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.
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