And how different was this girl from the other! Here was no vanity, no craving for admiration, no airs and graces, and, above all, here were the swift responsive spirit, the keen sympathy, the aspiring spirit, the exquisite sensibility!
Ay, and it was all true, and it was allowable for him to dream, for he was free. Free as he had been when, carried away by the mere beauty of face and form, he had asked nothing but physical beauty, believing that he could inform it with the soul of a goddess, until he found that the physical beauty was clay, which would commingle with no noble essence, which preferred a handful of trinkets or an oath of hollow homage to all the stirring tumults of the poets or the intense aspirings of the lute! Yes, he could be a poet under the influence of such a deity. He could sing if those ears would only listen; he could succeed if those lips would only applaud!
He took no heed of time; it slipped away like dry sand held in the hand. He never could tell afterwards what the conversation had been about, but he knew he was talking fast and well. Never in all his life had he spoken under such an intoxicating spell as that of new hope springing in the presence of this girl. It was intoxication on an intellectual ether. His blood was fire and dew. His ideas were flame. The human voices around him were the music of eternal joy. There was in his spirit a sacred purpose that defied definition. He seemed to be praying in melody. He was upheld by the purpose of an all-wise beneficence now revealed to him for the first time; he was transported out of himself and carried into converse with justified angels.
Philip Ray sat in amazed silence at the transformation. It was more wonderful than the miracle of Pygmalion's statue: it was the enchantment of emancipation, the delirium of liberty. He had known and honoured--nay, worshipped--this man for years, but until to-night he had never suspected that he was a genius and a demi-god. He had known him as a martyr, but until this night he had never realised that he was a saint.
"I must go," at length said Bramwell, rising. "I have already stayed too long."
"No, no," said Philip Ray, springing up, "you must not stir yet. This is doing you all the good in the world. I have asked Miss Layard to have a look at the island, and she will see to the boy. You cannot deny her this little gratification. We arranged it before you came. You are here now, and you must do what you are told. I will take her safely over the bridge and back, and then we shall have another chat."
Hetty rose with a heightened colour.
"Pray sit down, Mr. Bramwell; we will bring you back news of the boy. It is much too early to think of leaving, and we are afraid that if once you went across to-night you would not come back again. Now that we have got you we will not let you go."
Layard passed his hand over his bearded mouth to conceal a smile. He guessed the object of Ray's proposal.
"Mr. Bramwell," he said earnestly, "you must not think of stirring."