to thread her way along its blooming banks, unconscious of the possibility of harm, and find some sheltered nook, where she could sit for hours, in the glow of the gracious sunshine, and watch the river and the sky, and dream long quiet dreams.
I will try to give you some idea how Stella looked, as she sat one evening on the river-bank. It isn't likely you have ever seen two such pairs of eyes as Stella's, and you are lucky if you have seen one. They are the rarest eyes of all,—deep, dark-lashed, tender blue; such eyes as have been compared, mistakenly, to sapphires, for sapphires give the idea of transparency, and these eyes appear to be deep beyond fathoming. In color they resemble more a bit of pure lapis-lazuli, but there that likeness must end too, for they look soft and tender and infinitely changeful. All this will tell you nothing unless you have seen a pair of eyes like Stella's; and if you have, you will prefer your memory of them to my description.
On this especial evening Stella wore a white dress. It was summer-time, and warm even here. There were no frills and ruffles to this simple gown,—only a plain hemmed skirt, falling full and free from the waist, round which a sash of the same material—a soft, washable cotton fabric—was tied, hanging in a big bow behind. A little transparent white kerchief surrounded her throat, just now a little sun-burnt, in spite of the fact that Stella's customary summer head-gear was a blue gingham sun-bonnet. Not unfrequently, however, it happened that, as now, this severely utilitarian article of dress was resting upon Stella's lap instead of her head. That she had been wearing it, however, the curly roughness of her hair bore witness. It was not banged or frizzed in any way whatever, but drawn tightly back in all its wavy brownness and twisted into a close knot behind. For the rest, Stella's little nose was at once irregular and captivating, her mouth and teeth were the ideal of what a healthy, youthful creature's ought to be, and her pure complexion and sound young figure admirably matched her features.
Stella was sitting very upright, on a ledge of rock, with her hands clasped around her knees and her eyes fixed on the water. Her attitude betokened activity of thought rather than lethargy, and suddenly, at the occurrence of some vivid memory, her face flushed hotly, and she shook her head impatiently, as if trying to throw off a vexing thought. This little vexing thought was an old enemy of Stella's, which she had been trying for four years to vanquish. Many a time she thought she had disarmed, if not destroyed it, but it had the most amazing power of lying quiet for a while and then rising in greater force than ever and asserting its disturbing dominance. Now, for instance, a sudden flash of memory had shown her a great luxurious drawing-room, brilliantly
