Kilmeny of the Orchard 
     
    
   
   
    
     was parted above her forehead and hung 
     
     in two heavy lustrous braids over her 
     
     shoulders. Her eyes were of such a blue 
     
     as Eric had never seen in eyes before, the 
     
     tint of the sea in the still, calm light that 
     
     follows after a fine sunset; they were as 
     
     luminous as the stars that came out over 
     
     Lindsay Harbour in the afterglow, and 
     
     were fringed about with very long, soot- 
     
     black lashes, and arched over by most 
     
     delicately pencilled dark eyebrows. Her 
     
     skin was as fine and purely tinted as the 
     
     heart of a white rose. The collarless 
     
     dress of pale blue print she wore revealed 
     
     her smooth, slender throat; her sleeves 
     
     were rolled up above her elbows and the 
     
     hand which guided the bow of her violin 
     
     was perhaps the most beautiful thing 
     
     about her, perfect in shape and texture, 
     
     firm and white, with rosy-nailed taper 
     
     fingers. One long, drooping plume of 
     
     lilac blossom lightly touched her hair and 
     
     cast a wavering shadow over the flower— 
     
    
   
   
    
     like face beneath it. 
     
     62