Western woodland air and smiled at
least twice; for the years of strict inclosure within St. Mary's
walls and still gardens were finished and done with, and at last the
many-colored world flashed and danced in a mystery before her. This
mystery was brilliant to the convent-girl because it contained men; she
was eager to behold it.

They rumbled into town after sunset, in the fair twilight, the dogs
barking before them, and everyone would have been surprised to know that
Tom Vanrevel, instead of Mr. Crailey Gray, was the first to see her.
By the merest accident, Tom was strolling near the Carewe place at the
time; and when the carriage swung into the gates, with rattle and clink
and clouds of dust at the finish, it was not too soon lost behind the
shrubbery and trees for Tom to catch something more than a glimpse of a
gray skirt behind a mound of flowers, and of a charming face with
parted lips and dark eyes beneath the scuttle of an enormous bonnet.
It happened--perhaps it is more accurate to say that Tom thought it
happened--that she was just clearing away her veil when he turned to
look. She blushed suddenly, so much was not to be mistaken; and the eyes
that met his were remarkable for other reasons than the sheer loveliness
of them, in that, even in the one flash of them he caught, they meant
so many things at one time. They were sparkling, yet mournful; and they
were wistful, although undeniably lively with the gayest comprehension
of the recipient of their glance, seeming to say, "Oh, it's you, young
man, is it!" And they were shy and mysterious with youth, full of that
wonder at the world which has the appearance, sometimes, of wisdom
gathered in the unknown out of which we came. But, above all, these eyes
were fully conscious of Tom Vanrevel.

Without realizing what he did, Mr. Vanrevel stopped short. He had been
swinging a walkingstick, which, describing a brief arc, remained poised
half-way in its descent. There was only that one glance between them;
and the carriage disappeared, leaving a scent of spring flowers in the
air.

The young man was left standing on the wooden pavement in the midst of a
great loneliness, yet enveloped in the afterglow, his soul roseate,
his being quavering, his expression, like his cane, instantaneously
arrested. With such promptitude and finish was he disposed of, that, had
Miss Carewe been aware of his name and the condition wrought in him
by the single stroke, she could have s