She took more pains than she had ever taken before; and the picturesque taste that was part of her character greatly assisted her. Her dress was of purple silk, plain, rich, and graceful; her hat, with its drooping purple plume, looked like a crown on the beautiful head. She could no more help looking royal and queenly than she could help the color of her eyes and hair. Miss Hastings looked up with a smile of surprise, the proud face was so wonderfully beautiful--the light that never yet shone on land or sea was shining on it. "Why, Pauline," she said, laughing, "Lady St. Lawrence will think I am taking the Queen of Sheba in disguise! What strange change is coming over you, child?" What indeed? Was it the shadow of the love that was to redeem her--to work wonders in her character? Was it the light that came from the half-awakening soul? Wiser women than good, kindly, simple-hearted Miss Hastings might have been puzzled. They were not long in finding Sea View--a pretty villa a little way out of the town, standing at the foot of a cliff, surrounded by trees and flowers--one of the prettiest spots in Omberleigh. They were shown into the drawing-room, the windows of which commanded a magnificent view of the sea. Before they had been there many minutes there entered a fair, gentle, gracious lady, whose eyes filled with tears as she greeted Miss Hastings warmly. "You are like a spirit from the past," she said. "I can see Laura a little child again as I look at you. Nothing could have pleased me so much as seeing you." Then she looked admiringly at the beautiful girl by her side. Miss Hastings introduced her. "Miss Darrell," she said, "it seems strange that I should meet you. My husband in his youth knew Sir Oswald well." Lady St. Lawrence was just what Miss Hastings had described her--a thoroughly high-bred English lady. In figure she was tall and upright; her face had been beautiful in its youth, and was even now comely and fair; the luxuriant brown hair was streaked here and there with silver. She wore a dress of rich brocade, with some becoming arrangement of flowers and lace on her head; she was charming in her lady-like simplicity and gentleness. Pauline, knowing that the two ladies would have much to talk about, asked permission to amuse herself with some books she saw upon the table. "They belong to my son," said Lady St. Lawrence, with a smile. There were Tennyson, Keats, and Byron, and written inside of each, in a bold, clear hand, was the name "Vane St. Lawrence." Pauline lost herself again in the sweet story of Elaine, from which she was aroused at intervals by the repetition of the words--"My son Vane." She could not help hearing some part of Lady St. Lawrence's confidential communication, and it was to the effect how deeply she deplored the blindness of her son, who might marry his cousin Lillith Davenant, one of the wealthiest heiresses in England. Miss Hastings was all kindly sympathy.