"You know," he said, half to himself, half to his companion, "I have no
belief of any kind, and no hopes and no fears; but all through my life
it has been a comfort to me to sit quietly in a church or a cathedral.
The graceful arches, the sun shining through the stained windows,
the vaulted roof, the noble columns, have helped me to understand the
mystery which all our books of philosophy cannot make clear, though we
bend over them year after year, and grow old over them, old in age and
in spirit. Though I myself have never been outwardly a worshipper, I
have never sat in a place of worship but that, for the time being, I
have felt a better man. But directly the voice of doctrine or dogma was
raised the spell was broken for me, and that which I hoped was being
made clear had no further meaning for me. There was only one voice
which ever helped me, the voice of the organ, arousing me, thrilling
me, filling me with strange longing, with welcome sadness, with solemn
gladness. I have always thought that music can give an answer when
everything else is of no avail. I do not know what you believe."

"I am so young to have found out," she said, almost pleadingly.

"Don't worry yourself," he answered, kindly. "Be brave and strong, and
let the rest go. I should like to live long enough to see what you will
make of your life. I believe you will never be false to yourself or to
any one. That is rare. I believe you will not let any lower ideal take
the place of your high ideal of what is beautiful and noble in art, in
life. I believe that you will never let despair get the upper hand of
you. If it does you may as well die; yes, you may as well. And I entreat
you not to lose your entire faith in humanity. There is nothing like
that for withering up the very core of the heart. I tell you, humanity
and nature have so much in common with each other that if you lose part
of your pleasure in the latter; you will see less beauty in the trees,
the flowers, and the fields, less grandeur in the mighty mountains and
the sea. The seasons will come and go, and you will scarcely heed their
coming and going: winter will settle over your soul, just as it settled
over mine. And you see what I am."

They had now passed into the cloisters, and they sat down in one of
the recesses of the windows, and looked out upon the rich plot of
grass which the cloisters enclose. There was not a soul there except
themselves; the cool and the quiet and the bea