For a moment she stood, lightly poised,
and then, with her wide, shining eyes fixed upon those gorgeously winged
spirits whirling in the fragrant air, with her lips parted in smiling
delight, she danced upon the smooth turf of the glade--every step and
movement in perfect harmony with the spirit of care-free abandonment that
marked the movements of the butterflies that danced above her head.
Unmindful of the watching man, as her dainty companions
themselves,--forgetful of his presence,--she yielded to the impulse to
express her emotions in free, rhythmic movement.
Instinctively, Aaron King was silent--standing motionless, as if he feared
to startle her into flight.
Suddenly, as the girl danced--her eyes always upon her winged
companions--the insects floated above the artist's head, and she became
conscious of his presence. Her cheeks flushed and, laughing low,--as she
danced, lightly as a spirit,--she impulsively stretched out her arms to
him, in merry invitation--as though challenging him to join her.
The gesture was as spontaneous and as innocent, in its freedom, as had
been her offering of the gifts from mountain stream and bush. But the
man--lured into forgetfulness of everything save the wild loveliness of
the scene--started toward her.
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