She found it early in the
afternoon. It was a quaint letter--written in the spirit of their
meeting--telling her the probable time of her neighbor's return; warning
her, in fear of some fanciful horror, to beware of the picture on the
easel; and wishing her joy of the adventure. With the note, was a key.
A few minutes later, the girl unlocked the door of the studio, and entered
the building that had once been so familiar to her, but was now, in its
interior, so transformed. Slowly, she pushed the door to, behind her. As
though half frightened at her own daring, she stood quite still, looking
about. In the atmosphere of that somewhat richly furnished apartment;
poised timidly as if for ready flight; she seemed, indeed, the spirit that
the novelist--in playful fancy--insisted that she was. Her cheeks were
glowing with color; her eyes were bright with the excitement of her
innocent adventure, and with her genuine admiration and appreciation of
the beautiful room.
Presently,--growing bolder,--she began moving about the
studio--light-footed and graceful as a wild thing from her own mountain
home, and, indeed, with much the air of a gentle creature of the woods
that had strayed into the haunts of men.
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