the days under such a stern pressure of toil that all loving, graceful interests shall be rooted out of the stony soil.  You must be prepared to lose precious truths in a gulf of delusion,—­to leave all your old beacon-lights and wander forth in an eternal dark.  The troubles that beset weak souls may be dissipated, but new strength brings dreadful trials.  Tremendous conflicts, undreamt-of in your innocence, will agitate your adventurous Intellect, penetrating into vast regions of Doubt, where the mind made for belief often reels into madness, goaded by harassing anxiety.  Often the lonely night-hours must be spent in sore battle with fearful spectres revived by the roaming soul from their frequent graves.  All this and more must he dare who aspires to the lofty service of philosophy.”

“All this and more would I gladly suffer,” cried Haguna.  “There is a fire now in my brain; you have kindled it, and it must be fed.  And, moreover, I wish to endure this trial for its own sake; for it is not fitting that men should suffer more than women.  Perhaps, too,—­am I presumptuous in thinking so?—­two workers may so lessen the toil of one that this lonely trial maybe greatly helped by even my assistance.”

And her bosom heaved, and glorious tears welled up into her deep blue eyes.  The repentant philosopher placed his hand on her lovely head, and lifted a tress of her soft hair.

“Ah, child, child, you know little about it!  What! will you sacrifice these glorious tresses to a hard and joyless course of study?  For none can study Euclid with me with hair like this.”

“Willingly! willingly!” cried Haguna, impetuously, and pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket to immediately make the beautiful offering.

The reluctant philosopher arrested her hand.

“Rash girl! consider yet a moment.  You are exchanging a treasure whose value you know for—­you know not what.  You will bitterly repent.”

But Haguna, would not consider.  She impatiently tore away her hand, and in a few minutes had closely shorn her head, and the neglected hair lay in rich profusion on the floor.  As it lay there, the warm golden brown color faded and faded, and some glittering things entangled in its abundant masses beamed forth for a moment like tiny stars, and then disappeared.  And had Haguna stepped into a cloud, that so great a change had come over her?  The fine contour of head and forehead, the soft outline of face, the delicate moulding of the chin were the same still,—­the dark eyes glowed with even new lustre; but the graceful throat and white arm were hidden in a dark muffling cloak, the delicious blush had faded from the cheek, whose color was now firm and tranquil, the well-cut lips had settled into almost too harsh lines, an air of indescribably voluptuous grace had forever fled.  Ah, hapless Haguna!

The philosopher made no further remonstrance, but led her immediately to the library, and, seating her at the table, opened a worn copy of Euclid, and began at “Two straight lines,” and so forth.