just quitted,
Hilda saw the sculptor still there, and waved her hand to him.

"How sad and dim he looks, down there in that dreary street!" she said
to herself. "Something weighs upon his spirits. Would I could comfort
him!"

"How like a spirit she looks, aloft there, with the evening glory round
her head, and those winged creatures claiming her as akin to them!"
thought Kenyon, on his part. "How far above me! how unattainable! Ah,
if I could lift myself to her region! Or--if it be not a sin to wish
it--would that I might draw her down to an earthly fireside!"

What a sweet reverence is that, when a young man deems his mistress a
little more than mortal, and almost chides himself for longing to bring
her close to his heart! A trifling circumstance, but such as lovers
make much of, gave him hope. One of the doves, which had been resting on
Hilda's shoulder, suddenly flew downward, as if recognizing him as its
mistress's dear friend; and, perhaps commissioned with an errand of
regard, brushed his upturned face with its wings, and again soared
aloft.

The sculptor watched the bird's return, and saw Hilda greet it with a
smile.

CHAPTER XLI

SNOWDROPS AND MAIDENLY DELIGHTS

It being still considerably earlier than the period at which artists
and tourists are accustomed to assemble in Rome, the sculptor and Hilda
found themselves comparatively alone there. The dense mass of native
Roman life, in the midst of which they were, served to press them near
one another. It was as if they had been thrown together on a desert
island. Or they seemed to have wandered, by some strange chance, out
of the common world, and encountered each other in a depopulated city,
where there were streets of lonely palaces, and unreckonable treasures
of beautiful and admirable things, of which they two became the sole
inheritors.

In such circumstances, Hilda's gentle reserve must have been stronger
than her kindly disposition permitted, if the friendship between Kenyon
and herself had not grown as warm as a maiden's friendship can ever be,
without absolutely and avowedly blooming into love. On the sculptor's
side, the amaranthine flower was already in full blow. But it is very
beautiful, though the lover's heart may grow chill at the perception, to
see how the snow will sometimes linger in a virgin's breast, even after
the spring is well advanced. In such alpine soils, the summer will not
be anticipated; we seek vainly for pass