“O, Herbert, will these days last? Will love bind us the same in years to come?”
“No, not the same; but deeper, holier, if we do not exhaust ourselves by free ownership.”
“You talk like Hugh,” she said, resting her hand on his arm, and looking out on the soft, still scene before them.
“I would I could talk like him. While I admit no oracles, I confess I admire his views, and his life which is a perfect transcript of his theories.”
“He is a noble man, Herbert, and has done much towards my development. I thought I loved him all I could, but since you have come to my life, I feel nearer than ever to him.”
“Such is the law, and beautiful it is, that true love expands our being, while the opposite contracts it. Hugh's views at first seemed wild, and rather disorderly, but close contact with the man, and opportunities of knowing him, in public and private, have made me acquainted with his worth. Love him always, Florence, and when I take you to my home never fear that I shall not understand you need to see him at times alone, for he will need you. You have been friends, and friends need each other. I am not taking you from him in soul and heart; I will but help you to give yourself to him, with your being made richer by my love.”
Florence had no words with which to thank him. She only nestled closer to the heart which loved her so well.
“How lovely this night is,” she said, breaking the long silence which followed; “the stillness is so sacred, I would not for worlds disturb it with a sound, even of the sweetest music.”
“Your words give me much comfort, Florence, for long have I wanted some one who could sympathize with me on that subject. To most persons, sound alone is considered music; to me, a night like this should not be jarred save by soft vibrations of aeolian strings. And the same of beautiful scenery. I cannot bear to hear one burst forth in song, for the landscape is to me, in itself, a Te Deum, a perfect song of praise.”
“I am made happy by your words, Herbert, for there are moments when music seems to me to be so sadly out of place, that I feel almost like crushing the instrument and performer together. And now may I ask you, why the music of some performers gives me pain instead of pleasure? I know, but I want your answer. We will take Miss York, for instance; she is full of hearty, earnest life, robust and strong. I know she plays in time and tune, and sings correctly, but I feel all out of tune, and completely disharmonized when she performs in my presence.”