George MacDonald

The Elect Lady George MacDonald

In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its appointments, yet lookingscarcely that of a farmhouse-for there were utensils about it indicating necessities moreartificial than usually grow upon a farm-with the corner of a white deal table betweenthem, sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no level offriendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which seemed the subject of theirconversation. She was about four- or five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, withdark hair, dark hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, but alittle hard, and not a little regnant-as such features must be, except after prolongedinfluence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. As to her social expression, it was a minglingof the gentlewoman of education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the householdand its share in the labor of production. As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than falls to the lot ofmost observers, not to take him for a weaker nature than the young woman; and thedeference he showed her as the superior, would have enhanced the difficulty of a truejudgment. He was tall and thin, but plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clearhazel eye, not overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a curious smile; asun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of pinching his upper lip between hisfinger and thumb, which at the present moment he was unconsciously indulging. He wasthe son of a small farmer-in what part of Scotland is of little consequence-and hiscompanion for the moment was the daughter of the laird."I have glanced over the poem," said the lady, "and it seems to me quite up to the averageof what you see in print.""Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?" asked the man, with amused smile.