Linden Lane lay back from Oaklands a mile or more, and led me on a road I had never traversed before, although I had often planned to take it on some of my exploring journeys.  But it led away from the sea shore, and that probably was the reason I had hitherto neglected it.  There was a strip of woodland belonging to the Oaklands estate through which a part of the road lay.  There had been a recent fall of snow and this was still clinging heavily to the trees, especially to the spruce and hemlocks, bringing strangely to mind the muffled, mysterious figures of the Sisters of Charity and Nuns, as I used to see them gliding about the streets of the old world cities.  Here and there interspersed with the evergreens were beech, and maple, and other hardwood growths, with their graceful leafless branches stretching up like dumb pleading hands toward the pitiful sky.  I grew so interested seeking out specially picturesque forest growths, and glimpses into the still woodland depths under the white snow wraith which I might come again to study more closely, and put on my canvas, that I so far forgot the business of the hour as to find myself a half hour after the appointment at still some distance from Linden Lane.  Shutting my eyes resolutely on the rarest bits of landscape caught now and then through a chance opening in the trees, I walked at my best speed along the drifted road.  Esmerelda had described the cottage so minutely that I had no trouble in recognizing it.  Once past the strip of woodland, a bend in the road brought me at once into a thick cluster of houses with a few linden trees bordering the street that had given to it its rather poetical and alliterative name.  One house much more pretentious than the rest, I at once recognized to be Rose Cottage.  I rang the bell and was so quickly admitted, I concluded the tidy looking little maid had been posted at the door on the lookout for me.  I gave her my card and inquired for Mrs. Le Grande; a formality quite unnecessary, as she assured me she knew who I was and that the lady was already waiting for me.

“Just come this way.  She has a parlor upstairs; and my! but its a stunner.”

I received the information in perplexed silence.  But the little maid apparently did not look for encouragement, for she continued chattering until the door of the “stunning” apartment was closed behind her.  A bright fire was burning in the grate at my left.  In the swift glance with which I took in all the appointments of the room I acknowledged that the girl’s description was correct.  The walls were lined with pictures which I could see were gems; rich Turkish rugs concealed the common wood floor; while on brackets and stands were ornaments of rarest design and workmanship.  I had only a few moments, however, to gratify my curiosity; for a portiere at the farther end of the room was lifted, and a vision of female loveliness met my view such as I had never seen before.  Probably the surroundings, and the unexpected appearance of this beautiful woman, heightened the effect.