n our familiar island; a physiognomy not quite pure in
outline, vigorous in general effect and in detail delicate; a proud
young face, full of character and capacity, beautiful in chaste
control. Sorrowful it was not, but its paleness and thinness expressed
something more than imperfect health of body; the blue-grey eyes, when
they wandered for a moment in an effort of recollection, had a look of
weariness, even of ennui; the lips moved as if in nervous impatience
until she had found the phrase or the thought for which her pen waited.
Save for these intervals, she wrote with quick decision, in a large
clear hand, never underlining, but frequently supplying the emphasis of
heavy stroke in her penning of a word. At the end of her letters came a
signature excellent in individuality: "Miriam Baske."

The furniture of her room was modern, and of the kind demanded by
wealthy _forestieri_ in the lodgings they condescend to occupy. On the
variegated tiles of the floor were strewn rugs and carpets; the drapery
was bright, without much reference to taste in the ordering of hues; a
handsome stove served at present to support leafy plants, a row of
which also stood on the balcony before the window. Round the ceiling
ran a painted border of foliage and flowers. The chief ornament of the
walls was a large and indifferent copy of Raphael's "St. Cecilia;"
there were, too, several _gouache_ drawings of local scenery: a fiery
night-view of Vesuvius, a panorama of the Bay, and a very blue Blue
Grotto. The whole was blithe, sunny, Neapolitan; sufficiently unlike a
sitting-room in Redheck House, Bartles, Lancashire, which Mrs. Baske
had in her mind as she wrote.

A few English books lay here and there, volumes of unattractive
binding, and presenting titles little suggestive of a holiday in
Campania; works which it would be misleading to call theological; the
feeblest modern echoes of fierce old Puritans, half shame-faced
modifications of logic which, at all events, was wont to conceal no
consequence of its savage premises. More noticeable were some
architectural plans unrolled upon a settee; the uppermost represented
the elevation of a building designed for religious purposes, painfully
recognizable by all who know the conventicles of sectarian England. On
the blank space beneath the drawing were a few comments, lightly
pencilled.

Having finished and addressed some half a dozen brief letters, Mrs.
Baske brooded for several minutes befor