But Clifton was a physiognomist, and liked to study a novel individuality. A new and very curious subject was before him now. At first he had seen in Kate nothing more than a coarse-featured, dark-skinned country girl. Now, as he sat and watched her at her quiet work, with her countenance in the repose of thoughtfulness, he saw that her features, though certainly not beautiful or classical, were even of a higher order of physiognomy, combining the rarest elements of power and goodness. The broad and massive forehead, straight nose, and square, firm jaws, were the strong and ugly features—the rugged frame work, as it were, of her countenance, and indicated great force of character. But her hair, eyes, and lips were beautiful. Her hair, of rich dark brown, with golden lights, rippled around her forehead, shading and softening its stern strength. Her eyes, large and shadowy, with drooping lashes, and her lips sweetly curved, full, and pensively closed, suggested a profound depth of tenderness. Indeed the brooding brow, the downcast eyes, and the compressed lips seemed to be habitual with her, and gave her countenance an expression of grief and care beyond her years, and of thought and intellect above her station. As Clifton sat and studied her, he thought—not of “Full many a flower that’s born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air,” for the girl did not resemble a flower so much as a hardy, pine sapling of her native mountains. No; that look, strength, intellect, and self-balance—in a word—that look of POWER, suggested rather—_girl_ as she was— “Some village Hampden with undaunted breast. * * * * * Some mute inglorious Milton, * * * Some CROMWELL guiltless of his country’s blood.” It _was_ a Maria Theresa face without the wickedness. Captain Clifton’s physiognomical studies were interrupted by the abrupt starting of Frank, who exclaimed vehemently— “Beaten in four games! Now, that’s what I call outrageous! Don’t you know, my dear fellow, that there are three persons in the world who should never be beaten—a guest, a woman, and a monarch?” Carl laughed and chuckled, and beating the draught-board tambourine-like above his head in triumph, carried it off and put it away. The whole party then arose to retire. Carl took the candle and showed his guests up into the loft and left them to repose. “Now where will that child sleep, for we have got her room?” asked Frank, with concern, as soon as they were alone. “Oh-h!” replied Captain Clifton, indifferently, “anywhere—on a pallet—perhaps, down stairs.” “But the old man and the young one—” “Oh-h!” again drawled Clifton, in a bored tone, “if you expect to meet with refinement among the mountain people, you will be disappointed.”