What power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes! The young man felt the truthof the proverb， “Still waters run deep：” and his heart had sunk into their depths. He oftentalked of his adventures， and the mamma was as simple and eager in her questions as on thefirst evening they met. It was a pleasure to hear Alfred describe anything. He showed themcolored plates of Naples， and spoke of excursions to Mount Vesuvius， and the eruptions offire from it. The naval officer's widow had never heard of them before.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “So that is a burning mountain; but is it not verydangerous to the people who live near it?”
“Whole cities have been destroyed，” he replied; “for instance， Herculaneum and Pompeii.”
“Oh， the poor people! And you saw all that with your own eyes?”
“No; I did not see any of the eruptions which are represented in those pictures; but I willshow you a sketch of my own， which represents an eruption I once saw.”
He placed a pencil sketch on the table; and mamma， who had been over-powered withthe appearance of the colored plates， threw a glance at the pale drawing and cried inastonishment， “What， did you see it throw up white fire?”
For a moment， Alfred's respect for Kala's mamma underwent a sudden shock， andlessened considerably; but， dazzled by the light which surrounded Kala， he soon found itquite natural that the old lady should have no eye for color. After all， it was of very littleconsequence; for Kala's mamma had the best of all possessions; namely， Kala herself.
Alfred and Kala were betrothed， which was a very natural result; and the betrothal wasannounced in the newspaper of the little town. Mama purchased thirty copies of the paper，that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends and acquaintances. The betrothedpair were very happy， and the mother was happy too. She said it seemed like connectingherself with Thorwalsden.
“You are a true successor of Thorwalsden，” she said to Alfred; and it seemed to him asif， in this instance， mamma had said a clever thing. Kala was silent; but her eyes shone， herlips smiled， every movement was graceful，—in fact， she was beautiful; that cannot berepeated too often. Alfred decided to take a bust of Kala as well as of her mother. They sat tohim accordingly， and saw how he moulded and formed the soft clay with his fingers.
“I suppose it is only on our account that you perform this common-place work yourself，instead of leaving it to your servant to do all that sticking together.”
“It is really necessary that I should mould the clay myself，” he replied.
“Ah， yes， you are always so polite，” said mamma， with a smile; and Kala silentlypressed his hand， all soiled as it was with the clay.
then he unfolded to them both the beauties of Nature， in all her works; he pointed out tothem how， in the scale of creation， inanimate matter was inferior to animate nature; theplant above the mineral， the animal above the plant， and man above them all. He strove toshow them how the beauty of the mind could be displayed in the outward form， and that itwas the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression， and produce it in his works.Kala stood silent， but nodded in approbation of what he said， while mamma-in-law made thefollowing confession：—
“It is difficult to follow you; but I go hobbling along after you with my thoughts， thoughwhat you say makes my head whirl round and round. Still I contrive to lay hold on some of it.”
Kala's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his soul， and held a mastery over him.Beauty beamed from Kala's every feature， glittered in her eyes， lurked in the corners of hermouth， and pervaded every movement of her agile fingers. Alfred， the sculptor， saw this.He spoke only to her， thought only of her， and the two became one; and so it may be saidshe spoke much， for he was always talking to her; and he and she were one. Such was thebetrothal， and then came the wedding， with bride's-maids and wedding presents， all dulymentioned in the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set up Thorwalsden's bust at the end ofthe table， attired in a dressing-gown; it was her fancy that he should be a guest. Songs weresung， and cheers given; for it was a gay wedding， and they were a handsome pair. “Pygmalion loved his Galatea，” said one of the songs.
“Ah， that is some of your mythologies，” said mamma-in-law.