Scarcely had she finished, when, offering some light refreshment,—­as it was now past noon,—­she proposed a walk in the open air.  She led the way to Bussey’s wood, her favorite retreat during the past year, where she had thought and read, or talked with intimate friends.  We climbed the rocky path, resting a moment or two at every pretty point, till, reaching a moss-cushioned ledge near the summit, she seated herself.  For a time she was silent, entranced in delighted communion with the exquisite hue of the sky, seen through interlacing boughs and trembling leaves, and the play of shine and shadow over the wide landscape.  But soon, arousing from her reverie, she took up the thread of the morning’s talk.  My part was to listen; for I was absorbed in contemplating this, to me, quite novel form of character.  It has been seen how my early distaste for Margaret’s society was gradually changed to admiration.  Like all her friends, I had passed through an avenue of sphinxes before reaching the temple.  But now it appeared that thus far I had never been admitted to the adytum.

As, leaning on one arm, she poured out her stream of thought, turning now and then her eyes full upon me, to see whether I caught her meaning, there was leisure to study her thoroughly.  Her temperament was predominantly what the physiologists would call nervous-sanguine; and the gray eye, rich brown hair and light complexion, with the muscular and well-developed frame, bespoke delicacy balanced by vigor.  Here was a sensitive yet powerful being, fit at once for rapture or sustained effort, intensely active, prompt for adventure, firm for trial.  She certainly had not beauty; yet the high arched dome of the head, the changeful expressiveness of every feature, and her whole air of mingled dignity and impulse, gave her a commanding charm.  Especially characteristic were two physical traits.  The first was a contraction of the eyelids almost to a point,—­a trick caught from near-sightedness,—­and then a sudden dilation, till the iris seemed to emit flashes;—­an effect, no doubt, dependent on her highly-magnetized condition.  The second was a singular pliancy of the vertebrae and muscles of the neck, enabling her by a mere movement to denote each varying emotion; in moments of tenderness, or pensive feeling, its curves were swan-like in grace, but when she was scornful or indignant it contracted, and made swift turns like that of a bird of prey.  Finally, in the animation, yet abandon of Margaret’s attitude and look, were rarely blended the fiery force of northern, and the soft languor of southern races.