And then he began to play. He chose Mozart after their talk about the times and seasons. Lewis was not naturally given to much exercise of the fancy, but he was very sympathetic, and readily took his cue from any mind which was congenial to him. He thought that the splendour of this great composer was appropriate to the richness and fulness of the noon. Themes more dreamy, more visionary, more simply sweet would be the language of the evening. And once more he watched, with an interest and sympathy which he thought must be as nearly like love as possible, the gradual forgetfulness of everything but the music which came over Miss Jean. First her work flagged, then she pushed away the carnation which she was copying to one side, and let her table-cover drop on her knees; then she leant forward on the little table, her head in her hands, her eyes fixed upon him; then those eyes filled with tears, and saw nothing, neither him nor any accessory, but only a mystic world of sweetness and emotion which she was utterly incapable of describing, but which shone through her face with an eloquence which was beyond words. Lewis, as he looked at her in this ecstatic state, which he had the power of throwing her into, knew very well that, though he was the performer and she only the listener, the music was not half to him what it was to her. It filled her soul, it carried her away above the world, and all that was in it. When he paused she sank back in her chair overwhelmed, unable to say anything. He was fond of applause, but applause was not necessary here. "I wish," he said, rising, and coming towards her, full of a genuine warmth and enthusiasm, "that I could play to you for ever." She did not speak for a little, but smiled, and dried her soft eyes. "No--no--that would be too much," she said. "It would be too much to continue always, oh, yes--but I do not mean that. To play to you whenever you pleased, as often as you pleased; when you wished to come out of the common, to be happy; for it makes you happy?" "I think it must be like Heaven," said Miss Jean, fervently; "that is all I can think of--the skies opening, and the angels singing." "That is beautiful," he cried, "to open Heaven. That is what I should like to do for you--always. To have it ready for you when you pleased." "You have a kind heart," said Miss Jean; "oh, you have a kind heart. But, if it cannot be always," she said, with a tender smile, "you must just let it be as often as you can, as long as you are here." "I am going to stay here," said Lewis, "that is, if you will let me." "Me! Let you! But it is little I can have to do with it: and you may be sure I would let you--and kindly welcome, kindly welcome," said Miss Jean, recovering herself. She was a little ashamed of feeling so deeply, but the beauty of the music so completely occupied her mind that, save as "a kind lad," she did not think of Lewis at all.