\" Lucy shook her hand. Twenty-one, twenty-two. White,” the lady in black satin remarked. " "You mustn't think of that, Mrs. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. It is absolutely a frightful neighbourhood, this. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once.
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