Wordsworth sonnet, "A beauteous evening, calm and free"; it took you in
to worship quite simply and naturally at the Temple's inner shrine; and
you adored none the less although you were not "breathless with
adoration," like the nun; because it was a whole world given to you, not
a mere pang of joy; because you could live and move and be blessedly and
securely at home in it.

She finished the last note of the Largo and sat quiet for a moment. Then
she knew that someone had come into the room behind her. She turned
about, facing with serene, wide brows whatever might be there.

The first meeting with the eyes of the man who stood there moved her. So
he too deeply and greatly loved music! His face was quite other from the
hawk-like, intent, boldly imperious countenance which she had seen
before. Those piercing eyes were softened and quietly shining. The
arrogant lines about the mouth that could look so bitter and skeptical,
were as sweet and candid as a child's.

He smiled at her, a good, grateful, peaceful smile, and nodded, as
though now they understood each other with no more need for words. "Go
on . . . go on!" was all he said, very gently and softly. He sank down in
an arm-chair and leaned his head back in the relaxed pose of listening.

He looked quite and exactly what Marise was feeling.

It was with a stir of all her pulses, a pride, a glory, a new sympathy
in her heart, that she turned back to the piano.