power of the painter had not merely wrought for the representation of the
woman of his imagination; it had had scope as well in realizing her.

"Karl soon began to see that communication, other than of the eyes, was
all but hopeless; and to any attempt in that way she seemed altogether
indisposed to respond. Nor if she had wished it, would it have been safe;
for as often as he glanced towards her, instead of hers, he met the blue
eyes of the painter gleaming upon him like winter lightning. His tones,
his gestures, his words, seemed kind: his glance and his smile refused to
be disguised.

"The first day he dined alone in the studio, waited upon by an old woman;
the next he was admitted to the family table, with Teufelsbuerst and
Lilith. The room offered a strange contrast to the study. As far as
handicraft, directed by a sumptuous taste, could construct a house-
paradise, this was one. But it seemed rather a paradise of demons; for the
walls were covered with Teufelsbuerst's paintings. During the dinner,
Lilith's gaze scarcely met that of Wolkenlicht; and once or twice, when
their eyes did meet, her glance was so perfectly unconcerned, that Karl
wished he might look at her for ever without the fear of her looking at
him again. She seemed like one whose love had rushed out glowing with
seraphic fire, to be frozen to death in a more than wintry cold: she now
walked lonely without her love. In the evenings, he was expected to
continue his drawing by lamplight; and at night he was conducted by
Teufelsbuerst to his chamber. Not once did he allow him to proceed thither
alone, and not once did he leave him there without locking and bolting the
door on the outside. But he felt nothing except the coldness of Lilith.

"Day after day she sat to her father, in every variety of costume that
could best show the variety of her beauty. How much greater that beauty