He tried to return to his work,but found himself once more possessed by the demon of unrest and impatience.The spiritual wave that had been lifting him higher and higher was changing its character and becoming a smoothly gliding current.It was so irresistible that he never thought of resisting."Why should he resist?"he asked himself.Circumstances had interested him in this rare Undine before she received a woman's soul;circumstances had entangled his life and hers in what had almost been an awful tragedy;and now circumstances,or something far beyond,were swiftly developing before his eyes a spiritual loveliness that was the counterpart of her outward beauty,and he assured himself that it would be the greatest folly of his life to lose a trace of the exquisite process that he might be privileged to see.What artist or poet has not pictured himself the fair face of Eve as God first breathed into her perfect clay the breath of life,or has not,in imagination,seen the closed eyes opening in surprise and intelligence or kindling with the light of love?And yet the change in Ida Mayhew seemed to Van Berg far more wonderful and interesting;and to his fancy if,instead of lying in the beauty of her breathless,statuesque preparation for life,Eve had been possessed by a legion of distorting imps,she would have been the type of the maiden he first had recognized.But he had seen these evil spirits exorcised,and in their place was coming a noble,womanly soul--sweet,tender,and strong--and the perfect form and features seemed but a transparent mould,a crystal vase into which heaven was pouring a new and divine life.Why should he not long to escape from the dusty matter-of-fact world and witness this spiritual repetition of the most beautiful story of the past?Thus his philosophical mind was able once more to reason the whole matter out clearly and prove that his wish to annihilate the intervening hours before he could dare to present himself to Ida Mayhew,was the most natural and proper desire imaginable.He concluded that a walk through Central Park might banish his disquietude,and leave time for a careful toilet,since for some occult reason the occasion seemed to him to require unusual preparation.
He knew he was unfashionably early when he rang Mr.Mayhew's door-bell,but he had found it impossible to curb his impatience to see in what new aspect Ida would present herself that evening.
A hundred times he had queried how she would appear in her own home,how she would preside as hostess,and whether the taste of the florid and fashionable mother would not be so apparent as to annoy him like a bad tone in the picture.yes,that was Mrs.Mayhew's parlor into which he was shown.It did not suggest the maiden who had come to visit,nor the quiet,dignified gentleman Mr.Mayhew was seen to be when at the touch of love's wand a degrading vice fell away from him.But the artist could find no fault with the host who greeted him promptly,and when,a few moments later,there was a breezy rustle on the stairs and he turned to greet his hostess,his face flushed with admiration and pleasure.It became evident that the worshipper of beauty was in the presence of his divinity,and his every glance burned incense to her honor.She had twined a few rose-leaves in her hair,but wore no other ornament save the rose he had given her in the morning,which evidently had been kept carefully for the occasion,for it was unchanged,with the exception that it revealed its heart a little more openly,as did Ida herself.And yet she did her best to insure that her manner should be no more cordial than her character of hostess demanded.
But in spite of all she could do,the light of exultation and intense joy would flash into her eyes and tremble in her tones that evening.A maiden would have been blind indeed had she not been able to read the riddle of Van Berg's ardent friendship now,and Ida had seen that expression too often not to know its meaning well.In the morning she had strongly hoped,now she believed.
She no longer walked by faith but in full vision,and she trod with the grace of a queen who knows her power in the realm that woman loves best.The glow of her eyes,her repressed excitement,that vitalized everything she said or did,mystified while they charmed her guest."She has become true to nature,"he thought,"and like nature is full of mysterious changes,for which we know not the cause.At one time it is a sharp north wind,again the south wind.
This morning there was a sudden shower of tears,and before it was over the sunlight of smiles flashed through them.Now she appears like a June morning,and I pray the weather holds.""Oh,"thought Ida,in the wild,mad glee of her heart,"how can Ibehave myself and look innocent and unconscious,seeing what I do?
He is my very good friend is he?I wish for only one such friend in the world.It wouldn't be proper to have another.Oh,but isn't it rich to see how unconscious he is of himself!He is passing into an exceedingly acute attack of my own complaint,and the poor man doesn't know what is the matter.I don't believe he ever looked at Jennie Burton as he looks at me.Ah,Jennie Burton!"The joyousness suddenly faded out of her face and she sighed deeply.
It seemed to Van Berg for a time that his June morning might become clouded after all,but while his face was turned towards her with the expression it now wore no sad thoughts or misgivings could shadow Ida very long.
