"And besides those causes of pleasure-giving that you mentioned," said Fleda,--"there is a mind at ease; and how much that is alone. If I may judge others by myself,--the mere fact of being unpoised--unresting-- disables the mind from a thousand things that are joyfully relished by one entirely at ease."
"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.