"Yes," said he; "do you remember that word, 'The stones of the field shall be at peace with thee?' "
"I am afraid people would understand you as little as they would me, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, laughing.
He smiled, rather a prolonged smile, the expression of which Fleda could not make out; she felt that she did not quite understand him.
"I have thought," said he, after a pause, "that much of the beauty we find in many things is owing to a hidden analogy the harmony they make with some unknown string of the mind's harp which they have set a-vibrating. But the music of that is so low and soft, that one must listen very closely to find out what it is."
"Why, that is the very theory of which I gave you a smoky illustration a little while ago," said Fleda. "I thought I was on safe ground, after what you said about the characters of flowers, for that was a little "
"Fanciful?" said he, smiling.
"What you please,"' said Fleda, colouring a little "I am sure it is true. The theory, I mean. I have many a time felt it, though I never put it in words. I shall think of that."
"Did you ever happen to see the very early dawn of a winter's morning?" said he.
But he laughed the next instant at the comical expression of
Fleda's face as it was turned to him.
"Forgive me for supposing you as ignorant as myself. I have seen it once."