u were she?" replied Miss Ludington. "I have not long to live,
and it is far more important to me that she should be there to welcome me
when I go over than that I should have her here with me for a few days
before I go. If she were here on earth the thought of so soon leaving her
behind would sadden me as much as the hope of meeting her now gladdens
me."

Miss Ludington neither talked herself nor permitted others to talk in a
melancholy tone of the probable nearness of her end. "Death may seem
dreadful," she said to Ida one day, "to the foolish people who fancy that
an individual dies but once, forgetting that their present selves are but
the last of many selves already dead. The death which may now be near me
is no sadder, no more important, than the deaths of my past selves, and
no different, save in the single respect that this time no later self
will follow me. This house of our individuality, which has sheltered us
in turn, having become incapable of being repaired for the use of
subsequent tenants, is to be pulled down. That is all."

Another time she said, "It is very strange to see people who dread death
always looking for it instead of backward. In their fear of dying once
they quite forget that they have died already many times. It is the most
foolish of all things to imagine that by prolonging the career of the
individual, death is kept at bay. The present self must die in any case
by the inevitable process of time, whether the body be kept in repair for
later selves or not. The death of the body is but the end of the daily
dying that makes up earthly life."

They were married in the sitting-room before the picture that had exerted
so strong an influence upon their lives. The servants were invited in,
but there was no company. Ida wore a white satin with a low corsage, and
as she stood directly below the picture, the resemblance impressed the
beholders very strikingly. It was as if the girl had stepped down from
the picture to be married.

Ida had demurred a little to standing just there, which had been the
suggestion of Miss Ludington. She was not without a vague superstition
that the spirit of the girl whose lover she had stolen away would not
wish her well. But when she hinted this, Miss Ludington replied, "You
must not think of it that way. What has a spirit like her to do with
earthly passions? Your love has saved Paul from a dream as vain as it was
beautiful, and which, had it gone on, might have ga