"But there is the violin, now!--that can be as sad as any organ, without being so ponderous.

Hear this, now! This is the violin after the organ--played as only a master can!" With this preamble, he read a song of Shelley's, and read it well, for he had a good ear for rhythm and cadence, and prided himself on his reading of poetry.
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.