my daughter is indeed fortunate.
She has chosen what Catholics call the higher life--the counsel of
perfection. What other private person enjoys the same opportunity of
understanding the master? Who else lives under the same roof with an
untouched masterpiece of Leonardo's? Think of the happiness of being
always under the influence of such a creation; of living INTO it; of
partaking of it in daily and hourly communion! This room is a chapel;
the sight of that picture is a sacrament. What an atmosphere for a young
life to unfold itself in! My daughter is singularly blessed. Sybilla,
point out some of the details to Mr. Wyant; I see that he will
appreciate them."

The girl turned her dense blue eyes toward Wyant; then, glancing away
from him, she pointed to the canvas.

"Notice the modeling of the left hand," she began in a monotonous voice;
"it recalls the hand of the Mona Lisa. The head of the naked genius will
remind you of that of the St. John of the Louvre, but it is more purely
pagan and is turned a little less to the right. The embroidery on the
cloak is symbolic: you will see that the roots of this plant have
burst through the vase. This recalls the famous definition of Hamlet's
character in Wilhelm Meister. Here are the mystic rose, the flame, and
the serpent, emblem of eternity. Some of the other symbols we have not
yet been able to decipher."

Wyant watched her curiously; she seemed to be reciting a lesson.

"And the picture itself?" he said. "How do you explain that? Lux
Mundi--what a curious device to connect with such a subject! What can it
mean?"

Miss Lombard dropped her eyes: the answer was evidently not included in
her lesson.

"What, indeed?" the doctor interposed. "What does life mean? As one
may define it in a hundred different ways, so one may find a hundred
different meanings in this picture. Its symbolism is as many-faceted as
a well-cut diamond. Who, for instance, is that divine lady? Is it she
who is the true Lux Mundi--the light reflected from jewels and young
eyes, from polished marble and clear waters and statues of bronze? Or is
that the Light of the World, extinguished on yonder stormy hill, and is
this lady the Pride of Life, feasting blindly on the wine of iniquity,
with her back turned to the light which has shone for her in vain?
Something of both these meanings may be traced in the picture; but to
me it symbolizes rather the central truth of existence: that all that
is raised in