"Handsomer than ever," he muttered, as his eye rested on the blooming
girl, looking more like a rose than ever in the peach-colored silk which
he had once condemned because a rival admired it. She turned to reply to
the major, and Annon glanced at Treherne with an irrepressible frown,
for sickness had not marred the charm of that peculiar face, so
colorless and thin that it seemed cut in marble; but the keen eyes shone
with a wonderful brilliancy, and the whole countenance was alive with a
power of intellect and will which made the observer involuntarily
exclaim, "That man must suffer a daily martyrdom, so crippled and
confined; if it last long he will go mad or die."

"General and Mrs. Snowden," announced the servant, and a sudden pause
ensued as everyone looked up to greet the newcomers.

A feeble, white-haired old man entered, leaning on the arm of an
indescribably beautiful woman. Not thirty yet, tall and nobly molded,
with straight black brows over magnificent eyes; rippling dark hair
gathered up in a great knot, and ornamented with a single band of gold.
A sweeping dress of wine-colored velvet, set off with a dazzling neck
and arms decorated like her stately head with ornaments of Roman gold.
At the first glance she seemed a cold, haughty creature, born to dazzle
but not to win. A deeper scrutiny detected lines of suffering in that
lovely face, and behind the veil of reserve, which pride forced her to
wear, appeared the anguish of a strong-willed woman burdened by a heavy
cross. No one would dare express pity or offer sympathy, for her whole
air repelled it, and in her gloomy eyes sat scorn of herself mingled
with defiance of the scorn of others. A strange, almost tragical-looking
woman, in spite of beauty, grace, and the cold sweetness of her manner.
A faint smile parted her lips as she greeted those about her, and as her