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nature。
He asked himself； 〃Can it be that here is a character in which the
elements of a true and good woman do not exist？ Has she no heart；
no mind； no conscience worthy of the name？ At her age she cannot
have lost these qualities。 Have they never been awakened？ Do
they exist to that degree that they can be aroused into controlling
activity？ I suppose there can be pretty idiots。 As people are
born blind or scrofulous； so I suppose others can be born devoid of
heart or conscience； inheriting from a degenerate ancestry sundry
mean and vile propensities in their places。 Human nature is
a scale that runs both up and down； and it is astonishing how far
the extremes can be apart。〃
〃How high is it possible for the same individual to rise in this
scale？ I imagine we are all prone to judge of people as if they
were finished pictures； and to think that the defects our first
scrutiny discovers will remain for all time。 It is in real life
much as in fiction。 From first to last a villain is a villain；
as if he had been created one。 The heroine is a moss rose…bud by
equal and unchanging necessity。 Is this girl a fool； and will she
remain one by any innate compulsion？ By Jove！ I would like to see
her again in the searching light of day。 I would like to follow
her career sufficiently long； to discover whether nature has been
guilty of the grotesque crime of associating inseparably with that
fine form and those exquisite features； a hideous little mind that
must go on intensifying its dwarfed deformity； until death snuffs
it out。 If this be true； the beautiful little monster that is
bothering me so suggests a knotty problem to wiser heads than mine。〃
Somewhat later his musings led him to indulge in a broad laugh。
〃Possibly；〃 he said aloud； 〃she is a modern and fashionable Undine；
and has never yet received a woman's soul。 The good Lord deliver
me from trying to awaken it； as did the knight of old in the story；
by swelling the long list of her victims。 I can scarcely imagine
a more pitiable and abject creature than a man （once sane and
sensible） in thraldom to such a tantalizing semblance of a woman。
She would no more appreciate his devotion than the jackdaw the
pearl necklace it pecked at。
〃I fear my Undine theory won't answer。 Stanton says she has no heart；
and her face and manner confirm his words。 But now I think of it；
the original Undine lived a long time agoin the age of primeval
simplicity； when even cool…blooded water nymphs had hearts。 One
is induced to think； in our age； that this organ will eventually
disappear with the other characteristics of ancient and undeveloped
man； and that the brain； or what stands for it； will become all in
all。 In the first instance the woman's soul came in through the
heart； but I suppose that in the case of a modern Undine it could
enter most readily through the head。 I wonder if there is something
like an unawakened mind； sleeping under that broad low brow that
mocks one with its fair intellectual outline。 I wonder if it
would be possible to set her thinking； and so eventually render
her capable of receiving a woman's soul。 As it is now she seems
to possess only certain disagreeable feminine propensities。 One
might engage in such an experiment as a philosopher rather than a
lover； or； what is more to my purpose； as an artist。
〃By Jove！ I would half like to make the attempt； it would give zest
to one's summer vacation。 Well； what is to hinder？ Now I think
of it she remarked that she was to spend the season at the Lake
House； not far from the Hudson； a place well suited to my purposes。
There are the wild highlands on one side； and a soft pastoral country
on the other。 I could there find abundant opportunity for varied
studies in scenery； and at the same time beguile my idle hours at
the hotel with this face of marvellous capabilities and possibilities。
The features already exist； and would be beautiful if the girl were
dead； and they could be no longer distorted by the small vices of
the spirit back of them。 They might become transcendently beautiful；
could she in very truth receive the soul of a true and thoughtful
womana soul such as makes my mother beautiful in her plain old
age。
〃I'm inclined to follow this odd fancy。 That girl is a 'rara
avis' such as has never flown across my path before。 I shall have
a quarrel with nature all my life if I must believe she can fashion
a face capable of meaning so much and yet actually meaning so
little； and that little disgusting。〃
After a few moments of deep thought； he again started to his feet
and commenced pacing his studio。
〃Suppose；〃 he soliloquized； 〃I attempt a novel bit of artistic work
as my summer recreation。 Suppose I take the face of this stranger
instead of a piece of canvas and try to illumine it with thought；
with womanly character and intelligence。 If I fail； as I probably
shall； no harm will be done。 If her silliness and vanity are
ingrained and essential parts of her nature； she shall learn that
there is at least one man who can see her as she is； and whose
heart is not wax on which to stamp her pretty and senseless image。
If I only partially succeed； if I discern she has a mind； but
so feeble that it can only half reclaim her from her weakness and
folly； still something will be accomplished。 Her features are so
beautiful； that should they come to express even the glimmerings
of that which is admirable； the face will be in part redeemed。
But if by some happy miracle； as in the instance of the original
Undine； a mind can be awakened that will gradually prepare a place
for the soul of a true woman； I shall accomplish the best work of
my life； even estimated from an artistic point of view。 Possibly；
for my reward； she will permit me to paint her portrait as a souvenir
of our summer's acquaintance。〃
It did not take Van Berg long to complete his arrangements for
leaving town。 He wrote a line to his friend Stanton； saying that
he proposed spending a few weeks in the vicinity of the Highlands
on the Hudson； and that he could not say when he would be at his
rooms or at home again。 The afternoon of the following day found
him a passenger on a fleet steamboat； and fully bent upon carrying
out his odd artistic freak。
Chapter IV。 A Parthian Arrow。
As； in the quiet June evening； Harold Van Berg glided through the
shadows of the Highlands； there came a slight change over his spirit
of philosophical and artistic experiment。 The season comported
with his early manhood； and the witching hour and the scenery were
not conducive to cold philosophy。 He who prided himself on his
steady pulse and a devotion to art so absorbing that it even prompted
his impulses and gave character to his recreation； was led to feel；
on this occasion； that his mistress was vague and shadowy； and to
half wish for that companionship which the most self…reliant natures
have craved at times； ever since man first felt； and God knew； that
it was 〃not good for him to be alone。〃 If he could turn from the
beauty of the sun…tipped hills and rocks and the gloaming shadows
to an appreciative and sympathetic face； such as he could at
least imagine the visage of Ida Mayhew might become； would not his
enjoyment of the beauty he saw be doubly enhanced？ In his deepest
consciousness he was compelled to admit that it would。 He caught
a glimpse of the truth that he would never attain in his highest
manhood until he had allied himself to a womanhood which he should
come to believe supremely true and beautiful。
The ringing of the bell announced his landing； and in the hurry and
bustle of looking after his luggage and obtaining a ticket which he
had forgotten to procure； he speedily became again； in the world's
estimation； and perhaps in his own； a practical； sensible man。 An
hour or two's ride among he hills brought him at last to the Lake
House； where he selected a room that had a fine prospect of the
mountains； the far distant river； and the adjacent open country；
engaging it only for a brief time so that he might depart when he
chose； in case the object of his pursuit should not appear； or he
should weary of the effort； or despair of its success。
A few days passed； but the face which had so haunted his fancy
presented no actual appearance。 The scenery； however； was beautiful；
the weather so perfect； and he enjoyed his rambles among the hills
and his excursions on the water so thoroughly that he was already
growing slightly forgetful of his purpose and satisfied that he
could enjoy himself a few weeks without the zest of artistically
redeeming the face of Ida Mayhew。 But one day； while at dinner；
he overheard some gossip concerning a 〃great belle〃 who was to come
that evening； and he at once surmised that it was the fair stranger
he had seen at the concert。
At the ti