"Oh, believe me, Miss Hepzibah," said the young man quietly,
"these feelings will not trouble you any longer, after you are
once fairly in the midst of your enterprise. They are unavoidable
at this moment, standing, as you do, on the outer verge of your
long seclusion, and peopling the world with ugly shapes, which
you will soon find to be as unreal as the giants and ogres of a
child's story-book. I find nothing so singular in life, as that
everything appears to lose its substance the instant one actually
grapples with it. So it will be with what you think so terrible."

"But I am a woman!" said Hepzibah piteously. "I was going to say,
a lady,--but I consider that as past."

"Well; no matter if it be past!" answered the artist, a strange
gleam of half-hidden sarcasm flashing through the kindliness of
his manner. "Let it go You are the better without it. I speak
frankly, my dear Miss Pyncheon! for are we not friends? I look
upon this as one of the fortunate days of your life. It ends an
epoch and begins one. Hitherto, the life-blood has been gradually
chilling in your veins as you sat aloof, within your circle of
gentility, while the rest of the world was fighting out its battle
with one kind of necessity or another. Henceforth, you will at
least have the sense of healthy and natural effort for a purpose,
and of lending your strength be it great or small--to the united
struggle of mankind. This is success,--all the success that
anybody meets with!"

"It is natural enough, Mr. Holgrave, that you should have ideas
like these," rejoined Hepzibah, drawing up her gaunt figure with