“Algitha will be worthy of our parents, I think,” said Hadria, “though she has commenced her career by disobeying them.”
“And you too must turn your power to account.”
“You can’t conceive how difficult it is.”
“I can very easily. I see that the sacrifice of her own development, which your mother has made for your sakes, is taking its inevitable revenge upon her, and upon you all. One can’t doom one’s best powers to decay, however excellent the motive, without bringing punishment upon oneself and one’s children, in some form or other. You will have to fight against that penalty. I know you will not have a smooth time of it; but who has, except cowards and weaklings? Your safeguard will be in your work.”
“And my difficulty,” said Hadria. “In the world that I was born into (for my sins), when one tries to do something that other people don’t do, it is like trying to get up early in a house where the breakfast-hour is late. Nothing fits in with one’s eccentric custom; everything conspires to discourage it.”
“I wish I could give you a helping hand,” said the Professor wistfully; “but one is so powerless. Each of us has to fight the real battle of life alone. Nobody can see with our eyes, or feel with our nerves. The crux of the difficulty each bears for himself. But friendship can help us to believe the struggle worth while; it can sustain our courage and it can offer sympathy in victory,—but still more faithfully in defeat.”
CHAPTER XII.
HADRIA had determined upon making a strong and patient effort to pursue her work during the winter, while doing her best, at the same time, to please her mother, and to make up to her, as well as she could, for Algitha’s departure. She would not be dismayed by difficulties: as the Professor said, only cowards and weaklings escaped these. She treated herself austerely, and found her power of concentration increasing, and her hold on herself greater. But, as usual, her greatest effort had to be given, not to the work itself, but to win opportunity to pursue it. Mrs. Fullerton opposed her daughter’s endeavours as firmly as ever. It was not good for a girl to be selfishly pre-occupied. She ought to think of others.
If Hadria yielded the point on any particular occasion, her mood and her work were destroyed: if she resisted, they were equally destroyed, through the nervous disturbance and the intense depression which followed the winning of a liberty too dearly bought. The incessant rising and quelling of her impulse and her courage—like the ebb and flow of tides—represented a vast amount of force not merely wasted, but expended in producing a dangerous wear and tear upon the system. The process told upon her health, and was the beginning of the weakening and unbalancing of the splendid constitution which Hadria, in common with every member of the family, enjoyed as a birthright. The injury was insidious but serious. Hadria, unable to command any certain part of the day, began to sit up at night. This led to a direct clash of wills. Mr. Fullerton said that the girl was doing her best to ruin her health for life; Mrs. Fullerton wished to know why Hadria, who had all the day at her disposal, could not spend the night rationally.