igher significance."

She paused, and for some moments her thoughts seemed floating away
into a world, the real things of which our coarser forms but feebly
represent.

"It must be so. I feel that it is so; yet what to you seems clear as
the sunbeams, hides itself from me in dusky shadows. But say on
Jessie. Your words are pleasant to my ears."

Mrs. Dexter seemed a little surprised at this language, for she
turned her eyes from the sea to his face, and looked at him with a
questioning gaze for some moments.

"This world is not the real world," she said, speaking earnestly and
gazing at him intently to see how far his thought reflected hers.

"Is not this real?" Dexter asked, raising the hand of his wife and
looking down upon it. "I call it a real hand."

"And I," said Mrs. Dexter, smiling, "call it only the appearance of
a hand; it is the real hand that vitalizes and gives it power. This
will decay--this appearance fade--but the real hand of my spirit
will live on, immortal in its power as the human soul of which it
makes a part."

"Into what strange labyrinths your mind is wandering Jessie!" said
Mr. Dexter, a slight shade of disapproval in his voice. "I am afraid
you are losing yourself."

"Rather say that I have been lost, and am finding myself in open
paths, with the blue sky instead of forest foliage above me."

"Your language is a myth, Jessie. I never heard of your being lost.
To me you have been ever present, walking in the sunlight, a divine
reality. Not the mere appearance of a woman; but a _real_ woman, and
my wife. Pray do not lose yourself now! Do not recede from an actual
flesh and blood existence into some world of dim philosophy whither
I cannot go. I am not ready for your translation."

Mr. Dexter was half playful, half serious. His reply disappointed
his wife. Her manner, warmer than usual, took on a portion of its
old reserve. But she went on speaking.

"The immortal soul, spiritual in its essence, yet organized in all
its minutest parts--cannot attain its full stature unless it
receives immortal food. The aliments of mere sensual life are for
the body, and the mind's lowest constituents of being; and they who
are content to feed on husks must sort with the common herd. I have
higher aspirations, my husband! I see within and above the animal
and sensuous a real world of truth and goodness, where, and where
only, the soul's immortal desires can be satisfied. With the key in
my hand shal