Although I had a strong suspicion who it must be, yet a cold surprise seemed to run through me, when the dire certainty so suddenly declared itself.  I dropped my carpet-bag, as if all my daintily built castles were in it, and it was best to crush them to pieces at once and have it over.  I pondered, and helped tie a bandbox on behind the vehicle, and after some time found myself in the carryall staring at the felt hat of the driver an inch or two before my nose, and Miss Hurribattle established by my side.  It occurred to me that it was my place to resume the conversation, and, in a sudden spasm of originality, I changed a remark respecting the beauty of the day into an observation on the steepness of the hill we began to ascend.

“It is very steep,” assented the lady, “and I have a particular objection to riding up-hill:  it always appears to me I am helping the horses draw.  However, it may sometimes be pleasant; for I remember paying a visit of a fortnight to Boston, when I was a girl, and there I really thought that hills could not have been placed more conveniently.”

“How so?” inquired I.

“Why, I stayed with some friends who lived in Charles Street, just on the bay; consequently we always drove up-hill when we went to a party, and downhill when we came home.”

“And you were always so much more content to return than to go, that the accelerated speed of a down-hill passage was agreeable,” suggested I, after having cast about vaguely for an explanation.

“Oh, dear! no!  It was all on account of my back-hair:  for in going up-hill one naturally leans forward,—­so, of course, it couldn’t get tumbled; but when we were coming home, it was no matter.”

I glanced slightly at Miss Hurribattle, and thought it strange that a lady of her present disorderly and straggly appearance could have ever felt so much interest in fashionable proprieties.  She seemed to be conscious of what was passing in my mind, and suddenly said,—­

“Did you ever see a lady throw a stone?”

“I probably have,” I replied; “though I do not at present recall any particular instance.”

“Very well, then,—­you will remember that it always seems as if she was going to throw herself after it.  Now I recognize in this a portion of the mystic instruction that natural phenomena may give us, if we look at them earnestly; for is it not intended that woman should pursue with her whole being whatever she undertakes?  The man throws his stone with a little jerk of the hand:  he may be a legislator, a philanthropist, a father, and a merchant, each with distinct portions of himself, and be each with all the better effect to the others; but when a woman throws her stone, it is better for her to project herself along with it.”

“But, surely, you cannot believe that she is entitled only to a single fling at the mark?”

“On the contrary, let her change her mark as often as she finds it too easy or too hard to hit.  All I insist upon is a temporary concentration upon one pursuit.  You wondered just now that I could ever have cared for display, or have thought much of my appearance; but at that time I knew no better, and followed the world with a devotion for which I have now, I trust, a better object.”