of a wise, benignant soul.  But it was the voice which best revealed her, a voice whose subdued intensity and tremulous richness seemed to environ her uttered words with the mystery of a world that must remain untold.  And then again, when in moments of more intimate converse some current of emotion would set strongly through her soul, when she would raise her head in unconscious absorption and look out into the unseen, her expression was not one to be soon forgotten.  It has not, indeed, the serene felicity of souls to whose childlike confidence all heaven and earth are fair.  Rather it was the look of a strenuous Demiurge, of a soul on which high tasks are laid, and which finds in their accomplishment its only imagination of joy.”

Another side of her influence on persons is expressed by the representative of that publishing house which gave her books to the world.  “In addition to the spell which bound the world to her by her genius, she had a personal power of drawing to herself, in ties of sympathy and kindly feeling, all who came under her influence.  She never oppressed any one by her talents; she never allowed any one to be sensible of the depth and variety of her scholarship; she knew, as few know, how to draw forth the views and feelings of her visitors, and to make their sympathies her own.  There was a charm in her personal character which of itself was sufficient to conciliate deep and lasting regard.  Every one who entered her society left it impressed with the conviction that they had been under the influence of a sympathy and tenderness not less remarkable than the force of her mental power....  Her deep and catholic love for humanity in its broadest and best sense, which was in itself the strongest quickening motive of her genius, will maintain her influence in the future as in the present.”

Hers was a somewhat sensitive, shrinking nature, with no self-assumption, and without the taint of egotism.  She had a modest estimate of her own great literary creations, and shrank from all mention of them and from the homage paid to her as an author.  After the publication of Romola she was one day reading French to a girl companion in the garden of a Swiss hotel, when a lady drew near to listen to the silvery tones of her voice.  Noticing this, she said, “Do you understand?” The lady answered, “I do not care for the matter; I only came to listen to your voice.”  “Do you like it?” was then inquired.  When the lady expressed the pleasure it gave her, Mrs. Lewes took her hand and warmly said, “I thank you.  I would rather you would compliment my voice than my Romola.” [Footnote:  This story is not authenticated; it may be taken for what it is worth, though it appears to be characteristic.]