a spot
where only darkness and gloom were to be expected. Fascinated by the
sight, I stepped impetuously forward, but instantly paused again,
overcome and impressed by the exquisite picture I saw before me.

Seated in an easy chair of embroidered satin, but rousing from her
half-recumbent position, like one who was in the act of launching a
powerful invective, I beheld a glorious woman. Fair, frail, proud,
delicate; looking like a lily in the thick creamy-tinted wrapper that
alternately clung to and swayed from her finely moulded figure; with her
forehead, crowned with the palest of pale tresses, lifted and flashing
with power; one quivering hand clasping the arm of her chair, the other
outstretched and pointing toward some distant object in the room,--her
whole appearance was so startling, so extraordinary, that I held my
breath in surprise, actually for the moment doubting if it were a living
woman I beheld, or some famous pythoness conjured up from ancient story,
to express in one tremendous gesture the supreme indignation of outraged
womanhood.

"Miss Mary Leavenworth," whispered that ever present voice over my
shoulder.

Ah! Mary Leavenworth! What a relief came with this name. This beautiful
creature, then, was not the Eleanore who could load, aim, and fire a
pistol. Turning my head, I followed the guiding of that uplifted
hand, now frozen into its place by a new emotion: the emotion of being
interrupted in the midst of a direful and pregnant revelation, and
saw--but, no, here description fails me! Eleanore Leavenworth must be
painted by other hands than mine. I could sit half the day and dilate
upon the subtle grace, the pale magnificence, the perfection of form and
feature which make Mary Leavenworth the wonder of all who behold her;
but Eleanore--I could as soon paint the beatings of my own heart.
Beguiling, terrible, grand, pathetic, that face of faces flashed upon my
gaze, and instantly the moonlight loveliness of her cousin faded from
my memory, and I saw only Eleanore--only Eleanore from that moment on
forever.

When my glance first fell upon her, she was standing by the side of a
small table, with her face turned toward her cousin, and her two hands
resting, the one upon her breast, the other on the table, in an attitude
of antagonism. But before the sudden pang which shot through me at the
sight of her beauty had subsided, her head had turned, her gaze had
encountered mine; all the horror of the situ