A blotch of moonlight fell upon her dreamy, upturned face. One
hand lay in her lap, and the fingers of the other were idly playing with
a tress of hair that had fallen over her bosom. How well Miss Ludington
remembered that attitude, and even the habit of playing with her hair
which Ida had in the days so long gone by.
She stood in the shadow watching her till Paul ceased playing. Then she
advanced and spoke to them.
"I have been standing here looking at you, my sister," she said. "I have
been trying to imagine how strangely it must come over you that forty
years ago you sat here as you sit here now, just as young and beautiful
then as now, and Paul not then born, even his parents children at that
time."
Ida bent down her head and replied, in scarcely audible tones, "I do not
like to think of those days."
"And I don't like to think of them," echoed Paul, with a curious
sensation of jealousy, not the first of the kind that he had experienced
in imagining the former life of his darling. "I do not like to think who
may have sat at her feet then. I, too, would like to forget these days.
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