After all, Irene, the joy of success does not equal that which attends the
patient working. Perhaps it is because 'anticipation is the purest part of
pleasure.' I love my work; no man or woman ever loved it better; and yet
there is a painful feeling of isolation, of loneliness, which steals over
me sometimes, and chills all my enthusiasm. It is so mournful to know that,
when the labour is ended, and a new chaplet encircles my brow, I shall have
no one but you to whom I can turn for sympathy in my triumph. If I feel
this so keenly now, how shall I bear it when the glow of life fades into
sober twilight shadows, and age creeps upon me?"

She threw down her brush and palette, and, turning towards her companion,
leaned her purplish head against her.

"Electra, it is very true that single women have trials for which a
thoughtless, happy world has little sympathy. But lonely lives are not
necessarily joyless; they should be, of all others, most useful.

"Remember that the woman who dares to live alone, and be sneered at, is
braver, and nobler, and better than she who escapes both in a loveless
marriage. It is true that you and I are very lonely, and yet our future
holds much that is bright. You have the profession you love so well, and
our new School of Design to engage your thoughts; and I a thousand claims
on my time and attention. I have Uncle Eric to take care of and to love,
and Dr. Arnold, who is growing quite infirm, has promised me that, as soon
as he can be spared from the hospitals, he will make his home with us. When
this storm of war has spent itself, your uncle's family will return from
Europe and reside here with you. Harvey, too, will come to W---- to
live--will probably take charge of Mr. Campbell's church--and we shall have
the pleasure and benefit of his constant counsel. If I could see you a
member of that church I should be better satisfied--and you would be
happier."

"I would join to-morrow, if thereby I could acquire your sublime faith, and
strength, and resignation. Oh, Irene! my friend and comforter! I want to
live differently in future. Once I was wedded to life and my
Art--pre-eminence in my profession, fame, was all that I cared to attain;
now I desire to spend my remaining years so that I may meet Russell beyond
the grave. His death broke the ties that bound me to this world; I live now
in hope of reunion in God's eternal kingdom. I have been selfish, and
careless, and complaining; but, oh! I