What was in truth his safeguard and hers, was the fact that, at the very root of her, Elizabeth was a poet! She had seen Canada and Anderson from the beginning in the light of imagination; and that light was not going to fail her now.

For it sprang from the truth and glow of her own nature; by the help of it she _made_ her world; and Canada and Anderson moved under it, nobly seen and nobly felt.
This he half shrinkingly understood, and he repaid her with adoration, and a wisely yielding mind.

For her sake he was ready to do a hundred things he had never yet thought of, reading, inquiring, observing, in wider circles and over an ampler range.

For as the New World, through Anderson, worked on Elizabeth--so Europe, through Elizabeth, worked on Anderson.

And thus, from life to life, goes on the great interpenetrating, intermingling flux of things! It seemed as though the golden light could not die from the lake, though midsummer was long past.