She had, indeed,
hoped that from time to time she should see Ida again; still, her life
was mostly past, and it was chiefly upon the communion they would enjoy
in heaven, not momentary and imperfect as here, but perennial and
complete, that her heart was set.
Very different was it with Paul. He was young; heaven was very far off,
and the way thither, unless cheered by occasional visitations of his
radiant mistress, seemed inexpressibly long and dreary. The nature of his
sentiment for Ida had changed since he had seen her clothed in a living
form, from the worship of a sweet but dim ideal to the passion which a
living woman inspires. He thought of her no more as a spirit, lofty and
serene, but as a beautiful maiden with the love-light in her eyes.
He was not able to find his former inspiration in the picture above the
fireplace. Its still enchantment was gone. The set smile, that had ever
before seemed so sweet, palled upon him. The eyes, that had always been
so tender, now lacked expression. The lips that the boy had climbed up to
kiss, how had the artist failed to intimate their exquisite curves! The
whole picture had suffered a subtle deterioration, and looked hard,
wooden, lifeless, and almost, unlike.
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