Next morning, for a wonder, Nan waked early, even before the birds had
quite done singing, and it seemed a little strange that the weather
should be clear and bright, and almost like June, since she was a good
deal troubled.

She felt at first as if there were some unwelcome duty in her day's
work, and then remembered the early drive with great pleasure, but the
next minute the great meaning and responsibility of the decision she
had announced the evening before burst upon her mind, and a flood of
reasons assailed her why she should not keep to so uncommon a purpose.
It seemed to her as if the first volume of life was ended, and as if
it had been deceitfully easy, since she had been led straight-forward
to this point. It amazed her to find the certainty take possession of
her mind that her vocation had been made ready for her from the
beginning. She had the feeling of a reformer, a radical, and even of a
political agitator, as she tried to face her stormy future in that
summer morning loneliness. But by the time she had finished her early
breakfast, and was driving out of the gate with the doctor, the day
seemed so much like other days that her trouble of mind almost
disappeared. Though she had known instinctively that all the early
part of her life had favored this daring project, and the next few
years would hinder it if they could, still there was something within
her stronger than any doubts that could possibly assail her. And
instead of finding everything changed, as one always expects to do
when a great change has happened to one's self, the road was so
familiar, and the condition of the outer world so harmonious, that she
hardly understood that she had opened a gate and shut it behind her,
between that day and its yesterday. She held the reins, and the doctor