symmetry and health--and, in the case of the former of
the two, there was an added charm in a certain little air of stateliness
and distinction which characterized her movements.

Patrick's reminiscent comment on Elisabeth Durward recalled itself to
Sara's mind: "I think she was one of the most beautiful women I have
ever seen," and she recognized that almost any one might have truthfully
subscribed to the same opinion.

Mrs. Durward must have been at least forty years of age--arguing from
the presence of the six foot of young manhood whom she called son--but
her appearance was still that of a woman who had not long passed her
thirtieth milestone. The supple lines of her figure held the merest
suggestion of maturity in their gracious curves, and the rich chestnut
hair, swathed round her small, fine head, gleamed with the sheen which
only youth or immense vitality bestows. Her skin was of that almost
dazzling purity which is so often found in conjunction with reddish
hair, and the defect of over-light brows and lashes, which not
infrequently mars the type, was conspicuously absent. Her eyes were
arresting. They were of a deep, hyacinth blue, very luminous and soft,
and quite beautiful. But they held a curiously veiled expression--a
something guarded and inscrutable--as though they hid some secret inner
knowledge sentinelled from the world at large.

Sara, meeting their still, enigmatic gaze, was subtly conscious of an
odd sense of repulsion, almost amounting to dread, and then Elisabeth,
making some trivial observation as she moved nearer to the fire,
smiled across at her, and, in the extraordinary charm of her smile, the
momentary sensation of fear was forgotten.

Nevertheless, it was with a feeling of relief that Sara encountered the
gay, frank glance of the son.

Tim Durward, though dowered to the full with his mother's beauty,
had yet been effectually preserved from the misfortune of being an
effeminate repetition of her. In him, Elisabeth's glowing auburn
colouring had sobered to a steady brown--evidenced in the crisp, curly
hair and sun-tanned skin; and the misty hyacinth-blue of her eyes had
hardened in the eyes of her son into the clear, bright azure of the
sea, whist the beautiful contours of her face, repeated in his, had
strengthened into a fine young virility.

"I can't cure mother of introducing me as if I were the Lord Mayor," he
murmured plaintively to Sara as they sat down to tea. "I suppose it's