“You would have done so,” answered Pride with haughtiness; “I do not despair, I only delay. I found that pride of beauty had indeed given way to a nobler, more exalting feeling. Ida had drunk at the fountain of purity, and the petty rill of personal vanity had become to her insipid and distasteful. She was putting away the childish things which amuse the frivolous soul. Ida’s time was now too well filled up with a succession of pious and charitable occupations, to leave a superfluous share to the toilette. The maiden’s dress became simple, because the luxury which she now esteemed was that of assisting the needy. Many of her trinkets were laid aside, not because she deemed it a sin to wear them, but because her mind was engrossed by higher things. One whose first object and desire is to please a heavenly Master by performing angels’ offices below, is hardly likely to dwell much on the consideration that her face and her figure are comely.”
“Ida is, I know, reckoned a model of every feminine virtue,” said Intemperance. “I can conceive that your grand design was now to make her think herself as perfect as all the rest of the world thought her.”
“Ay, ay; to involve her in spiritual pride! But the maiden was too much on her knees, examined her own heart too closely, tried herself by too lofty a standard for that. When the faintest shadow of that temptation fell upon her, she started as though she had seen the viper lurking under the flowers, and cast it from her with abhorrence! ‘A sinner, a weak, helpless sinner, saved only by the mercy, trusting only in the strength of a higher power;’ this Ida Aumerle not only calls herself, but actually feels herself to be. The power of Grace in her heart is too strong on that point for Pride.”
“And yet you hope to subject her to your sway?
“About two years after the night which I have mentioned,” resumed Pride, “after Ida had attained the age of eighteen, she resided for some time at Aspendale, the home of her uncle, Augustine Aumerle.”
“One of your prisoners?” inquired Intemperance.
“Of him anon,” replied the dark one, “our present subject is his niece. At his dwelling Ida met with one who had been Augustine’s college companion, Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. You can just discern the towers of his mansion faint in the blue distance yonder.”
“I know it,” replied Intemperance; “I frequented the place in his grandfather’s time. The present earl, as I understand, is your votary rather than mine.”
“Puffed up with pride of rank,” said the stern spirit; “but pride of rank could not withstand a stronger passion, or prevent him from laying his fortune and title at the feet of Ida Aumerle.”
“An opportunity for you!” suggested Intemperance.