ath the splendid radiance of an
early spring morning.

"And what is that old adage you talk of, Hannah?" inquired her younger
sister, who stood braiding the locks of her long black hair before the
cracked looking-glass that hung above the rickety chest of drawers.

"Why, la, Nora, don't you know? The adage is as old as the hills and as
true as the heavens, and it is this, that a man's twenty-first birthday
is an index to his after life:--if it be clear, he will be fortunate; if
cloudy, unfortunate."

"Then I should say that young Mr. Brudenell's fortune will be a splendid
one; for the sun is dazzling!" said Nora, as she wound the long sable
plait of hair around her head in the form of a natural coronet, and
secured the end behind with--a thorn! "And, now, how do I look? Aint you
proud of me?" she archly inquired, turning with "a smile of conscious
beauty born" to the inspection of her elder sister.

That sister might well have answered in the affirmative had she
considered personal beauty a merit of high order; for few palaces in
this world could boast a princess so superbly beautiful as this peasant
girl that this poor hut contained. Beneath those rich sable tresses was
a high broad forehead as white as snow; slender black eyebrows so well
defined and so perfectly arched that they gave a singularly open and
elevated character to the whole countenance; large dark gray eyes, full
of light, softened by long, sweeping black lashes; a small, straight
nose; oval, blooming cheeks; plump, ruddy lips that, slightly parted,
revealed glimpses of the little pearly teeth within; a well-turned chin;
a face with this peculiarity, that when she was pleased it was her eyes
that smiled and not her lips; a face, in short, full of intelligence and
feeling that might become thought and passion. Her form was noble--being
tall, finely proportioned, and richly developed.

Her beauty owed nothing to her toilet--her only decoration was the
coronet of her own rich black hair; her only hair pin was a thorn; her
dress indeed was a masterpiece of domestic manufacture,--the cotton from
which it was made having been carded, spun, woven, and dyed by Miss
Hannah's own busy hands; but as it was only a coarse blue fabric, after
all, it would not be considered highly ornamental; it was new and clean,
however, and Nora was well pleased with it, as with playful impatience
she repeated her question:

"Say! aint you proud of me now?"

"No," replied th