A little shower of fringed gentian and white Ladies' tresses came patting down upon the letter, hiding its delicate black marks with their own dainty faces. "These are your means of transport back to Pattaquasset," said Mr. Linden. Faith looked up, and rose up. "I had come back," she said, drawing one of those half long breaths as she folded up and gave him the letter. "I can't thank you, Mr. Linden." "I thought you were not reading, or I should not have ventured such an interruption. But I am in no hurry for the letter, Miss Faith. How do you like Italy?" "I like it--" said Faith doubtfully,--"I don't know it. Mr. Linden," she went on with some difficulty and flushing yet more,--"some time, will you tell me in what books I can find out about those things?--those things the letter speaks of." "Those which concern Italy, do you mean! I can arrange an Italy shelf for you up stairs--but I am afraid I have not very much here to put on it." "No indeed!" said Faith looking half startled,--"I didn't mean to give you trouble--only some time, if you would tell me what books--perhaps--" "Perhaps what?" he said smiling,--"perhaps I wouldn't?" "No," she said, "I mean, perhaps you _would;_ and perhaps I could get them and read them. I feel I don't know anything." That Faith felt it was very plain. She had that rare beauty--a soft eye. I do not mean the grace of insipidity, nor the quality of mere form and colour; but the full lustrous softness that speaks a character strong in the foundations of peace and sweetness. Many an eye can be soft by turns and upon occasion; it is rarely that you see one where sweetness and strength have met together to make that the abiding characteristic. The gentleness of such an eye has always strength to back it. Weakness could never be so steadfast; poverty could not be so rich. And Faith's eye shewed both its qualities now. Mr. Linden merely repeated, "I will arrange it for you--and you can take the books in what order you like. Perhaps I can send you another journey when they are exhausted," he added, turning the letter softly about, as if the touch were pleasant to him. She stood looking at it. "I don't know how to thank you for letting me read that," she said. "It would be foolish in me to tell you how beautiful I thought it." "_She_ is--" her brother said, with a tender, half smiling half grave expression. And for a minute or two he was silent--then spoke abruptly. "Miss Faith, what have you done with your 'Philosophe'? You know, though the rooms in the great Temple of Knowledge be so many that no one can possibly explore them all, yet the more keys we have in hand the better. For some locks yield best to an English key, some to a French; and it is often pleasant to take a look where one cannot go in and dwell." She flushed a good deal, with eyes downcast as she stood before him; then answered, with that odd little change of her voice which told of some mental check.