of her voice, and breathe the same air with her, was, on the one
hand, a felicity so undreamed of, a fortune so amazing, that he sometimes
wondered how he could enjoy it, and still retain his senses.

But when he met her, and she returned his impassioned look with a mere
smile of civil recognition; when he spoke to her, and she answered him in
a tone of conventional politeness--he found it more than he could bear.

The eyes of her picture were kinder than hers. He had, at least, been
able to comfort himself with the belief that, as a spirit, she had known
of his love, and accepted it. Now, by her incarnation, while his eyes had
gained their desire, his heart had lost its consolation.

His condition of mind rapidly became desperate. He could not bear to be
in Ida's presence. Her friendly, formal accent was unendurable to him.
Their blank, unrecognizing expression, as they rested on him in mere
kindliness, made her lovely eyes awful to him as a Gorgon's.

In the early evening he found Miss Ludington alone, and broke out to her:

"For God's sake, can't you help me? I shall go mad if you don't!"

"Why, what do you mean?" she exclaimed, in astonishment.
"Don't you see?" he cried. "She does not know me. I have lost her instead
of finding her. I, who have loved her ever since I was a baby, am no more
than a stranger to her. Can't you see how she looks at me? She has
learned to know you, but I am a stranger to her."

"But how could she know you, Paul? She did not know me till it was
explained to her."

"I know," he said. "I don't blame her, but at the same time I cannot
stand it. Can't you help me with her? Can't you tell her how I have loved
her, so that she may understand that at least?"

"Poor Paul!" said Miss Ludington, soothingly. "In my own happiness I had
almost forgotten you. But I can see how hard it must be for you. I will
help you. I will tell her all the story. Oh, Paul! is she not beautiful?
She will love you, I know she will love you when she hears it, and how
happy you will be--happier than any man ever was! I will go to her now."

And, leaving Paul vaguely encouraged by her confidence, she went to find
Ida.

She came upon her in the sitting-room, intently pondering the picture
above the fireplace.

"I want to tell you a love story, my sister," she said.

"Whose love story?" asked Ida.

"Your own."

"But I never had a love story or a lover. Nobody can possibly know that
better than you do."

"