rmony between the
nature and the conditions; therefore the more powerful the leverage
against it. A small comfortable talent might hold its own, where a
larger one would succumb. That is where I think you make your big
mistake, in forgetting that the greatness of the power may serve to
make the greatness of the obstacles."

"So much the better for me then," said Algitha, with a touch of satire;
"for I have no idea of being beaten." She folded her arms in a serene
attitude of determination.

"Surely it only wants a little force of will to enable you to occupy
your life in the manner you think best," said Ernest.

"That is often impossible for a girl, because prejudice and custom are
against her."

"But she ought to despise prejudice and custom," cried the brother,
nobly.

"So she often would; but then she has to tear through so many living
ties that restrain her freedom."

Algitha drew herself up. "If one is unjustly restrained," she said, "it
is perfectly right to brave the infliction of the sort of pain that
people feel only because they unfairly object to one's liberty of
action."

"But what a frightful piece of circumstance _that_ is to encounter,"
cried Hadria, "to have to buy the mere right to one's liberty by cutting
through prejudices that are twined in with the very heart-strings of
those one loves! Ah! _that_ particular obstacle has held many a
woman helpless and suffering, like some wretched insect pinned alive to
a board throughout a miserable lifetime! What would Emerson say to these
cases? That 'Nature magically suits the man to his fortunes by making
these the fruit of his character'? Pooh! I think Nature more often makes
a man's fortunes a veritable shirt of Nessus which burns and clings, and
finally kills him with anguish!"

CHAPTER II.

Once more the old stronghold of Dunaghee, inured for centuries to the
changes of the elements, received the day's greeting. The hues of dawn
tinged the broad hill pastures, or "airds," as they were called, round
about the Tower of the Winds. No one was abroad yet in the silent lands,
except perhaps a shepherd, tending his flock. The little farmstead of
Craw Gill, that lay at a distance of about a couple of miles down the
valley, on the side of a ravine, was apparently dead asleep. Cruachmore,
the nearest upland farm, could scarcely be seen from the stronghold. The
old tower had been added to, perhaps two hundred years ago; a
rectangular block project