“Very fair must be the bride in the eyes of her royal lover, clothed in the garments which he has selected,—­all light and joy and tenderness, for, the King’s daughter is all glorious within.”

“Aunt Marthe,” said Evadne, after a long silence, in which they had been tasting the sweetness of it, “I do not need to ask if you know Jesus Christ?”

The lovely face took on an added beauty.  “He is my life,” she said.

CHAPTER XI.

Evadne was swinging in the hammock one golden summer afternoon, humming soft snatches of her old songs while she played with her aunt’s pet black and tan.  The sweet freshness of her new existence was rapidly restoring tone to her mental system, and life no longer seemed a hopeless task.  The days were full of dreamy contentment.  She spent long mornings under the murmuring pines in the deep belt of forest which stretched for miles behind the house, or helped Mrs. Everidge keep the rooms in dainty order; drove with her along the grass-bordered roads, while ears and eyes feasted on the symphonies of Nature and the ever changing beauty of the hills; or stood beside Joanna in a trance of delight out in the fragrant dairy, whose windows opened into a wild sweetness of fluttering leaves, and whose cool stone floor made a channel for a purling brook, watching her as with dexterous hands she shaped and moulded the bubbley dough or tossed up an omelet or made one of her delicious cherry pies, conscious through it all of the sweet influence which seemed to pervade every corner of the house and grounds.

“I wonder what it is about you, you dear Aunt Marthe?” she soliloquized, as she pulled Noisette’s silky ears.  “When you are away I cannot bear to go into the house,—­everything seems so different, so cold and dark,—­but the moment you come home again it is as lovely as ever.  Concentrated light.  Yes, that name would suit you, for light is sweet and pure and stimulating and precious.  If all the people in the world were like you, what a world it would be!”

She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching, and then rose to welcome her visitor.  A woman twenty years her senior, bright, capable, energetic, with a shrewd face and kindly eyes whose keen glance was quick to pierce the flimsy veil of humbug, and a tongue whose good-natured sarcasm had made more than one pretender feel ashamed.

“How do?” she said briskly, as she took the chair Evadne offered.  “I hope you’re feelin’ better sence you’ve cum?”

“Much better, thank you.  I am very sorry my aunt is not at home.”

“I’m sorry likewise, though it don’t make as much difference as it might have done, as I’m callin’ a purpose to see you.”

“That is very good of you,” said Evadne with a laugh.  There was a spicy flavor about this child of the mountains which she found refreshing.

“It’s a bit awkward,” continued her visitor with a twinkle in her eye, “as we’ll have to do our own introducin’.  My name’s Penelope Riggs, Penel for brevity.  What’s yours?”