The stranger, so superior in her eyes to all she had yet seen, was the first who had ever addressed her in that voice which by tones, not words, speaks that admiration most dear to a woman's heart.

To _him_ she was beautiful, and her lovely mind spoke out, undimmed by the imperfections of her face.

Not, indeed, that Lucille was wholly without personal attraction; her light step and graceful form were elastic with the freshness of youth, and her mouth and smile had so gentle and tender an expression, that there were moments when it would not have been the blind only who would have mistaken her to be beautiful.

Her early childhood had indeed given the promise of attractions, which the smallpox, that then fearful malady, had inexorably marred.

It had not only seared the smooth skin and brilliant hues, but utterly changed even the character of the features.