In the fields, as she walked, she would come to an understanding with herself.
She knew almost nothing of the higher literature, and felt like a dreamer who, in the midst of a well-known and ordinary landscape, comes without warning upon the mighty cone of a mountain, or the breaking waters of a boundless ocean.
"If one could but get hold of such things, what a glorious life it would be!" she thought.

She had looked into a world beyond the present, and already in the present all things were new.

The sun set as she had never seen him set before; it was only in gray and gold, with scarce a touch of purple and rose; the wind visited her cheek like a living thing, and loved her; the skylarks had more than reason in their jubilation.

For the first time she heard the full chord of intellectual and emotional delight.

What a place her chamber would be, if she could there read such things! How easy would it be then to bear the troubles of the hour, the vulgar humor of Mr.Turnbull, and the tiresome attentions of George! Would Mr.Wardour lend her the book?
Had he other books as good?
Were there many books to make one's heart go as that one did?
She would save every penny to buy such books, if indeed such treasures were within her reach! Under the enchantment of her first literary joy, she walked home like one intoxicated with opium--a being possessed for the time with the awful imagination of a grander soul, and reveling in the presence of her loftier kin..