While Maggie’s life-struggles had lain almost entirely¹ within her own soul, one shadowy army fighting another, and the slain² shadows forever rising again, Tom was engaged in a dustier, noisier warfare³, grappling with more substantial obstacles, and gaining more definite conquests. So it has been since the days of Hecuba, and of Hector, Tamer of horses; inside the gates, the women with streaming hair and uplifted hands offering prayers, watching the world’s combat from afar, filling their long, empty days with memories and fears; outside, the men, in fierce struggle with things divine and human, quenching⁴ memory in the stronger light of purpose, losing the sense of dread⁵ and even of wounds in the hurrying ardor⁶ of action.

From what you have seen of Tom, I think he is not a youth of whom you would prophesy⁷ failure in anything he had thoroughly⁸ wished; the wagers⁹ are likely to be on his side, notwithstanding his small success in the classics. For Tom had never desired success in this field of enterprise; and for getting a fine flourishing growth of stupidity there is nothing like pouring out on a mind a good amount of subjects in which it feels no interest. But now Tom’s strong will bound together his integrity, his pride, his family regrets, and his personal ambition, and made them one force, concentrating his efforts and surmounting¹¹ discouragements. His uncle Deane, who watched him closely, soon began to conceive hopes of him, and to be rather proud that he had brought into the employment of the firm a nephew who appeared to be made of such good commercial stuff. The real kindness of placing him in the

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