His daily longing seemed to be to make her love the world, and the things therein.

He used to turn away, almost in pain, from her smile, as she would listen to all he said, then steal off to the harpsichord, and begin that soft, dreamy music, which the children called "talking to angels." We came to Enderley through the valley, where was John's cloth-mill.
Many a time in our walks he and I had passed it, and stopped to listen to the drowsy fall of the miniature Niagara, or watch the incessant turning--turning of the great water-wheel.

Little we thought he should ever own it, or that John would be pointing it out to his own boys, lecturing them on "undershot," and "overshot," as he used to lecture me.
It was sweet, though half-melancholy, to see Enderley again; to climb the steep meadows and narrow mule-paths, up which he used to help me so kindly.

He could not now; he had his little daughter in his arms.

It had come, alas! to be a regular thing that Muriel should be carried up every slight ascent, and along every hard road.