“Now—­and above all by what you are!” he broke out suddenly, moved out of his even speech.  “Oh! it is too much to believe—­to dream of!  Put your hand in mine, and say again that it is really true that we two are to go forward together—­that you will be always there to inspire—­to help—­”

And as she gave him the hand, she must also let him—­in this first tremor of a pure passion—­take the kiss which was now his by right.  That she should flush and draw away from him as she did, seemed to him the most natural thing in the world, and the most maidenly.

Then, as their talk wandered on, bit by bit, he gave her all his confidence, and she had felt herself honoured in receiving it.  She understood now at least something—­a first fraction—­of that inner life, masked so well beneath his quiet English capacity and unassuming manner.  He had spoken of his Cambridge years, of his friend, of the desire of his heart to make his landowner’s power and position contribute something towards that new and better social order, which he too, like Hallin—­though more faintly and intermittently—­believed to be approaching.  The difficulties of any really new departure were tremendous; he saw them more plainly and more anxiously than Hallin.  Yet he believed that he had thought his way to some effective reform on his grandfather’s large estate, and to some useful work as one of a group of like-minded men in Parliament.  She must have often thought him careless and apathetic towards his great trust.  But he was not so—­not careless—­but paralysed often by intellectual difficulty, by the claims of conflicting truths.

She, too, explained herself most freely, most frankly.  She would have nothing on her conscience.

“They will say, of course,” she said with sudden nervous abruptness, “that I am marrying you for wealth and position.  And in a sense I shall be.  No! don’t stop me!  I should not marry you if—­if—­I did not like you.  But you can give me—­you have—­great opportunities.  I tell you frankly, I shall enjoy them and use them.  Oh! do think well before you do it.  I shall never be a meek, dependent wife.  A woman, to my mind, is bound to cherish her own individuality sacredly, married or not married.  Have you thought that I may often think it right to do things you disagree with, that may scandalise your relations?”

“You shall be free,” he said steadily.  “I have thought of it all.”

“Then there is my father,” she said, turning her head away.  “He is ill—­he wants pity, affection.  I will accept no bond that forces me to disown him.”

“Pity and affection are to me the most sacred things in the world,” he said, kissing her hand gently.  “Be content—­be at rest—­my beautiful lady!”

There was again silence, full of thought on her side, of heavenly happiness on his.  The sun had sunk almost to the verge of the plain, the wind had freshened.

“We must go home,” she said, springing up.  “Taylor must have got there an hour ago.  Mother will be anxious, and I must—­I must tell them.”