The old masters hold me here, it is true, but they no longer warm me with their influence.
It is not flame consuming, but torpor chilling me, that helps to make me wretched." "Perchance, then," said the German, looking keenly at her, "Raphael has a rival in your heart?
He was your first love; but young maidens are not always constant, and one flame is sometimes extinguished by another!" Hilda shook her head, and turned away.

She had spoken the truth, however, in alleging that torpor, rather than fire, was what she had to dread.

In those gloomy days that had befallen her, it was a great additional calamity that she felt conscious of the present dimness of an insight which she once possessed in more than ordinary measure.

She had lost--and she trembled lest it should have departed forever--the faculty of appreciating those great works of art, which heretofore had made so large a portion of her happiness.

It was no wonder.
A picture, however admirable the painter's art, and wonderful his power, requires of the spectator a surrender of himself, in due proportion with the miracle which has been wrought.