Produced by Daniel Fromont
[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), The Old Helmet (1864),
Tauchnitz edition 1864, volume 1]
1864.
The incidents and testimonies given in this work as matters of fact,are not drawn from imagination, but reported from excellentauthority—though I have used my own words. And in the cases ofreported words of third parties, the words stand unchanged, without anymeddling.
"She look'd and saw that all was ruinous,
Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;
And here had fall'n a great part of a tower,
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers,
And high above a piece of turret stair,
Worn by the feet that now were silent,
Bare to the sun."
The first thing noticeable is a gleam of white teeth. Now that is apleasant thing generally; yet its pleasantness depends, after all, uponthe way the lips part over the ivory. There is a world of characterdiscoverable in the curve of those soft lines. In the present case,that of a lady, as it is undoubtedly the very first thing you notice,the matter must be investigated. The mouth is rather large, with wellcut lips however; and in the smile which comes not infrequently, thelips part freely and frankly, though not too far, over a wealth ofwhite, beautiful teeth. So free is the curve of the upper lip, and soready its revelation of the treasures beneath, that there is an instantsuspicion of a certain frankness and daring, and perhaps of a littlemischief, on the part of their possessor; so free, at the same time, asto forbid the least notion of consciousness or design in that beautifulrevelation. But how fine and full and regular are those white treasuresof hers! seeming to speak for a strong and perfect physicalorganisation; and if your eye goes further, for her flat hat is on theground, you will see in the bountiful rich head of hair another tokenof the same thing. Her figure is finely developed; her colour clear andhealthy; not blonde; the full-brown hair and eyes agree with the notionof a nature more lively than we assign to the other extreme ofcomplexion. The features are not those of a beauty, though better thanthat, perhaps; there is a world of life and sense and spirit in them.
It speaks for her good nature and feeling, that her smile is as frankas ever just now, and as pleasant as ever; for she is with about thelast one of her party on whom she would have chosen to bestow herself.The occasion is a visit to some celebrated ruins; a day of pleasure;and Eleanor would a good deal rather be walking and talking withanother much more interesting member of the company, in whose societyindeed her day had begun; but Mr. Carlisle had been obliged suddenly toreturn home for an hour or two; and Eleanor is sitting on a grassybank, with a gentleman beside her whom she knows very little and doesnot care about at all. That is, she has no idea he can be veryinteresti