"Thank you, Madame," said Beverley, bowing again, "I am sorry not
to have seen him."
As he was turning to go a shimmer of brown hair streaked with gold
struck upon his vision from just within the door. He paused, as if
in response to a military command, while a pair of gray eyes met
his with a flash. The cabin room was ill lighted; but the
crepuscular dimness did not seem to hinder his sight. Beyond the
girl's figure, a pair of slender swords hung crossed aslant on the
wall opposite the low door.
Beverley had seen, in the old world galleries, pictures in which
the shadowy and somewhat uncertain background thus forced into
strongest projection the main figure, yet without clearly defining
it. The rough frame of the doorway gave just the rustic setting
suited to Alice's costume, the most striking part of which was a
grayish short gown ending just above her fringed buckskin
moccasins. Around her head she had bound a blue kerchief, a wide
corner of which lay over her crown like a loose cap. Her bright
hair hung free upon her shoulders in tumbled half curls. As a
picture, the figure and its entourage might have been artistically
effective; but as Beverley saw it in actual life the first
impression was rather embarrassing. Somehow he felt almost
irresistibly invited to laugh, though he had never been much given
to risibility.
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