I am, father, at your knee. I imagined that on
your return I should be able to talk often and long with you; to
ask about everything, learn everything from you."

She coughed. Darvid took her in his arms, and, without raising
her from her knees, he drew her to his breast.

"See! your cough lasts! Do you cough much? Well, do not speak, do
not speak! let it pass. Does this cough pass quickly?"

It had passed. She stopped coughing, laughed. Her teeth glittered
like pearls between her red lips. A gleam of delight shot through
Darvid's eyes.

"It has gone already! I do not cough often, only rarely. I am
perfectly well. I was very sick when I got chilled at an open
window while you were away, father."

"I know, I know. Your enthusiastic little head thought of opening
the window on a winter night, so as to peep out and see how the
garden looked covered with snow in the moonlight."

"The trees, father, the trees!" began she, smiling and with
vivacity; "not the whole garden, just the trees, which, covered
with snow and frost in the moonlight, were like pillars of
marble, alabaster, crystal, set with diamonds, hung with laces;
and whenever the slightest breeze moved, a rain of pearls was
scattered on the ground."
"Great God!" exclaimed Darvid, "marbles, alabasters, laces,
diamonds, pearls! But there was nothing of all this in fact!
There was nothing but dry trunks, branches, snow, and hoar-frost.
That is exaltation! And you see how destructive it may be! It
brought you acute inflammation of the lungs, the traces of which
are not gone yet."

"They are!" answered she, in passing, and then she spoke
seriously. "My father, is it exaltation to worship something
which is very beautiful, or to love some one greatly with all our
strength? If it is--then I am given to exaltation, but without
exaltation what could we live for?"

An expression of wonder, meditation, thoughtfulness filled her
eyes and covered her finely cut face with a freshness like that
of a wild rose. With a movement of wonder she opened her arms,
and repeated:

"What do we live for?"

Darvid laughed.

"I see that your head is turned a little, but you are a child
yet, and your trouble will pass."

Stroking her pale, golden hair, he continued:

"Homage, love, and like things of the sensational sort, are very
nice, very beautiful, but should not occupy the first place."

Cara listened so eagerly that her mouth was open somewhat, and
she became motionl