But no, it was
one of those faces that are indescribable. You draw your breath as
you view it; you feel as if you had had an electric shock; but as for
knowing ten minutes later whether the eyes that so enthralled you
were blue or black, or the locks that clustered halo-like about a
forehead almost awful in its expression of weird, unfathomable power,
were brown or red, you could not nor would you pretend to say. It was
the character of the countenance itself that impressed you. You did
not even know if this woman who might have been anything wonderful or
grand you ever read of, were beautiful or not. You did not care; it
was as if you had been gazing on a tranquil evening sky and a
lightning flash had suddenly startled you. Is the lightning beautiful?
Who asks! But I know from what presently transpired, that the face
was ivory pale in complexion, the eyes deeply dark, and the hair,--
strange and uncanny combination,--of a bright and peculiar golden hue.
"You dare!" came forth in strange broken tones from Mr. Blake's lips.
I instantly turned towards him. He was gazing with a look that was
half indignant, half menacing at the silent detective who with eyes
drooped and finger directed towards the picture, seemed to be waiting
for him to finish.
"I do not understand an audacity that allows you to--to--" Was this
the haughty gentleman we had known, this hesitating troubled man with
bloodless lips and trembling hands?
"I declared my desire to justify myself," said my principal with a
respectful bow.
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