not be nearly so well able as herself to face this bleakness.  Thus she might preserve those sportive triflers in their everlasting childhood by the warning of her sad devotion.  Faint shadows of gigantic tasks to be conquered when the hill was surmounted swam through her mind.  And somewhat whimsically associated with these, a portrait of the learned Hooker occurred vividly to her imagination,—­his face disfigured through his devotion to sedentary pursuits.  Involuntarily she smoothed her soft cheek with her little hand.  It was still round and velvet as an August peach.  Nevertheless she threw this possibility into the burden she was going to assume for humanity, and felt happier as the burden waxed heavier.  The innate hunger for sacrifice was gratified, with only the definite prospect of suffering from loss of complexion; a concrete living shape was given to the vague longing that possessed her; and she cheerfully marched on, strong in the hope of the love and reverence she was sure her devotion would gain.  Ah, sweet Haguna, Haguna!  Sweating enough and toil enough already!  Go back, dear child, from a work thou canst not understand, and imprison sunbeams for the panting world in flowery valleys!

By this time she had reached the philosophic hermitage.  Her future master met her at the door, and, saluting her with grave courtesy, led the way to a small unfurnished apartment, from whose windows nothing could be seen but the distant sea and sky,—­always a solemn monotone of sea and sky.

“And so,” he said, with mild irony, “even the maidens must dim their bright eyes with philosophy!  Can they leave their dolls so long?”

The hot blood rushed into Haguna’s face, as she exclaimed, with intense eagerness,—­

“Is it my fault that I am a girl?  I come to you to learn, to satisfy the insatiable thirst for knowledge which you have awakened,—­and you reproach me with my ignorance!  I have just discovered that the one thing I have secretly needed always was to learn to exercise my mind cramped with inaction, to share with you labor and toil.”

“Poor child,” sighed the philosopher, excited to sudden pity by her ardor, “you know little of the sweat of brain-toil!  Do you know that it takes years of painful study to arrive at a single valuable result? that for a distant, doubtful advantage, all your bright, unfettered life must be sacrificed?  Each enjoyment must be stinted and weighed,—­each day valued only as another step to be climbed in the endless ladder,—­all simple, sweet enjoyment of earth and air and sky, the careless, golden halo of each free day, must be given up.  Everything must be squared according to an inexorable plan; self must be despised, passions restrained and clarified, till the life becomes thin and attenuated through careful discipline,—­all hopes and fears laid aside till the soul becomes accustomed to its chilly atmosphere.  Then body and mind must be trained to endure a fearful weariness, to pass