The silence which followed was so prolonged that a mouse crept from
its covert in some corner of the comfortless garret room, and
nibbled at the fragments of bread scattered on the table.

Beryl stood at the dormer window, holding aside the faded blue
cotton curtain, and the mid-day glare falling upon her, showed every
curve of her tall full form; every line in the calm, pale Sibylline
face. The large steel gray eyes were shaded by drooping lids,
heavily fringed with black lashes, but when raised in a steady gaze
the pupils appeared abnormally dilated; and the delicately traced
black brows that overarched them, contrasted conspicuously with the
wealth of deep auburn hair darkened by mahogany tints, which rolled
back in shining waves from her blue veined temples. While moulding
the figure and features upon a scale almost heroic, nature had
jealously guarded the symmetry of her work, and in addition to the
perfect proportion of the statuesque outlines, had bestowed upon the
firm white flesh a gleaming smoothness, suggestive of fine grained
marble highly polished. Majesty of mien implies much, which the
comparatively short period of eighteen years rarely confers, yet
majestic most properly describes this girl, whose archetype Veleda
read runic myths to the Bructeri in the twilight of history.

Beryl crossed the room, and with her hands folded tightly together,
came to the low bed, on which lay the wreck of a once beautiful
woman, and stood for a moment silent and pre-occupied. With a sudden
gesture of surrender, she stooped her noble head, as if assuming a
yoke, and drew one long deep breath. Did some prophetic intuition
show her at that instant the Phicean Hill and its dread tenant,
which sooner or later we must all confront?