--
"Only She canna be an angel," he said to himself; "or she wad ha'e
ken't better."
She was young--not more than twenty, tall and graceful, with a
touch of the matronly, which she must have had even in childhood,
for it belonged to her--so staid, so stately was she in all her
grace. With her brown hair, her lily complexion, her blue gray
eyes, she was all of the moonlight and its shadows--even now, in
the early morning, and angry. Her nose was so nearly perfect that
one never thought of it. Her mouth was rather large, but had gained
in value of shape, and in the expression of indwelling sweetness,
with every line that carried it beyond the measure of smallness.
Most little mouths are pretty, some even lovely, but not one have
I seen beautiful. Her forehead was the sweetest of half moons. Of
those who knew her best some absolutely believed that a radiance
resembling moonlight shimmered from its precious expanse.
"Be ye angry and sin not," had always been a puzzle to Malcolm,
who had, as I have said, inherited a certain Celtic fierceness;
but now, even while he knew himself the object of the anger,
he understood the word. It tried him sorely, however, that such
gentleness and beauty should be unreasonable. Could it be that he
should never have a chance of convincing her how mistaken she was
concerning his treatment of Kelpie! What a celestial rosy red her
face had glowed! and what summer lightnings had flashed up in her
eyes, as if they had been the horizons of heavenly worlds up which
flew the dreams that broke from the brain of a young sleeping
goddess, to make the worlds glad also in the night of their slumber.
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