It was with some misgivings that Hemstead looked forward to meeting
his "cousin," on the following morning. Would she be as radiantly
beautiful, as piquant, and withal as kindly and frank as on the
previous evening? Even his limited experience of the world had shown
him that in the matter-of-fact and searching light of the morning
many of the illusions of the night vanish. He had noted with no
little surprise that ladies seemingly young and blooming had come
down to breakfast looking ten years older; so he had said to himself,
"She dazzled me last night. I shall see her as she is to-day."

Being an early riser he entered the cheerful breakfast-room
considerably before the others, and in a moment was entranced by
the view from the windows.

The severe north-east storm had expended itself during the night,
and its fine, sharp crystals had changed into snowflakes. As an
angry man after many hard cutting words relents somewhat and speaks
calmly if still coldly, so nature, that had been stingingly severe
the evening before, was now quietly letting fall a few final hints
of the harsh mood that was passing away. Even while he looked, the
sun broke through a rift over the eastern mountains, and lighted up
the landscape as with genial smiles. It shone, not on an ordinary
and prosaic world, but rather on one that had been touched by magic
during the night and transformed into the wonder-land of dreams.

The trees that in the dusk of the previous night had writhed and
groaned and struck their frozen branches together, gesticulating
like despairing anguish, now stood serene, and decked more daintily
than June would robe them. Whiter even than the pink-tinged blossoms
of May, was the soft wet snow that incased every twig, limb, and