"By the power of what secret talisman?"

"I don't know;--being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly.

"You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching the greatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you are truly _happy?_"

Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, and answered a plain "yes."

"But, to be _happy_, with me, means, to be independent of circ.u.mstances. I do not call him _happy_, whose happiness is gone if the east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even though it were the bank in which his property is involved."

"Nor do I," said Lois gravely.

"And--pray forgive me for asking!--but, are you happy in this exclusive sense?"

"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have not been tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have no property anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn."

"But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn.

"What is the philosopher's stone?"

"The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search for some substance, or composition, which would turn other substances to gold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, they spent endless pains and countless time upon the search for this trans.m.u.ting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was just upon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he always broke down."

"They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully.

"Is there a _right_ place to look then?"

Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calm and confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She was not in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty.

"I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length.

"That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money is the means to everything else in this world."

"Not to happiness, is it?"

"Well, what is, then? They say--and perhaps you will say--that friendships and affections can do more; but I a.s.sure you, where there are not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no golden fruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to the stings of pain."

"Money can do a great deal," said Lois.

"What can do more?"

Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Did he know no better than that?

"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by her expression.

"Yes," said Lois; "and yet--all that never satisfied anybody."

"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who is satisfied?"

Lois glanced up again, mutely.

"If I dared venture to say so--you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutely look, as if _you_ were; and yet it is impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it."

"Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It was never found there."

"Was it ever found anywhere?"

"Why, yes!"

"Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!"

The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes, he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he could not see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, in this its mood of stirred gravity!

"Do you ever read the Bible, Mr. Dillwyn?"

The question occasioned him a kind of revulsion. The Bible! was _that_ to be brought upon his head? A confused notion of organ-song, the solemnity of a still house, a white surplice, and words in measured cadence, came over him. Nothing in that connection had ever given him the idea of being satisfied. But Lois's question--

"The Bible?" he repeated. "May I ask, why you ask?"

"I thought you did not know something that is in it."

"Very possibly. It is the business of clergymen, isn't it, to tell us what is in it? That is what they are paid for. Of what are you thinking?"

"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean,--who said just what you said a minute ago."

"What was that? And who was that?"

"It was a poor woman who once held a long talk with the Lord Jesus as he was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesus asked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of that water would thirst again--as she knew; but whoever should drink of the water that _he_ would give, should never thirst. I was telling you of that water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what you answered--'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.'"

"Did she get it?"

"I think she did."

"You mean, something that satisfied her, and would satisfy me?"

"It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said Lois.

"But you know, I do not in the least understand you."

The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay upon a distant table.

Philip looked at the book as she brought it near; no volume of Mrs.

Wishart's, he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her in the drawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. He believed they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given to laying down the law and erecting barricades across other people's paths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was a lovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, what was she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched the fingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to the blanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soon that he had little time to think his regrets.

"You allowed that n.o.body is satisfied, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois then.

"See if you understand this."

"'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money, and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.'"