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firmed; as a village schoolmistress: she was sure my previous history; if known; would make a delightful romance。
One evening; while; with her usual child…like activity; and thoughtless yet not offensive inquisitiveness; she was rummaging the cupboard and the table…drawer of my little kitchen; she discovered first two French books; a volume of Schiller; a German grammar and dictionary; and then my drawing…materials and some sketches; including a pencil…head of a pretty little cherub…like girl; one of my scholars; and sundry views from nature; taken in the Vale of Morton and on the surrounding moors。 She was first transfixed with surprise; and then electrified with delight。
“Had I done these pictures? Did I know French and German? What a love—what a miracle I was! I drew better than her master in the first school in S…。 Would I sketch a portrait of her; to show to papa?”
“With pleasure;” I replied; and I felt a thrill of artist—delight at the idea of copying from so perfect and radiant a model。 She had then on a dark…blue silk dress; her arms and her neck were bare; her only ornament was her chestnut tresses; which waved over her shoulders with all the wild grace of natural curls。 I took a sheet of fine card…board; and drew a careful outline。 I promised myself the pleasure of colouring it; and; as it was getting late then; I told her she must e and sit another day。
She made such a report of me to her father; that Mr。 Oliver himself acpanied her next evening—a tall; massive…featured; middle…aged; and grey…headed man; at whose side his lovely daughter looked like a bright flower near a hoary turret。 He appeared a taciturn; and perhaps a proud personage; but he was very kind to me。 The sketch of Rosamond’s portrait pleased him highly: he said I m
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