my readers may wonder that Mary should for a moment dream of
giving up what they would call her independence; for was she not on her
own ground in the shop of which she was a proprietor? and was the
change proposed, by whatever name it might be called, anything other
than _service_? But they are outside it, and Mary was in it, and knew
how little such an independence was worth the name. Almost everything
about the shop had altered in its aspect to her. The very air she
breathed in it seemed slavish. Nor was the change in her. The whole
thing was growing more and more sordid, for now--save for her part--the
one spirit ruled it entirely.

The work had therefore more or less grown a drudgery to her. The spirit
of gain was in full blast, and whoever did not trim his sails to it was
in danger of finding it rough weather. No longer could she, without
offense, and consequent disturbance of spirit, arrange her attendance
as she pleased, or have the same time for reading as before. She could
encounter black looks, but she could not well live with them; and how
was she to continue the servant of such ends as were now exclusively
acknowledged in the place? The proposal of Mrs. Redmain stood in
advantageous contrast to this treadmill-work. In her house she would be
called only to the ministrations of love, and would have plenty of time
for books and music, with a thousand means of growth unapproachable in
Testbridge. All the slavery lay in the shop, all the freedom in the
personal service. But she strove hard to suppress anxiety, for she saw
that, of all poverty-stricken contradictions, a Christian with little
faith is the worst.

The chief attraction to her, however, was simply Hesper herself. She
had fallen in love with her--I hardly know how otherwise to describe
the current with which her being set toward her. Few hearts are capable
of loving as she loved. It was not merely that she saw in Hesper a
grand creature, and lovely to look upon, or that one so much her
superior in position showed such a liking for herself; she saw in her
one she could help, one at least who sorely needed help, for she seemed
to know nothing of what made life worth having--one who had done, and
must yet be capable of doing, things degrading to the humanity of
womanhood. Without the hope of helping in the highest sense, Mary could
not have taken up her abode in such a house as Mrs. Redmain's. No
outward service of any kind, even to the sick, was to he