Her hair was snow-white, contrasting admirably with her clear complexion
and dark eyes, and was combed back high above her forehead, and
surmounted by a mutch (cap) of finest lace. She was dressed in a gown
of pale green silk, which trailed in soft folds behind her and made a
rustling noise as she walked.
A most distinguished lady was Jean McAllister, for the blood of the
Stuarts ran in her veins.
Her face was beautiful, though not altogether with the beauty of correct
features, and certainly not with the beauty of youth, but it had in it
that indescribable loveliness, which one sees only in the faces of very
good women. It was what might be called a helpful face, and had upon it
that reflection of a divine light--all sympathetic natures possess, to
some degree.
"No angel, but a dearer being all dipt in angel instincts,
breathing Paradise."
Her voice was of soft and gentle _timbre_, soothing and tranquillizing
even at this heated moment, as she turned to her son and said:--
"Oh, me bairn, me bonnie bairn, could ye no' stay wi' us a while longer?
It is sair and lonely wi'out ye here, and Prince Chairlie has many mair
to fight for him.
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