She had once been shaken by all these emotions herself, years ago, when she was in love.

She had regarded them as a revelation while they lasted; and afterwards, as a steep step--a very steep step--upon the stair of life.

But she realized now that such as Hester live constantly in the world which the greater number of us can only enter when human passion lends us the key; the world at which, when the gates are shut against us, the coarser minded among us are not ashamed to level their ridicule and contempt.
Hester spoke brokenly with awe and reverence of her book, as of some mighty presence, some constraining power outside herself.

She saw it complete, beautiful--an entrancing vision, inaccessible, as a sunset.
"I cannot reach up to it.

I cannot get near it," she said.