Your words are pleasant to my ears." Mrs.Dexter seemed a little surprised at this language, for she turned her eyes from the sea to his face, and looked at him with a questioning gaze for some moments.
"This world is not the real world," she said, speaking earnestly and gazing at him intently to see how far his thought reflected hers.
"Is not this real ?" Dexter asked, raising the hand of his wife and looking down upon it.

"I call it a real hand." "And I," said Mrs.Dexter, smiling, "call it only the appearance of a hand; it is the real hand that vitalizes and gives it power.

This will decay--this appearance fade--but the real hand of my spirit will live on, immortal in its power as the human soul of which it makes a part." "Into what strange labyrinths your mind is wandering Jessie!" said Mr.Dexter, a slight shade of disapproval in his voice.

"I am afraid you are losing yourself." "Rather say that I have been lost, and am finding myself in open paths, with the blue sky instead of forest foliage above me." "Your language is a myth, Jessie.

I never heard of your being lost.
To me you have been ever present, walking in the sunlight, a divine reality.