Few young girls ever thought less of their personal appearance.

I lived so much in the world within, that I gave but little heed to the fashion of my outward form.

It seemed so poor an expression of the glowing heart, the heaven-born soul.
For the first time I looked upon myself with reference to the eyes of others, and I tried to imagine the youthful figure on which I gazed as belonging to another, and not myself.

Were the outlines softened by the dark-flowing sable, classic and graceful?
Was there beauty in the oval cheek, now wearing the warm bloom of the brunette, or the dark, long-lashed eye, which drooped with the burden of unuttered thoughts?
As I asked myself these questions, I smiled at my folly; and as the image smiled back upon the original, there was such a light, such a glow, such a living soul passed before me, that for one moment a triumphant consciousness swelled my bosom, a new revelation beamed on my understanding,--the consciousness of woman's hitherto unknown power,--the revelation of woman's destiny.
And connected with this, there came the remembrance of that haunting face in the library, which I had only seen on canvas, but which was to me a breathing reality,--that face which, even on the cold, silent wall, had no repose; but dark, restless, and impassioned, was either a history of past disappointment, or a prophecy of future suffering.
The moment of triumph was brief.

A pale shadow seemed to flit behind me and dim the bright image reflected in the mirror.