He ran on swiftly for a few paces,--then coming more closely in view of the misty Shape he pursued, he checked himself abruptly and stood still, his heart sinking with a bitter and irrepressible sense of disappointment. Here surely was no Angel wanderer from unseen spheres! ... only a girl, clad in floating gray draperies that clung softly to her slim figure, and trailed behind her as she moved sedately along through the snow-white blossoms that bent beneath her noiseless tread. He had no eyes for the strange flower-transfiguration of the lately barren land,--all his interest was centered on the slender, graceful form of the mysterious Maiden. She, meanwhile, went on her way, till she reached the western boundary of the field,--there she turned, ... hesitated a moment, ... and then came back straight toward him. He watched her approach as though she were some invisible fate,--and a tremor shook his limbs as she drew nearer ... still nearer! He could see her distinctly now, all but her face,--that was in shadow, for her head was bent and her eyes were downcast. Her long, fair hair flowed in a loose rippling mass over her shoulders ... she wore a wreath of the Ardath flowers, and carried a cluster of them clasped between her small, daintily shaped hands. A few steps more, and she was close beside him--she stopped as if in expectation of some word or sign ... but he stood mute and motionless, not daring to speak or stir. Then--without raising her eyes--she passed, ... passed like a flitting vapor,--and he remained as though rooted to the spot, in a sort of vague, dumb bewilderment! His stupefaction was brief however--rousing himself to swift resolution, he hastened, after her.
"Stay! stay!" he cried aloud.
Obedient to his call she paused, but did not turn. He came up with her. ... he caught at her robe, soft to the touch as silken gauze, and overwhelmed by a sudden emotion of awe and reverence, he sank on his knees.
"Who, and what are you?" he murmured in trembling tones--"Tell me! If you are mortal maid I will not harm you, I swear! ... See! ... I am only a poor crazed fool that loves a Dream, ... that stakes his life upon a chance of Heaven, ... pity me as you are gentle! ... but do not fear me ... only speak!"
No answer came. He looked up--and now in the rich radiance of the moon beheld her face ... how like, and yet how altogether unlike it was to the face of the Angel in his vision! For that ethereal Being had seemed dazzlingly, supremely beautiful beyond all mortal power of description,--whereas this girl was simply fair, small, and delicate, with something wistful and pathetic in the lines of her sweet mouth, and shadows as of remembered sorrows slumbering in the depths of her serene, dove-like eyes. Her fragile figure drooped wearily as though she were exhausted by some long fatigue, ... yet, ... gazing down upon him, she smiled, ... and in that smile, the faint resemblance she bore to his Spirit-ideal flashed out like a beam of sunlight, though it vanished again as quickly as it had shone. He waited eagerly to hear her voice, ... waited in a sort of breathless suspense,--but as she still kept silence, he sprang up from his kneeling attitude and seized her hands ... how soft they were and warm!--he folded them in his own and drew her closer to himself ... the flowers she held fell from her grasp, and lay in a tumbled fragrant heap between them. His brain was in a whirl--the Past and the Future--the Real and the Unreal-- the Finite and the Infinite--seemed all merging into one another without any shade of difference or division!