Seven years had not changed Marian much--a little less vivid, perhaps,
the bloom on cheeks and lips, a shade paler the angel brow, a shade
darker the rich and lustrous auburn tresses, softer and calmer, fuller
of thought and love the clear blue eyes--sweeter her tones, and gentler
all her motions--that was all. Her dress was insignificant in material,
make and color, yet the wearer unconsciously imparted a classic and
regal grace to every fold and fall of the drapery. No splendor of
apparel could have given such effect to her individual beauty as this
quiet costume; I would I were an artist that I might reproduce her image
as she was--the glorious face and head, the queenly form, in its plain
but graceful robe of I know not what--gray serge, perhaps.
Her whole presence--her countenance, manner and tone revealed the
richness, strength and serenity of a faithful, loving, self-denying,
God-reliant soul--of one who could recall the past, endure the present,
and anticipate the future without regret, complaint or fear.
Sometimes the lady's soft eyes would lift themselves from her work to
rest with tenderness upon the form of a little child, so small and still
that you would not have noticed her presence but in following the lady's
loving glance.
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