Once he paused and looked back upon ugly
Glencaid, dingy and forlorn even at that distance; then he crossed the
narrow stream by means of a convenient log, and clambered up the
somewhat steep bank. A heavy fringe of low bushes clung close along
the edge of the summit, but a plainly defined path led among their
intricacies. He pressed his way through, coming into a glade where
sunshine flickered through the overarching branches of great trees, and
the grass was green and short, like that of a well-kept lawn.
As Brant emerged from the underbrush he suddenly beheld a fair vision
of young womanhood resting on the grassy bank just before him. She was
partially reclining, as if startled by his unannounced approach, her
face turned toward him, one hand grasping an open book, the other
shading her eyes from the glare of the sun. Something in the graceful
poise, the piquant, uplifted face, the dark gloss of heavy hair, and
the unfrightened gaze held him speechless until the picture had been
impressed forever upon his memory. He beheld a girl on the verge of
womanhood, fair of skin, the red glow of health flushing her cheeks,
the lips parted in surprise, the sleeve fallen back from one white,
rounded arm, the eyes honest, sincere, mysterious.
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