glad to be
beautiful and to be loved. She had music and pictures and travel in
abundance, and she appreciated these things. She liked to give to the
poor, and she did give bountifully and with a grace and sweetness better
than the gift.

She painted pictures which everybody admired, and that pleased her. She
had dreamed of all this when a child. She had genius and she had
perseverance. Her aim was to be a famous artist, and she did not flinch
from any work or sacrifice which would help her to that end. So far all
was well, and she reached the goal. As there was nothing to prevent her
carrying out secondary plans at the same time, she could be cultivated
and charitable without giving up her great object.

She wanted to be good besides. She never deliberately decided for the
wrong against the right. And yet a noble life was not first in her
thoughts. When she was a school-girl she had a lover who was like a
better self. By and by he chose to study for the ministry, while she
went to the city to try her fortune. So far they shared every thought
and feeling and hope. She knew she was a better woman with him than with
any one else. But at last he was called to a remote country parish, and
for himself was satisfied with it. But she--how then could she be his
wife? Her heart was torn in the strife. Some women whose vision was
less keen would have married him, hoping that in some way they might
still carry out their own ambition. But she was at a critical point in
her career and she knew it. She had just begun to be known personally to
influential people, and her name was beginning to be known to the
public. She dared not risk leaving her post. She wrote her lover a
charming letter,--for she did love him,--and told him how it was. "When
I have won my victory," said she, "I shall be a free woman. And you will
love me just as much when I have more to give you than I have now. But
now I have my little talent confided to me, and I dare not fold it away
in a napkin." Her lover agreed to this, though it was hard for him. They
worked apart year after year. At last she was a free woman, with money
enough to live without work at all, and with fame enough to work when
and where she pleased. But gradually she cared less and less for the
objects of her lover's life. She would not own to herself that she had
failed in constancy to him. She always thought she was glad to see him
when he came to the city. But he felt the difference in her, t