"Yes，"saidWestover，"butthewrongthingsdon’thappenfrompeoplewhoareinthehabitofmeaningtherightones。"
　　"Ibelievetheydo，fullyhalfthetime，"Jeffreturned；"and，asfarasthegrandresultisconcerned，youmightaswellthinkthemandintendthemasnot。Idon’tmeanthatyououghttodoit；that’sanotherthing，andifIhadtriedtogetLyndedrunk，andthengonetodancewithhissister，IshouldhavebeenwhatyousayIam。ButIsawhimgettingworsewithoutmeaningtomakehimso；andIwentbacktoherbecause——I
　　wantedto。"
　　"Andyouthink，Isuppose，"saidWestover，"thatshewouldn’thavecaredanymorethanyoucaredifshehadknownwhatyoudid。"
　　"Ican’tsayanythingaboutthat。"
　　Thepaintercontinued，bitterly："Youusedtocomeinhere，thefirstyear，withnotionsofsocietywomenthatwouldhavedisgracedaGoth，oragorilla。DidyouformyourestimateofMissLyndefromthosepremises？"
　　"I’mnotaboynow，"Jeffanswered，"andIhaven’tstayedallthekindsofafoolIwas。"
　　"Thenyoudon’tthinkMissLyndewouldspeaktoyou，orlookatyou，aftersheknewwhatyouhaddone？"
　　"Ishouldliketotellherandsee，"saidJeff，withahardylaugh。
　　"ButIguessIsha’n’thavethechance。I’veneverbeenafavoriteinsociety，andIdon’texpecttomeetheragain。"
　　"Perhapsyou’dliketohavemetellher？"
　　"Why，yes，IbelieveIshould，ifyoucouldtellmewhatshethought——notwhatshesaidaboutit。"
　　"Youareabrute，"answeredWestover，withapuzzledair。Whatpuzzledhimmostandpleasedhimleastwasthefellow’spatienceunderhisseverity，whichheseemedeithernottofeelornottomind。ItwasofapiecewiththebehavioroftherascallyboywhomhehadcuffedforfrighteningCynthiaandherlittlebrotherlongago，andhewonderedwhatfinalmalevolenceitportended。
　　Jeffsaid，asiftheircontroversywereatanendandtheymightnowturntomorepersonalthings："Youlookprettyslim，Mr。Westover。A’n’ttheresomethingIcandoforyou—getyou？I’vecomeinwithamessagefrommother。ShesaysifyoueverwanttogetthatwinterviewofLion’sHead，now’syourtime。Shewantsyoutocomeupthere；sheandCynthiabothdo。Theycanmakeyouascomfortableasyouplease，andthey’dliketohaveavisitfromyou。Can’tyougo？"
　　Westovershookhisheadruefully。"It’sgoodofthem，andIwantyoutothankthemforme。ButIdon’tknowwhenI’mgoingtogetoutagain。"
　　"Oh，you’llsoongetout，"saidJeff。"I’mgoingtolookafteryoualittle，"andthistimeWestoverwastooweaktoprotest。HedidnotforbidJeff’stakingoffhisovercoat；hesufferedhimtolighthisspirit—lampandmakeapunchofthewhiskeywhichheownedthedoctorwasgivinghim；andwhenJeffhandedhimthesteamingglass，andaskedhim，"How’sthat？"heanswered，withapleasureinitwhichheknewtobedeplorable，"It’sfine。"
　　Jeffstayedthewholeeveningwithhim，andmadehimmorecomfortablethanhehadbeensincehiscoldbegan。Westovernowtalkedseriouslyandfranklywithhim，butnolongersoharshly，andinhisrelentinghefeltareturnofhisoldillogicallikingforhim。HefanciedinDurgin’skindnesstohimselfanindirectregret，andadesiretoatoneforwhathehaddone，andhesaid："Theeffectisinyou——theworsteffect。Idon’tthinkeitheroftheyoungLyndesveryexemplarypeople。Butyou’dbedoingyourselfagreaterwrongthanyou’vedonethenifyoudidn’trecognizethatyouhadbeenguiltytowardthem。"
　　Jeffseemedstruckbythisnotion。"Whatdoyouwantmetodo？WhatcanIdo？Chasemyselfoutofsociety？Somethinglikethat？I’mwilling。
　　It’stooeasy，though。AsIsaid，I’veneverbeenwantedmuch，there，andIshouldn’tbemissed。"
　　"Well，then，howwouldyouliketoleaveittothepeopleatLion’sHeadtosaywhatyoushoulddo？"Westoversuggested。
　　Ishouldn’tlikeit，"saidJeff，promptly。"They’djudgeitasyoudo——asifthey’ddoneitthemselves。That’sthereasonwomenarenotfittojudge。"Hisgayfacedarkened。"Buttell’emifyouwantto。"
　　"Bah！"criedthepainter。"WhyshouldIwanttoI’mnotawomanineverything。"
　　"Ibegyourpardon，Mr。Westover。Ididn’tmeanthat。Ionlymeantthatyou’reanidealist。Ilookatthisthingasifsomeoneelsehaddoneit；Ibelievethat’sthepracticalway；andIshouldn’tgoinforpunishinganyoneelseforsuchathingveryseverely。"Hemadeanotherpunch——forhimselfthistime，hesaid；butWestoverjoinedhiminaglassofit。
　　"Itwon’tdototakethatviewofyourfaults，Jeff，"hesaid，gravely。
　　"What’sthereason？"Jeffdemanded；andnoweitherthepunchhadbeguntoworkinWestover’sbrain，orsomeotherinfluenceoflikeforceandquality。Heperceivedthatinthisearth—boundtemperamentwasthepotentialityofallthesuccessitaimedat。Theacceptanceofthemoralfactasitwas，withouttheunconsciousefforttobetterit，ortoholdhimselfstrictlytoaccountforit，wasthesecretofthepowerinthemanwhichwouldbringaboutthematerialresultshedesired；andthissimplicityofthemotiveinvolvedhaditscharm。
　　WestoverwasawareoflikingDurginatthatmomentmuchmorethanheought，andoflikinghimhelplessly。Inthelightofhisgood—naturedselfishness，theinjurytotheLyndesshowedmuchlessasacrilegethanithadseemed；WestoverbegantoseeitwithJeff’seyes，andtoseeitwithreferencetowhatmightbelowandmeaninthem，insteadofwhatmightbefineandhigh。
　　HewassensibleofthegrowthJeffhadmadeintellectually。HehadnotbeenatHarvardnearlyfouryearsfornothing。Hehadphrasesandcouldhandlethem。Inwhateverobscureorperversefashion，hehadprofitedbyhisopportunities。Thefellowwhocouldaccusehimofbeinganidealist，andcouldinsomesortproveit，wasnolongeranaughtyboytobetutoredandpunished。Therevoltlatentinhimwouldbeviolentinproportiontothepressureputuponhim，andWestoverbegantobewithoutthewishtopresshisfaulthometohimsostrongly。Intheoptimismgeneratedbythepunch，hefeltthathemightleavethecasetoJeffhimself；orelseinthecomfortweallexperienceinsinkingtoalowerlevel，hewasunwillingtomaketheefforttokeephisownmoralelevation。Buthedidmakeanefforttosavehimselfbysaying："Youcan’tgetwhatyou’vedonebeforeyourselfasyoucantheactionofsomeoneelse。It’spartofyou，andyouhavetojudgethemotiveaswellastheeffect。"
　　"Well，that’swhatI’mdoing，"saidJeff；"butitseemstomethatyou’retryingtohavemejudgeoftheeffectfromamotiveIdidn’thave。AsfarasIcanmakeout，Ihadn’tanymotiveatall。"
　　Helaughed，andallthatWestovercouldsaywas，"Thenyou’restillresponsiblefortheresult。"Butthisnolongerappearedsotruetohim。
　　XXXVIII。
　　ItwasnotaconditionofWestover’swelcomeatLion’sHeadthatheshouldseempeculiarlythefriendofJeffDurgin，buthecouldnothelpmakingitso，andhebegantooveractthepartassoonashemetJeff’smother。HehadtospeakofhiminthankingherforrememberinghiswishtopaintLion’sHeadinthewinter，andhehadtotellherofJeff’sthoughtfulnessduringthepastfortnight；hehadtosaythathedidnotbelieveheshouldeverhavegotawayifithadnotbeenforhim。Thiswastrue；DurginhadevencomeinfromCambridgetoseehimoffonthetrain；hebehavedasiftheincidentwithLyndeandalltheirtalkaboutithadcementedthefriendshipbetweenWestoverandhimself，andhecouldnotbetoodevoted。ItnowcameoutthathehadwrittenhomeallaboutWestover，andmadehismotherputupastoveinthepainter’soldroom，sothatheshouldhavetheinstantuseofitwhenhearrived。
　　Itwasanair—tightwood—stove，anditfilledthechamberwithaheatinwhichWestoverdrowsedassoonasheenteredit。Hethrewhimselfonthebed，andsleptawaythefatigueofhisrailroadjourneyandthecoldofhisdrivewithJombateestefromthestation。Hisnapwaslong，andhewokefromitinapleasantlanguor，withthedream—cloudsstillhanginginhisbrain。Heopenedthedamperofhisstove，andsetitroaringagain；thenhepulleddowntheuppersashofhiswindowandlookedoutonaworldwhoseelementsofwoodandsnowandstonehetriedtoco—
　　ordinate。Therewasnothingelseinthatworldbutthesethings，sorepellentofoneanother。Hesufferedfromtheincongruityofthewoodenbulkofthehotel，withthewhitedriftsdeepaboutit，andwiththegranitecliffsofLion’sHeadbeforeit，wherethegraycragsdarkenedunderthepinkafternoonlightwhichwasbeginningtoplayuponitscrestfromtheearlysunset。Thewindthathadseemedtoborethroughhisthickcapandhisskullitself，andthathadtossedthedrysnowlikedustagainsthiseyesonhiswayfromtherailroad，hadnowfallen，andanincomparablequietwrappedthesolitudeofthehills。A
　　teasingsenseoftheimpossibilityofthescene，asfarashisartwasconcerned，filledhimfullofafonddespairofrenderingitsfeeling。
　　Hecouldgiveitslightandcolorandforminasufficientlyvividsuggestionofthefact，buthecouldnotmakethatpinkflushseemtoexhale，likealongbreath，uponthoseruggedshapes；hecouldnotimpartthatsentimentofdelicately，almostofelegance，whichhefoundinthewilderness，whileeverydetailofcivilizationphysicallydistressedhim。
　　Inoneplacethesnowhadbeendugdowntothepineplankingofthepathwayroundthehouse；andthecontactofthiswoodennesswiththefrozengroundpiercedhisnervesandsethisteethonedgelikeaharshnoise。Whenoncehesawithehadtomakeanefforttotakehiseyesfromit，andinasortunknowntohiminsummerheperceivedtheoffenceofthehotelitselfamidthepureandlonelybeautyofthewinterlandscape。Itwasanoteofintolerablebanality，ofphilistinepretenceandvulgarconvention，suchasWhitwell’slow，unpaintedcottageatthefootofthehilldidnotgive，northelittleredschool—house，ontheotherhand，showingthroughthenakedtrees。Thereshouldhavebeenreallynohumanhabitationvisibleexceptawigwamintheshelterofthepines，hereandthere；andwhenhesawWhitwellmakinghiswayupthehill—sideroad，Westoverfeltthatiftheremustbeanyhumanpresenceitshouldbesomesavagecladinskins，insteadofthephilosopherinhisrubberbootsandhisclothing—storeulster。Hepreferredthesmall，wiryshapeofJombateeste，inhisbluewoollencapandhisCanadianfootgear，asheranroundthecornerofthehousetowardthebarn，andleftthebreathofhispipeinthefineairbehindhim。
　　Thelightbegantodeepenfromthepalepinktoacrimsonwhichstainedthetopsandsteepsofsnow，anddeepenedthedarkofthewoodsmassedonthemountainslopesbetweentheirregularfieldsofwhite。Theburnishedbrownofthehard—woodtrees，thedullcarbonshadowsoftheevergreens，seemedtowithertooneblackastheredstrengthenedinthesky。
　　Westoverrealizedthathehadlostthebestofanypossiblepictureinlettingthatfirstdelicatecolorescapehim。Thiscrimsonwasharshandvulgarincomparison；itwouldhavealmostachromoquality；hecensuredhispleasureinitassomethinggrossandmaterial，likethatofeating；
　　andonasuddenhefelthungry。Hewonderedwhattimetheywouldgivehimsupper，andhetookslightaccountofthefactthatacapriceofthewindhadtornitshoodofsnowfromthemountainsummit，andthattheprofileoftheLion’sHeadshowedalmostasdistinctlyasinsummer。Hestoodbeforethepicturewhichforthatdayatleastwaslosttohim，andquestionedwhethertherewouldbeaheartymeal，somethinglikeadinner，orwhethertherewouldbesomethinglikeafarmhousesupper，mainlyofdoughnutsandtea。
　　Hepulleduphiswindowandwasgoingtoliedownagain，whensomeoneknocked，andFrankWhitwellstoodatthedoor。"Doyouwantweshouldbringyoursuppertoyouhere，Mr。Westover，orwillyou——"
　　"Oh，letmejoinyouall！"criedthepainter，eagerly。"Isitready——
　　shallIcomenow？"
　　"Well，inaboutfiveminutesorso。"Frankwentaway，aftersettingdownintheroomthelamphehadbrought。ItwasalampwhichWestoverthoughtherememberedfromthefarm—houseperiod，andonhiswaydownherealizedashehadsomehownotdoneinhissummersojourns，theentiretyoftheoldhouseinthehotelwhichhadencompassedit。Theprimitivecoldofitsstairwaysandpassagesstruckuponhimassoonashelefthisownroom，andhefoundtheparlordoorclosedagainstthechill。Therewasahotstove—firewithin，andakerosene—lampturnedlow，buttherewasnoonethere，andhehadthephotographofhisfirstpictureofLion’sHeadtohimselfinthedimlight。ThevoicesofMrs。DurginandCynthiacametohimfromthedining—room，andfromthekitchenbeyond，withtheoccasionalclashofcrockery，andtheclangofironuponironaboutthestove，andthequicktreadofwomen’sfeetuponthebarefloor。
　　Withthesepleasantnoisescamethesmellofcooking，andlatertherewasanopeningandshuttingofdoors，withathrillofthefreezingairfromwithout，andthedullthumpingofWhitwell’srubberboots，andthequickerflappingofJombateeste’ssoftleathernsoles。Thentherewasthesweepofskirtedfeetattheparlordoor，andCynthiaWhitwellcameinwithoutperceivinghim。Shewenttothetablebythedarkeningwindow，andquicklyturnedupthelightofthelamp。Inherignoranceofhispresence，hesawherasifshehadbeenalone，almostasifshewereoutofthebody；hereceivedfromherunconsciousnesstheimpressionofsomethingrarelypureandfine，andhehadasuddencompassionforher，asforsomethingpreciousthatisfatedtobewastedormisprized。Atalittlemovementwhichhemadetorelievehimselffromasenseofeavesdropping，shegaveastart，andshutherlipsuponthelittlecrythatwouldhaveescapedfromanothersortofwoman。
　　"Ididn’tknowyouwerehere，"shesaid；andsheflushedwiththeshynessofhimwhichshealwaysshowedatfirst。Shehadmethimalreadywiththerest，buttheyhadscarcelyspokentogether；andheknewofthestruggleshemustnowbemakingwithherselfwhenshewenton："Ididn’tknowyouhadbeencalled。Ithoughtyouwerestillsleeping。"
　　"Yes。Iseemedtosleepforcenturies，"saidWestover，"andIwokeupfeelingcoevalwithLion’sHead。ButIhopetogrowyoungeragain。"
　　Shefaltered，andthensheasked："Didyouseethelightonitwhenthesunwentdown？"
　　"IwishIhadn’t。Icouldnevergetthatlight——evenifitevercameagain。"
　　"It’sthereeveryafternoon，whenit’sclear。"
　　"I’msorryforthat；Ishallhavetotryforit，then。"
　　"Wasn’tthatwhatyoucamefor？"sheasked，byoneoftheeffortsshewasmakingwitheverythingshesaid。Hecouldhavebelievedhesawthepulsethrobbinginherneck。Butsheheldherselfstone—still，andhedivinedherresolutiontoconquerherself，ifsheshoulddieforit。
　　"Yes，Icameforthat，"saidWestover。"That’swhatmakesitsodismaying。IfIhadonlyhappenedonit，Ishouldn’thavebeenresponsibleforthefailureIshallmakeofit。"
　　Shesmiled，asifshelikedhislightness，butdoubtedifsheought。
　　"Wedon’toftengetLion’sHeadclearofsnow。"
　　"Yes；that’sanotherhardship，"saidthepainter。"Everythingisagainstme！Ifwedon’thaveasnowovernight，andacloudydayto—morrow，I
　　shallbeindespair。"
　　Sheplayedwiththelittlewheelofthewick；shelookeddown，andthen，withaglanceflashedathim，shegasped："Ishallhavetotakeyourlampforthetableteaisready。"
　　"Oh，well，ifyouwillonlytakemewithit。I’mfrightfullyhungry。"
　　Apparentlyshecouldnotsayanythingtothat。Hetriedtogetthelamptocarryitoutforher，butshewouldnotlethim。"Itisn’theavy，"
　　shesaid，andhurriedoutbeforehim。
　　Itwasallnothing，butitwasallverycharming，andWestoverwasrichlycontentwithit；andyetnotcontent，forhefeltthatthepleasureofitwasnottrulyhis，butwasamomentofmerelyborrowedhappiness。
　　Thetablewaslaidintheoldfarm—housesitting—roomwherehehadbeenservedalonewhenhefirstcametoLion’sHead。Butnowhesatdownwiththewholefamily，eventoJombateeste，whobroughtinafaintodorofthebarnwithhim。
　　Theyhadeachbeenincontactwiththefinerworldwhichrevisitsnatureinthesummer—time，andtheymustallhaveknownsomethingofitsusages，buttheyhadrevertedinformandsubstancetotherusticlivingoftheirneighbors。TheyhadsteakforWestover，andbakedpotatoes；butforthemselvestheyhadsuchfarmfareasMrs。Durginhadgivenhimthefirsttimehesuppedthere。Theymadetheirmealchieflyofdoughnutsandtea，andhotbiscuit，withsomesweetdishesofafestivesortaddedinrecognitionofhispresence；andtherewasmince—pieforall。Mrs。
　　DurginandWhitwellatewiththeirknives，andJombateestefilledhimselfsosoonwitheveryimplementathandthathewasabletoaskexcuseoftheothersifheleftthemforthehorsesbeforetheyhadhalffinished。
　　FrankWhitwellfedwithakindofofficialorfunctionalconformitytothewaysofsummerfolks；butCynthia，atwhomWestoverglancedwithanxiety，onlydranksometeaandatealittlebreadandbutter。Hewasashamedofhisanxiety，forhehadownedthatitoughtnottohavematteredifshehadusedherknifelikeherfather；anditseemedtohimasifhehadpromptedMrs。Durginbyhiscuriousglancetosay："Wedon’tknowhalfthetimehowthechildlives。Cynthy！Takesomethingtoeat！"
　　Cynthiapleadedthatshewasnothungry；Mrs。Durgindeclaredthatshewoulddieifshekeptonasshewasgoing；andthenthegirlescapedtothekitchenononeoftheerrandswhichshemadefromtimetotimebetweenthestoveandthetable。
　　"Ipresumeit’syourcoming，Mr。Westover，"Mrs。Durginwenton，withthecomfortablesuperiorityofelderlypeopletoallthetrialsoftheyoung。
　　"Idon’tknowwhysheshouldmakeastrangerofyou，everytime。You’veknownherprettymuchallherlife。"
　　"EversinceyougiveJeffwhathedeservedforscaringherandFrankwithhisdog，"saidWhitwell。
　　"PoorFox！"Mrs。Durginsighed。"HedidhavetheleastsenseforadogI
　　eversaw。AndJeffusedtobesofondofhim！Well，Iguesshegottiredofhim，too，towardthelast。"
　　"He’sgonetothehappyhunting—groundsnow。Coloradydidn’tagreewithhim—oroldage，"saidWhitwell。"Idon’tseewhytheInjunswa’n’tright，"hepursued，thoughtfully。"Ifthey’vegotsouls，whyha’n’ttheirdogs？IsupposeMr。Westoverherewouldsaytherewa’n’tanycertaintyabouttheInjunsthemselves！"
　　"Youknowmyweakpoint，Mr。Whitwell，"thepainterconfessed。"ButI
　　can’tprovetheyhaven’t。"
　　"Nordogs，neither，Iguess，"saidWhitwell，tolerantly。"It’scurious，though，ifanimalshavegotsouls，thatweha’n’teverhadanycommunicationsfrom’em。Youmightsaythatag’in’theidea。"
　　"No，I’llletyousayit，"returnedWestover。"Butagoodmanyofthecommunicationsseemtocomefromthelowerintelligences，ifnottheloweranimals。"
　　Whitwelllaughedouthisdelightinthethrust。"Well，Iguessthat’ssomethingso。AndthemoldEgyptiandevils，overthere，thatyousaydiscoveredthedoctrineofimmortality，seemedtothinkacatwasaboutasgoodasaman。What’sthat，"heappealedtoMrs。Durgin，"Jacksonsaidinhislastletterabouttheircatmummies？"
　　"Well，IguessI’llfinishmysupperfirst，"saidMrs。Durgin，whosenervesWestoverwouldnototherwisehavesuspectedoffaintness。"ButJackson’sletters，"shecontinued，loyally，"areaboutthebestletters！"
　　"Knowthey’dgotsomeof’eminthepapers？"Whitwellasked；andatthesurprisethatWestovershowedhetoldhimhowafellowwhowastryingtomakeapapergooverattheHuddle，hadheardofJackson’slettersandteasedforsomeofthem，andhadprintedthemasneighborhoodnewsinthatsideofhispaperwhichhedidnotbuyreadyprintedinBoston。
　　Mrs。DurginstudiedwithmodestdeprecationtheeffectofthefactuponWestover，andseemedsatisfiedwithit。"Well，ofcourse，it’sinterestin’toJackson’soldfriendsinthecountry，here。Theyknowhe’dlookatthings，overthere，prettymuchastheywould。Well，Ihadtolendthelettersroundsomuch，anyway，itwasakindofarelieftohave’eminthepaper，whereeverybodycouldsee’em，andbedonewithit。Mr。Whit’ellhere，hefixes’emupso’stoleaveoutthefamilypart，andIguessthey’reprettywellthoughtof。"
　　Westoversaidhehadnodoubttheywere，andheshouldwanttoseealltheletterstheycouldshowhim，inprintandoutofprint。
　　"IfJacksononlyhadJeff’shealthandopportunities——"themotherbegan，withasuppressedpassioninherregret。
　　FrankWhitwellpushedbackhischair。"IguessI’llasktobeexcused，"
　　hesaidtotheheadoftable。
　　"There！Ia’n’tgoin’tosayanymoreaboutthat，ifthat’swhatyou’reafraidof，Frank，"saidMrs。Durgin。"Well，IpresumeIdotalkagooddealaboutJacksonwhenIgetgoin’，andIpresumeit’snaturalCynthyshouldn’twantIshouldtalkaboutJeffbeforefolks。Frank，a’n’tyougoin’towaitforthatplateofhotbiscuit？——ifsheevergitsithere！"
　　"IguessIdon’tcareforanythingmore，"saidFrank，andhegothimselfoutoftheroommoreinarticulatelythanheneed，Westoverthought。
　　His，fatherfollowedhisretreatwithaneyeofhumorousintelligence。
　　"IguessFrankdon’twanttokeeptheyoungladieswaitin’agreatwhile。
　　There’sachurchsociableover’ttheHuddle，"heexplainedtoWestover。
　　"Oh，that’sit，isit？"Mrs。Durginputin。"Whydidn’thesayso。"
　　"Well，theyoungfolksdon’tanyof’emseemtowanttotalkaboutsuchthingsnowadays，andIdon’tknowastheyeverdid。"WhitwelltookWestoverintohisconfidencewithawink。
　　ThebiscuitthatCynthiabroughtinwereburnedalittleontop，andMrs。
　　Durginrecognizedthefactwiththequestion，"Didyougettostudyin’，outthere？Takeone，do，Mr。Westover！Youha’n’tmadehalfameal！
　　IfIdidn’tkeeproundafterher，Idon’tknowwhatwouldbecomeofusall。TheyoungladiesdownatBoston，anyof’em，trytokeepupwiththefellowsincollege？"
　　"IsupposetheydointheHarvardAnnex，"saidWestover，simply，inspiteoftheglancewithwhichMrs。Durgintriedtoconveyacovertmeaning。
　　Heunderstooditafterward，butforthepresenthissingle—mindednesssparedthegirl。