"Oh, yes," she answered; "I think it grows constantly upon you. One's deficiencies become painfully clearer, and bad music seems to increase and become more of a trial. But it is a satisfaction to feel that one grows a little, taking the years together; and it is very pleasant to know that there will always be plenty to learn and enjoy." She ended with a little sigh. He was looking at her, but he only said: "Yes." Her words exactly expressed his feeling for literature. He felt as if they two had been climbing the same hill by different paths, and stood side by side for a moment looking up to the heights beyond that rose one above another,--where over the dark pine forests the glittering snow-peaks pierced the sky and the rivers of ice shone gloriously. Kate came to tell them that Jenny was asleep, and they went up softly. Lawrence wrote out his directions for the night and came down, Stella accompanying him. At the door he paused a moment abstractedly. "Don't you think it's a great loss for a person to miss the pleasure and appreciation of a noble art?" he asked, seriously. She looked at him questioningly, but replied: "Yes, it makes me very sorry sometimes; it is a great loss. But I reflect that there are a great many people who get on without it, and they seem quite contented and happy. I think those who have the advantage of the finer influences and delights should be very good and try to prevent the younger ones from growing up without caring for such things." "Yes, that is true," he replied, and he went on with suppressed agitation: "But suppose one should grow up blind to all art and yet not contented or happy, without any true knowledge, or faith, or cultivation but the outward seeming, unsettled, unsatisfied, hungering for one knows not what, despising all that one has?" He leaned back, and neither spoke for a moment. She turned either way with a shuddering movement. "That would be terrible," she answered. "But do you think there are any so unfortunate?" "Yes, there are some," he returned; "I hope indeed not many." "And can nothing be done for them?" "I don't know. I am afraid not." "Oh, I think you should not say that," she continued, warmly; "their friends should not despair. It would be like saving a soul from death!" "Thank you," he said. "Good-night!" He offered his hand, and she gave him hers frankly. He came away softened and humbled; the night was not so hard and cold now. All that was compassionate and unselfish in him was re-enforced, and the view of his better nature confirmed. His feeling toward Cora was only gentle and pitiful.