Whatever might have been
the romance of which this souvenir was the sign, it was buried forever
with the past, and Hannah put it back in the box as carefully and
tenderly as if it were the hand of the woman on whose head that brown
tress once grew.
The next thing which met the view was a picture painted on ivory of a
young girl who might have been sixteen or eighteen years of age, and
whose face was so beautiful that Hannah uttered an exclamation of
surprise as she held it to the light and examined it closely.
The dress was old-fashioned, and such as would indicate that the wearer
belonged to the middle, rather than the wealthy class, but Hannah did
not think of that, so absorbed was she in the beauty of the fresh, young
face, and the expression of the large blue eyes, which seemed to look at
her so intently. The dark brown tress, so carefully wrapped in paper,
and bearing the scent of English violets and heather blossoms could
never have grown on this girl's head, for the wavy hair which fell in
such masses upon her neck was of that peculiar shade of gold, dashed
with red, seldom seen in America, and which latterly has become so
fashionable, that where nature fails to produce it, art has been called
into requisition, and achieved most wonderful success.
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