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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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beautiful, tender brown eyes and soft waving hair. The neat, worn brown cashmere dress that the woman wore was ornamented only by a soft ruffle about the neck . The hair was partly covered by a plain brown bonnet with an attempt at gala attire in a bit of white lace in front, and the wrinkled, worn hands were guiltless of any gloves, but one of those bare hands was held lovingly be tween the bride's white gloves, and the other rested familiarly about the soft white of the bride's waist. There was a beautiful look of love and trust and appreciation in both faces, and instinctively this stranger was forced to ask the other onlooker, "Who is she?"
"One of God's saints on earth," came John Stanley's voice in answer. He had been watching the scene and had forgotten for the moment to whom he was talking. Not that he would have disliked to speak so to the " ladye of high degree" now, for he was much changed, but he would not have thought she would understand.
"She is just a dear woman in the church whom my wife loves very much. She is a natural poet soul, and you may be sure she has been saying something to her which would be worth writing in a book, and which she will always remember."
And then the " ladye of high degree" turned and looked at her old acquaintance in undisguised astonishment. John Stanley must h ave noticed this and been embar rassed a moment, but Mrs. Ketchum came by just then to be introduced , and she proved to be the kindred spirit for whom this stranger had been searching. From her was gained much information, some of which astonished her beyond belief . She made one or two more attempts to rally her power over John Stanley la ter in the eve ning, but she too had fallen under the spell of the lovely woman whose eyes her hus band's followed wherever she went, and she finally gave it up.
The final surprise came to the stranger guest late in the evening, as she was making her way through John Stanley's study to the cloak room . She had been told by the voluble Mrs. Ketchum that this room was Mr. Stanley's "den." She had also noticed during the evening at different times that people stopped opposite the p ic ture that hung on the wall over the mantel. She had not before been in a position to see what this picture was for the crowd, but she had supposed it some masterpiece that Mr. Stanley had brought home from his travels. Her curiosity, or her interest, or both, led her to pause now alone, and to look up.
As others were held under its spell, so was this woman for a moment. The beauty and expression of the work of art caught her fancy, and the face of the Master held her gaze, while her soul recognized and understood the subject. In great astonish ment she glanced around the room once more and b ack. Could it be that John Stan ley kept a picture like this in his den? It was not like the John Stanley she had known.
And then a soft little white-gloved hand rested on her shoulder, and a sweet, ear nest voice said: "Isn't it wonderful? I'm so glad to be where I can look at it every day as much as I wish."
Turning she saw the bride standing by her side. She scarcely knew how to answer, and before she could do so she noticed that another had entered the room, and she knew instinctively that Mr. Stanley had come.
"That is one of my treasures. Are you admiring it?" he said in the strong voice that seemed so unlike his old one, and the guest mur mured something about the pic ture, and, looking about uneasily, excused herself and slipped away.
They stood a moment before the picture together, the husband and wife. They were tired with the evening's talk, and a sight of this refreshed them both and gave the promise of future joy.
The " ladye of high degree," passing through that hall, having purposely come by another route from the cloak room rather than through the study, saw them standing also, and understood—that she did not understand—and went out into the night with a lonely longing for something, she knew
"One of God's saints on earth," came John Stanley's voice in answer. He had been watching the scene and had forgotten for the moment to whom he was talking. Not that he would have disliked to speak so to the " ladye of high degree" now, for he was much changed, but he would not have thought she would understand.
"She is just a dear woman in the church whom my wife loves very much. She is a natural poet soul, and you may be sure she has been saying something to her which would be worth writing in a book, and which she will always remember."
And then the " ladye of high degree" turned and looked at her old acquaintance in undisguised astonishment. John Stanley must h ave noticed this and been embar rassed a moment, but Mrs. Ketchum came by just then to be introduced , and she proved to be the kindred spirit for whom this stranger had been searching. From her was gained much information, some of which astonished her beyond belief . She made one or two more attempts to rally her power over John Stanley la ter in the eve ning, but she too had fallen under the spell of the lovely woman whose eyes her hus band's followed wherever she went, and she finally gave it up.
The final surprise came to the stranger guest late in the evening, as she was making her way through John Stanley's study to the cloak room . She had been told by the voluble Mrs. Ketchum that this room was Mr. Stanley's "den." She had also noticed during the evening at different times that people stopped opposite the p ic ture that hung on the wall over the mantel. She had not before been in a position to see what this picture was for the crowd, but she had supposed it some masterpiece that Mr. Stanley had brought home from his travels. Her curiosity, or her interest, or both, led her to pause now alone, and to look up.
As others were held under its spell, so was this woman for a moment. The beauty and expression of the work of art caught her fancy, and the face of the Master held her gaze, while her soul recognized and understood the subject. In great astonish ment she glanced around the room once more and b ack. Could it be that John Stan ley kept a picture like this in his den? It was not like the John Stanley she had known.
And then a soft little white-gloved hand rested on her shoulder, and a sweet, ear nest voice said: "Isn't it wonderful? I'm so glad to be where I can look at it every day as much as I wish."
Turning she saw the bride standing by her side. She scarcely knew how to answer, and before she could do so she noticed that another had entered the room, and she knew instinctively that Mr. Stanley had come.
"That is one of my treasures. Are you admiring it?" he said in the strong voice that seemed so unlike his old one, and the guest mur mured something about the pic ture, and, looking about uneasily, excused herself and slipped away.
They stood a moment before the picture together, the husband and wife. They were tired with the evening's talk, and a sight of this refreshed them both and gave the promise of future joy.
The " ladye of high degree," passing through that hall, having purposely come by another route from the cloak room rather than through the study, saw them standing also, and understood—that she did not understand—and went out into the night with a lonely longing for something, she knew
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