Perugino had allowed her a glimpse at his easel, on which she discerned what seemed a woman's face, but so divine, by the very depth and softness of its womanhood, that a gush of happy tears blinded the maiden's eyes before she had time to look.

Raphael had taken Hilda by the hand, that fine, forcible hand which Kenyon sculptured,--and drawn aside the curtain of gold-fringed cloud that hung before his latest masterpiece.

On earth, Raphael painted the Transfiguration.

What higher scene may he have since depicted, not from imagination, but as revealed to his actual sight! Neither will we retrace the steps by which she returned to the actual world.

For the present, be it enough to say that Hilda had been summoned forth from a secret place, and led we know not through what mysterious passages, to a point where the tumult of life burst suddenly upon her ears.