At last one afternoon they had climbed together the steep red face of the sandy slope that rises abruptly from the Holmwood towards Leith Hill, by the Robin Gate entrance.  Near the top, they had seated themselves on a carpet of sheep-sorrel, looking out across the imperturbable expanse of the Weald, and the broad pastures of Sussex.  A solemn blue haze brooded soft over the land.  The sun was sinking low; oblique afternoon lights flooded the distant South Downs.  Their combes came out aslant in saucer-shaped shadows.  Alan turned and gazed at Herminia; she was hot with climbing, and her calm face was flushed.  A town-bred girl would have looked red and blowsy; but the color and the exertion just suited Herminia.  On that healthy brown cheek it seemed natural to discern the visible marks of effort.  Alan gazed at her with a sudden rush of untrammelled feeling.  The elusive outline of her grave sweet face, the wistful eyes, the ripe red mouth enticed him.  “Oh, Herminia,” he cried, calling her for the first time by her Christian name alone, “how glad I am I happened to go that afternoon to Mrs. Dewsbury’s.  For otherwise perhaps I might never have known you.”

Herminia’s heart gave a delicious bound.  She was a woman, and therefore she was glad he should speak so.  She was a woman, and therefore she shrank from acknowledging it.  But she looked him back in the face tranquilly, none the less on that account, and answered with sweet candor, “Thank you so much, Mr. Merrick.”

“I said ‘Herminia,’” the young man corrected, smiling, yet aghast at his own audacity.

“And I thanked you for it,” Herminia answered, casting down those dark lashes, and feeling the heart throb violently under her neat bodice.

Alan drew a deep breath.  “And it was that you thanked me for,” he ejaculated, tingling.

“Yes, it was that I thanked you for,” Herminia answered, with a still deeper rose spreading down to her bare throat.  “I like you very much, and it pleases me to hear you call me Herminia.  Why should I shrink from admitting it?  ’Tis the Truth, you know; and the Truth shall make us Free.  I’m not afraid of my freedom.”

Alan paused for a second, irresolute.  “Herminia,” he said at last, leaning forward till his face was very close to hers, and he could feel the warm breath that came and went so quickly; “that’s very, very kind of you.  I needn’t tell you I’ve been thinking a great deal about you these last three weeks or so.  You have filled my mind; filled it to the brim, and I think you know it.”

Philosopher as she was, Herminia plucked a blade of grass, and drew it quivering through her tremulous fingers.  It caught and hesitated.  “I guessed as much, I think,” she answered, low but frankly.

The young man’s heart gave a bound.  “And you, Herminia?” he asked, in an eager ecstasy.

Herminia was true to the Truth.  “I’ve thought a great deal about you too, Mr. Merrick,” she answered, looking down, but with a great gladness thrilling her.