"I had hoped," he said, sadly, "that at some date in the near future my dear cousin would have condescended to visit our--retreat, William, and have favored it with the seal of her approval. I venture to think that she would have found its conditions improved; ameliorated--a--rendered more in accordance with the ideal. But it was not to be, sir, it was not to be. As the lamented Keats observes, 'The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"' She is gone, sir; gone!" "I have often meant to ask you, sir," said Will Jaquith, "what mountain that is. I don't seem to recognize it." Mr. Homer was silent, his eyes still fixed on the picture. Jaquith, thinking he had not heard, repeated the question. "I heard you, William, I heard you!" said Mr. Homer, with dignity. "I was considering what reply to make to you. That picture, sir, represents a Peak in Darien." "Indeed!" said Will, in surprise. "Do you know its name? I did not think there were any so high as this." Mr. Homer waved his hands with a vague gesture. "I do not know its name!" he said, "Therefore I expressly said, _a_ peak. I do not even know that this special mountain _is_ in Darien, though I consider it so; I consider it so. The picture, William, is a symbolical one--to me. It represents--a--Woman." "Woman!" repeated Jaquith, puzzled. "Woman!" said Mr. Homer. His mild face flushed; he cleared his throat nervously, and opened and shut his mouth several times. "I pay to-day, as I have told you, my young friend, a tribute to one admirable woman; but the Peak in Darien symbolizes--a--Woman, in general. Without Woman, sir, what, or where, should we be? Until we attain a knowledge of--a--Woman, through the medium of the--a--Passion (I speak of it with reverence!), what, or where are we? We journey over arid plains, we flounder in treacherous quagmires. Suddenly looms before us, clear against the sky, as here represented, the Peak in Darien--Woman! Guided by the--a--Passion (I speak of its lofty phases, sir, its lofty phases!), we scale those crystal heights. It may be in fancy only; it may be that circumstances over which we have no control forbid our ever setting an actual foot on even the bases of the Peak; but this is a case in which fancy is superior to fact. In fancy, we scale those heights; and--and we stare at the Pacific, sir, and look at each other with a wild surmise--silent, sir, silent, upon a Peak in Darien!" Mr. Homer said no more, but stood gazing at his picture, rapt in contemplation. Jaquith was silent, too, watching him, half in amusement, half--or more than half--in something not unlike reverence. Mr. Homer was not an imposing figure: his back was long, his legs were short, his hair and nose were distinctly absurd; but now, the homely face seemed transfigured, irradiated by an inward glow of feeling.