect physical
organisation; and if your eye goes further, for her flat hat is on the
ground, you will see in the bountiful rich head of hair another token
of the same thing. Her figure is finely developed; her colour clear and
healthy; not blonde; the full-brown hair and eyes agree with the notion
of a nature more lively than we assign to the other extreme of
complexion. The features are not those of a beauty, though better than
that, perhaps; there is a world of life and sense and spirit in them.

It speaks for her good nature and feeling, that her smile is as frank
as ever just now, and as pleasant as ever; for she is with about the
last one of her party on whom she would have chosen to bestow herself.
The occasion is a visit to some celebrated ruins; a day of pleasure;
and Eleanor would a good deal rather be walking and talking with
another much more interesting member of the company, in whose society
indeed her day had begun; but Mr. Carlisle had been obliged suddenly to
return home for an hour or two; and Eleanor is sitting on a grassy
bank, with a gentleman beside her whom she knows very little and does
not care about at all. That is, she has no idea he can be very
interesting; and he _is_ a grave-looking personage, but we are not
going to describe him at present.

A word must be given to the place where they are. It is a little
paradise. If the view is not very extended, it is rich in its parts;
and the eye and the mind are filled. The grass is shaven smooth on the
bank where the two are sitting; so it is all around, under trees which
stand with wilful wildness of luxuriance, grouped and scattered
apparently as they would. They are very old, in several varieties of
kind, and in the perfect development and thrift of each kind. Among
them are the ruins of an old priory. They peep forth here and there
from the trees. One broken tower stands free, with ivy masking its
sides and crumbling top, and stains of weather and the hues of lichen
and moss enriching what was once its plain grey colour. Other portions
of the ruins are seen by glimpses further on among the trees. Standing
somewhat off by itself, yet encompassed by the congeners of those same
trees, almost swallowed up among them, is a comfortable, picturesque
little building, not in rui