"Not the least!" said Faith much amused. "What makes you ask me that,
Mr. Linden?"
"I should like to hear why it does not?"
"The two things are so very, very far apart," Faith said, after a moment's consideration. "I don't see what could make me think of them together. The only thing is that both are blue, but I should have to think to remember that."
"You haven't answered me yet," he said smiling. "Why are they far apart?—your blue gentians there, are as far below the sky in number of miles—yet from them to the sky the transition is easy."
"Yes—" said Faith looking down at her blue gentian. "Why is it, Mr.
Linden? But this is God's work too," she added softly.
"I suppose that is the deep root of the matter. The ruined harp of man's nature yet answers to a breath from heaven as to no other touch. Then blue has been so long the emblem of truth, that separated from truth one can scarce, as you say, realize what colour it is."
"Then Mr. Linden," said Faith after a moment's silence, with the tone and the look of quick pleasure,—"is this what you mean by 'reading' things?"
"Yes—" he said with a smile,
"'To rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew.'"
"But how far can you read?" said Faith. "And I never thought of such reading till—till a little while ago! How far can you read, Mr. Linden?"