But it was round Haguna that he plied the most subtle enchantments,—­to her he exhibited the most glittering decoys of Knowledge.  She was completely fascinated.  Her cheeks grew pale, her large dark eyes deeper and darker, with intense interest.  She hung upon every word that fell from the philosopher’s lips, pored over the elegant trifles the scholar had collected for the wondering ignorant, and stood abashed before the studied unconsciousness of power,—­the power of vast learning, that she felt for the first time.  When the guests were departing, she was still reluctant to go,—­she timidly followed the watchful philosopher to the mighty telescope that had brought down stars for their playthings that evening.

“My ignorance and weakness overwhelm me,” she exclaimed; “would that I could spend my life in this awful library!”

The philosopher repressed his exultation at this confession, and replied,—­

“Nothing is easier, Madam, than the gratification of your laudable desire.  I am in the habit of receiving pupils, and should be most happy to admit you to my class.”

An eager light leaped into her lovely face as she earnestly thanked him for his condescension, and engaged to begin the lessons on the very next day.  So, when the guests had all gone, and the scared quiet ventured to brood again over its ancient nestling-place, the wily philosopher threw himself back into his great chair, and laughed a long while with solitary enjoyment.

The next day Haguna wended her lonely way to the bleak hill.  It was so stony and bare and treeless,—­jutting out against the gray cold sky like a giant sentinel stripped naked, yet still with dogged obstinacy clinging to his post.  The hard path pushed up over jagged stones that cut her tender feet, and they left bleeding waymarks on the difficult ascent.  Woe, woe to poor trembling Haguna!  Uncouth birds whizzed in circles round her head, clanging and clamoring with their shrill voices, striving to beat her back with their flapping wings.  The faint sweet fragrance of brier-roses clustering at the foot of the mountain wafted reproachfully upon the chill air an entreaty to return.  Once, turning at a sudden bend in the road, she spied a merry party of girls and children crowning each other with quickly fading wreaths of clover-blossoms.  A rosy-cheeked child in the centre of the group, enjoying the glory of his first coronation, accidentally pointed his fat fore-finger at her, as if in derision of her undertaking.  It was strange, that, although she presently pressed forward eagerly again, she felt glad that none of those laughing girls would leave the sunny valley to follow her example.  She had flung her whole soul into the scheme, as is the fashion with girls, and could not recover it again now.  It seemed absolutely necessary that somewhere some woman like herself should be compelled to scale this ascent, and she—­one of those girls in the valley, for instance, might