270 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
we had anticipated from the soigne air of everything 
about its exterior. Books, maps, pictures, a number of 
astronomical instruments, geological specimens, and a 
magnificent assortment of fishing-rods, betrayed the 
habits of the practical, well-educated, business-loving 
English gentleman who inhabited it; and as he showed 
me the various articles of interest in his study, most 
heartily did I congratulate myself on the lucky chance 
which had brought me into contact with so desirable an 
acquaintance. 
All this time we had seen nothing of the lady of the 
house; and I was just beginning to speculate as to 
whether that crowning ornament could be wanting to 
this pleasant home, when the door at the further end of 
the room suddenly opened,, and there glided out into the 
sunshine—“ The White Lady of Avenel.” A fairer ap¬ 
parition I have seldom seen,—stately, pale, and fragile 
as a lily—blond hair, that rippled round a forehead of 
ivory—a cheek of waxen purity on which the fitful 
colour went and came—not with the flush of southern 
blood, or flower-bloom of English beauty,—but rather 
with a cool radiance, as of “ northern streamers ” on the 
snows of her native hills,—eyes of a dusky blue, and 
