He listened at her door for a moment, and could not fail to hear
the stifled sound of her passionate grief; then knocked, but there
was no response.
"Ida," he said, in a kinder tone than usual, "I want to see you."
She tried to quiet her sobbing, and after a moment faltered: "You
had better leave me to myself."
"No, I must see you," he said kindly but firmly. "I have something
to say to you."
The poor girl was so lonely and heart-broken, that she was ready
for the least ray of comfort. She now saw that she was ignorant
and exceedingly faulty. She was ready to admit the fact that she
had acted very foolishly and unwisely, and that circumstances were
against her. Ill-omened circumstances have brought to condemnation
and death innocent men. Ida would not now claim that she was
innocent of blame, but events had seemed so unfortunate of late,
that she was half ready to think that some vindictive hand was
shaping them.
But she did not feel that she was now worse than she had been.
On the contrary, she had longings for a better life and a broader
culture such as she had never experienced before. The artist's
eyes, in searching for her woman's soul, revealed to her that she
had been a fool; but now she would gladly become a woman if some
one would only point out the way.
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