Those she addressed were engrossed
in comparing the portrait with its original. The resemblance was striking
enough, but it was no wonder that after once seeing the living Ida, Paul
had found the canvas stiff and hard and lifeless.
"No," said Miss Ludington, "you never had a picture painted. It was not
till many years after you had left the world that this picture was
painted. It was enlarged from this portrait of you. Do you remember it?"
and taking the locket containing the ivory portrait of Ida from her neck
where she had worn it so many years, she opened and gave it to the girl.
"Why, it is my ivory portrait!" exclaimed Ida. "How did you come by it?
What do you mean about my leaving the world? Something strange has
happened to me, I know, but did I die? I don't remember dying. Oh, can't
somebody explain what has happened to me?"
The dazed look which had disappeared from her face since her recognition
of the village and the homestead had come back, and her last words were a
bitter cry that went to the hearts of the listeners.
Now, all the time they had been in the carriage, Paul had been trying to
think of some mode of setting her relationship to Miss Ludington in a
light so clear that she must comprehend it, for it was evident that the
confused explanations at Mrs.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112