While the young countenance of Jessy was of the tenderest and softest Madonna cast, her eyes of a delicate azure, and the light golden locks parted upon a fair brow, like a gleam of sunshine upon a hill of snow, her sister’s face was precisely the opposite. Lucy’s complexion, indeed, was of the darkest hue ever seen in maidens of English birth, yet mantled withal by so rich a shade of color, that for many it might have possessed a greater charm than the fairness of a blonde. Her hair was black as night; and her eyes, of the same hue, were never excelled in lustre or beauty by the loveliest damsels of Spain. Her countenance was of a lively and expressive character, in which spirit and wit seemed to predominate; and the quick, black eye, with its beautifully penciled brow, seemed to presage the arch remark to which the rosy and half smiling lip appeared ready to give utterance. “We have ridden far,” said the younger stranger, breaking the silence which ensued when they had taken seats, and turning his eye again on Lucy, as though he hoped to elicit a reply to his remark. He was not disappointed. “May I ask,” said she, “what distance you have come?” “We left Massachusetts a couple of days ago,” he replied, “and have been at hard riding ever since.” “You spoke of business, gentlemen,” remarked the governor, rather impatiently; “will you be so good as to proceed with the object of your visit?” “I address Governor H., sir, I presume?” said the ill-looking stranger, speaking for the first time. He signified ascent. “Our business is official and private,” continued the speaker, in a voice harsh and unpleasant, looking around uneasily at the spectators. “All affairs with me are conducted in the presence of my family,” said the governor drily. “It is imperative, sir, that we see you alone,” urged the other, in a dictatorial tone. “Will you look whether there is a good fire in your little sanctum?” said her uncle to Lucy, giving her at the same time a significant glance, and having referred in his remark to a small room adjoining, where Lucy not unfrequently repaired, surrounded by numbers of the village children—with whom she was a general favorite—to dress their dolls, cover their balls, and perform other similar acts. Here, too, she retired for the purpose of reading, writing, and other occasions of privacy. More than all, it was the spot sacred to an hour’s conversation with Mr. Elmore apart from the rest of the family during his visits. The little Jessy anticipated Lucy, just as she was rising, and opened the door leading to the room spoken of. “The fire burns brightly, uncle,” said the child. “Will you walk in here with me, gentlemen?” said the governor. The two strangers rose, and Governor H. held the door until they had preceded him into the room. Going in last, he threw another expressive glance at Lucy, and followed them, leaving the door ajar.