In former letters I told you something of her; how she came to us a
lovely bride of just nineteen summers; how anxiously we looked for
her first appearance in church, for they arrived late Saturday
evening, and no one had seen her. I told you how my heart went out
to her as I looked on her sweet, bright, yet somewhat timid face;
there was a perfect witchery in her eyes. I felt that I could gaze
into them for ever; there was about them a spell, a fascination that
I have never seen in others; they laughed as they looked at you, and
yet they were not merely laughing eyes; perhaps the long, drooping
lashes somewhat modified the expression, and helped to give the
peculiarity so strikingly their own.
Her dress and whole appearance were captivating; the simple light
straw hat, with the little illusion veil, and the pure white dress
fitting so prettily the slender form. I could hardly wait for the
next day, so anxious was I to see and speak with her, for I loved
her already.
I had been prepared to love her, for our young pastor had told us
much of his future bride. You know our house was one of his homes,
and to us he had spoken often and enthusiastically of his Mary.
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