Meanwhile how strangely far he could see!  What a power it was!  What a new interest it gave to Nature!  Nature, he must confess, had always seemed rather flat to him, on the whole.  He had always liked the imitations better than the original,—­pictures better than people,—­busts better than philosophers.  But now the case is altered.  He has got what his friend Norris calls “glorification-spectacles.”  Now he can have perpetual amusement.  Why, it is vastly better than Asmodeus peeping in at the tops of houses.  By the same token, snow-flakes are more interesting than humanity.

Speaking of snow-flakes, what does he see, but that she is evidently yielding to the soft enchantment of the nearest flame-god,—­drawn thither by resistless affinity, and melting, in his burning arms, to the most delicate vapor!  Snow-flake no more, yet not absorbed nor lost!  Rather taking her true place, transported from the earth-tempests to a warmer and higher sphere of action.

That might be, but not yet.  In their new vaporous condition, in which both had lost some of their prominent qualities, they had acquired new relations, perhaps new duties.  At all events, they did not at once ascend to their kindred ether,—­but swam, glided, floated, above and around, and finally separated.  Watching them keenly, Fred could distinctly see that the sometime snow-flake left her sphere and came gradually towards himself.  As the vaporous shape floated nearer, it also grew larger, so that, although Fred could not have said certainly that the size was human, it relieved him from the impression of any fairy or elf or sprite.  No, it was nothing of that sort.  It was just the gentlest, calmest, serenest face and form in the world,—­with the same look of pure sweetness he had noticed on her first entrance,—­with a peculiar surprised look in her wide-open eyes, that he had seen but in one human face.  As well tell the truth,—­the face, expression, and all, were as like Annie Peyton’s, as her portrait, drawn in water-colors, could possibly have been.

The shape sat down by him,—­her vaporous garment still folding softly around her, and her clear, open eyes fixed on him.  There was no need of speech, for he read her face as if written by Heaven’s own hand; and the coarse and selfish philosophy which had sufficed partially to stun and confuse Minnie fled at the presence of the spirit.  Not a word still from the calm, sweet face.  It looked on him with pity and surprise.  Then all the ideas and convictions that throng on the mind warped, but not lost, pressed on him.  He hid his face in the sofa-cushions.

His presence of mind returned as a new thought struck him.  It was an ocular delusion, surely.  He sprang up, took three or four turns across the room, rubbed his eyes smartly, and took his seat again.  For a moment he would not look towards the chair.  When at last he did look, the airy, soft form was still there, looking steadily into his eyes.