The place was another of those old ranches that
had been purchased by the Power Company and permitted to go back to the
wilderness from which it had been won by some hardy settler. The little
plot of open ground--well sodded with firm turf and short-cropped by
roving cattle and deer--had evidently been, at one time, the front yard of
the mountaineer's home. A little out from the porch, and in full view of
the artist,--her graceful form outlined against the background of wild
roses,--stood Sibyl Andres with her violin.
As the girl played,--her winsome face upturned to the mountain heights and
her body, lightly poised, swaying with the movement of her arm as easily
as a willow bough,--she appeared, to the man hidden in the cedars, as some
beautiful spirit of the woods and hills--a spirit that would vanish
instantly if he should step from his hiding place. He was so close that he
could see her blue eyes, wide and unmindful of her surroundings; her lips,
curved in an unconscious smile; and her cheeks, flushed with emotion under
their warm brown tint--as she appeared to listen for the music that she,
in turn,--seemingly with no effort of her will,--gave forth again in the
tones of the instrument under her chin.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217