music; that must be inferior, for the tone of
all the beauty in the world is sad." Much Tom Helmer knew of beauty or
sadness either! but ignorance is no reason with a fool for holding his
tongue. "But there is the violin, now!--that can be as sad as any
organ, without being so ponderous. Hear this, now! This is the violin
after the organ--played as only a master can!"

With this preamble, he read a song of Shelley's, and read it well, for
he had a good ear for rhythm and cadence, and prided himself on his
reading of poetry.

Now the path to Letty's heart through her intellect was neither open
nor well trodden; but the song in question was a winged one, and flew
straight thither; there was something in the tone of it that suited the
pitch of her spirit-chamber. And, if Letty's heart was not easily
found, it was the readier to confess itself when found. Her eyes filled
with tears, and through those tears Tom looked large and injured. "He
must be a poet himself to read poetry like that!" she said to herself,
and felt thoroughly assured that her aunt had wronged him greatly.
"Some people scorn poetry like sin," she said again. "I used myself to
think it was only for children, until Cousin Godfrey taught me
differently."

As thus her thoughts went on interweaving themselves with the music,
all at once the song came to an end. Tom closed the book, handed it to
her, said, "Good morning, Miss Lovel," and ran down the rent in the
ha-ha; and, before Letty could come to herself, she heard the soft
thunder of hoofs on the grass. She ran to the edge, and, looking over,
saw Tom on his bay mare, at full gallop across the field. She watched
him as he neared the hedge and ditch that bounded it, saw him go flying
over, and lost sight of him behind a hazel-copse. Slowly, then, she
turned, and slowly she went back to the house and up to her room,
vaguely aware that a wind had begun to blow in her atmosphere, although
only the sound of it had yet reached her.

CHAPTER IX.

CONFUSION.

Then first, and from that moment, Letty's troubles began. Up to this
point neither she herself nor another could array troublous accusation
or uneasy thought against her; and now she began to feel like a very
target, which exists but to receive the piercing of arrows. At first
sight, and if we do not look a long way ahead of what people stupidly
regard as the end when it is only an horizon, it seems hard that so
much we call evil, and so much