figure of desolation, there on the bed in the Tombs cell, it
would have required a most analytical observer to determine the
actualities of her loveliness. Her form was disguised by the
droop of exhaustion. Her complexion showed the pallor of
sorrowful vigils. Her face was no more than a mask of misery.
Yet, the shrewd observer, if a lover of beauty, might have found
much for delight, even despite the concealment imposed by her
present condition. Thus, the stormy glory of her dark hair,
great masses that ran a riot of shining ripples and waves. And
the straight line of the nose, not too thin, yet fine enough for
the rapture of a Praxiteles. And the pink daintiness of the
ear-tips, which peered warmly from beneath the pall of tresses.
One could know nothing accurately of the complexion now. But it
were easy to guess that in happier places it would show of a
purity to entice, with a gentle blooming of roses in the cheeks.
Even in this hour of unmitigated evil, the lips revealed a
curving beauty of red--not quite crimson, though near enough for
the word; not quite scarlet either; only, a red gently
enchanting, which turned one's thoughts toward tenderness--with a
hint of desire. It was, too, a generous mouth, not too large;
still, happily, not so small as those modeled by Watteau. It was
altogether winsome--more, it was generous and true, desirable for
kisses--yes!--more desirable for strength and for faith.

Like every intelligent woman, Mary had taken the trouble to
reinforce the worth of her physical attractiveness. The instinct
of sex was strong in her, as it must be in every normal woman,
since that appeal is nature's law. She kept herself supple and
svelte by many exercises, at which her companions in the chamber
scoffed, with the prudent warning that more work must mean more