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As
if
the
butterfly
,
like
the
artist
,
were
conscious
of
something
not
entirely
congenial
in
the
child
s
nature
,
it
alternately
sparkled
and
grew
dim
.
At
length
it
arose
from
the
small
hand
of
the
infant
with
an
airy
motion
that
seemed
to
bear
it
upward
without
an
effort
,
as
if
the
ethereal
instincts
with
which
its
master
s
spirit
had
endowed
it
impelled
this
fair
vision
involuntarily
to
a
higher
sphere
.
Had
there
been
no
obstruction
,
it
might
have
soared
into
the
sky
and
grown
immortal
.
But
its
lustre
gleamed
upon
the
ceiling
;
the
exquisite
texture
of
its
wings
brushed
against
that
earthly
medium
;
and
a
sparkle
or
two
,
as
of
stardust
,
floated
downward
and
lay
glimmering
on
the
carpet
.
Then
the
butterfly
came
fluttering
down
,
and
,
instead
of
returning
to
the
infant
,
was
apparently
attracted
towards
the
artist
s
hand
.
"
Not
so
!
not
so
!
"
murmured
Owen
Warland
,
as
if
his
handiwork
could
have
understood
him
.
"
Thou
has
gone
forth
out
of
thy
master
s
heart
.
There
is
no
return
for
thee
.
"
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With
a
wavering
movement
,
and
emitting
a
tremulous
radiance
,
the
butterfly
struggled
,
as
it
were
,
towards
the
infant
,
and
was
about
to
alight
upon
his
finger
;
but
while
it
still
hovered
in
the
air
,
the
little
child
of
strength
,
with
his
grandsire
s
sharp
and
shrewd
expression
in
his
face
,
made
a
snatch
at
the
marvellous
insect
and
compressed
it
in
his
hand
.
Annie
screamed
.
Old
Peter
Hovenden
burst
into
a
cold
and
scornful
laugh
.
The
blacksmith
,
by
main
force
,
unclosed
the
infant
s
hand
,
and
found
within
the
palm
a
small
heap
of
glittering
fragments
,
whence
the
mystery
of
beauty
had
fled
forever
.
And
as
for
Owen
Warland
,
he
looked
placidly
at
what
seemed
the
ruin
of
his
life
s
labor
,
and
which
was
yet
no
ruin
.
He
had
caught
a
far
other
butterfly
than
this
When
the
artist
rose
high
enough
to
achieve
the
beautiful
,
the
symbol
by
which
he
made
it
perceptible
to
mortal
senses
became
of
little
value
in
his
eyes
while
his
spirit
possessed
itself
in
the
enjoyment
of
the
reality
.