CHAPTER II.
BEATRICE REDWING Midway in breakfast next morning, at a moment when Mrs.Rossall was describing certain originalities of drawing-room decoration observed on the previous day at a house in town, the half-open door admitted a young lady who had time to glance round the assembled family before her presence was observed.

In appearance she was very interesting.

The tints of her fine complexion were warmed by exercise in the morning air, and her dark eyes brightened by pleasurable excitement; she carried her hat in her hand, and seemed to have been walking bare-headed, for there were signs of wind-play in her abundant black hair.

But neither face nor attire suggested rusticity: the former was handsome, spirited, with a hint of uncommon things in its changeful radiance; the latter was the result of perfect taste choosing at will among the season's costumes.

At her throat were fastened two blossoms of wild rose, with the dew still on them, and the hand which held her lace-trimmed sunshade carried also a spray of meadow-sweet.
Mr.Athel, looking up from the end of the table, was the first to perceive her.
'_Guardami ben: ben son, ben son Beatrice_!' he exclaimed, rising and moving from his place.