"
"Perhaps it was as well, then, that I said nothing. Poetry must come
of itself, without praise--don't you think?"
"Yes, I lived it--or tried to live it--instead of putting it
into metre."
"That's exactly what I once heard my father say about himself. And
he called it consuming his own smoke."
Piers could not but join in her quiet laugh, yet he had never felt a
moment less opportune for laughter. As if to prove that she
purposely changed the note of their dialogue, Irene reached a volume
from the table, and said in the most matter-of-fact voice:
"Here's a passage of Tolstoi that I can't make out. Be my professor,
please. First of all, let me hear you read it aloud for the accent."
The lesson continued till Helen entered the room again. Irene so
willed it.
CHAPTER XXXVI
She sat by her open window, which looked over the dale to the long
high ridge of moors, softly drawn against a moonlit sky. Far below
sounded the rushing Ure, and at moments there came upon the fitful
breeze a deeper music, that of the falls at Aysgarth, miles away. It
was an hour since she had bidden good-night to Helen, and two hours
or more since all else in the Castle and in the cottages had been
still and dark. She loved this profound quiet, this solitude guarded
by the eternal powers of nature. She loved the memories and
imaginings borne upon the stillness of these grey old towers.
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