er
occupation. With her neglected knitting in her hands she would sit
for hours under a certain low-spreading cedar not far from the door,
barefooted, coarsely clad, beautiful,--every tinge of the sun, every
indifferent leisurely movement, a new suggestion of a new grace.

It would have been impossible to resist the temptation to watch her;
and this Lennox did at first almost unconsciously. Then he did more.
One beautiful still morning she stood under the cedar, her hand
thrown lightly above her head to catch at a bough, and as she remained
motionless, he made a sketch of her. When it was finished he was seized
with the whimsical impulse to go out and show it to her.

She took it with an uncomprehending air, but the moment she saw what it
was a flush of triumph and joy lighted up her face.

"It's me," she cried in a low, eager voice. "Me! Do I look like that
thar? Do I?"

"You look as that would look if it had color, and was more complete."

She glanced up at him sharply.

"D'ye mean if it was han'somer?"

He was tempted into adding to her excitement with a compliment.

"Yes," he said, "very much handsomer than I could ever hope to make it."

A slow, deep red rose to her face.

"Give it to me!" she demanded.

"If you will stand in the same position until I have drawn
another--certainly," he returned.

He was fully convinced that when she repeated the attitude there would
be added to it a look of consciousness.

When she settled into position and caught at the bough again, he watched
in some distaste for the growth of the nervously complaisant air, but it
did not appear. She was unconsciousness itself.

It is possible that Rebecca Noble had never been so happy during her
whole life as she was during this one summer. Her enjoyment of every
wild beauty and novelty was immeasurably keen. Just at this time to be
shut out, and to be as it were high above the world, added zest to her
pleasure.

"Ah," she said once to her lover, "happiness is better here--one can
taste it slowly."

Fatigue seemed impossible to her. With Lennox as her companion she
performed miracles in the way of walking and climbing, and explored the
mountain fastnesses for miles around. Her step grew firm and elastic,
her color richer, her laugh had a buoyant ring. She had never been so
nearly a beautiful woman as she was sometimes when she came back to the
cabin after a ramble, bright and sun-flushed, her hands full of laurel
and vines.