"For a few minutes only, last winter, I saw her on the beach, near 'Solitude.' We exchanged a half-dozen words, and she left an impression on my mind which all time will not efface. Since that evening I have frequently endeavored to surprise her on the same spot, but only once I succeeded in catching a glimpse of a blue shawl that fluttered in the distance. She seemed to me a beautiful, pale priestess, consecrated to the ministry of the shrine of sorrow; and, when I hear snubbed-dom sneering at her, and remember the hopeless expression with which her wonderful, homeless eyes looked out across that grey, silent sea,--I cannot avoid thinking that she is very wise in barring her doors, and heeding the advice of Montenebi, '_Complain not of thy woes to the public: they will no more pity thee than birds of prey pity the wounded deer_.'" "My acquaintance with Mrs. Gerome is too slight to warrant the utterance of an opinion relative to her idiosyncrasies, but I am afraid cynicism rather than grief immures her from society. Her prematurely white hair and the remarkable pallor of her smooth complexion combine to render her appearance piquant and unnatural; and, certainly, there is something in her face strangely suggestive of old Norse myths, mystery, and magic. Her features, when analyzed, prove faultlessly regular, but her life is out of tune, and the expression of her countenance mars what would otherwise be perfect beauty. I can, in some degree, describe the impression she produced upon me by quoting the lines that were suggested when I saw her this morning, standing by Elsie Maclean's bed,-- 'I saw a vision of a woman, where Night and new morning strive for domination; Incomparably pale, and almost fair, And sad beyond expression. Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, Were stately, like the stars, and yet were tender; Her figure charmed me, like a windy stem, Quivering, and drooped, and slender. She measured measureless sorrow toward its length And breadth, and depth, and height.'" Salome looked up from the eyelet she was working, but Dr. Grey had turned his head towards his sister who had fallen asleep in her chair, and the orphan could not see his face. "Mrs. Gerome must have been very young when she married, and--" "Hush! Janet looks so weary that I want her to have a long nap, and our voices might disturb her." He took his hat and gloves and left the room, and Salome forgot her embroidery and fell into a reverie that proved neither pleasant nor profitable, and lasted until Miss Jane awoke.