As the morning wore on, this view of the matter obtruded itself more and more forcibly every moment on Alan.  Over and over again he said to himself, let come what come might, he must never aid and abet that innocent soul in rushing blindfold over a cliff to her own destruction.  It is so easy at twenty-two to ruin yourself for life; so difficult at thirty to climb slowly back again.  No, no, holy as Herminia’s impulses were, he must save her from herself; he must save her from her own purity; he must refuse to be led astray by her romantic aspirations.  He must keep her to the beaten path trod by all petty souls, and preserve her from the painful crown of martyrdom she herself designed as her eternal diadem.

Full of these manful resolutions, he rose up early in the morning.  He would be his Herminia’s guardian angel.  He would use her love for him,—­for he knew she loved him,—­as a lever to egg her aside from these slippery moral precipices.

He mistook the solid rock of ethical resolution he was trying to disturb with so frail an engine.  The fulcrum itself would yield far sooner to the pressure than the weight of Herminia’s uncompromising rectitude.  Passionate as she was,—­and with that opulent form she could hardly be otherwise,—­principle was still deeper and more imperious with her than passion.

V.

He met her by appointment on the first ridge of Bore Hill.  A sunny summer morning smiled fresh after the rain.  Bumble-bees bustled busily about the closed lips of the red-rattle, and ripe gorse pods burst with little elastic explosions in the basking sunlight.

When Alan reached the trysting-place, under a broad-armed oak, in a glade of the woodland, Herminia was there before him; a good woman always is, ’tis the prerogative of her affection.  She was simply dressed in her dainty print gown, a single tea-rosebud peeped out from her bodice; she looked more lily-like, so Alan thought in his heart, than he had ever yet seen her.  She held out her hand to him with parted lips and a conscious blush.  Alan took it, but bent forward at the same time, and with a hasty glance around, just touched her rich mouth.  Herminia allowed him without a struggle; she was too stately of mien ever to grant a favor without granting it of pure grace, and with queenly munificence.

Alan led her to a grassy bank where thyme and basil grew matted, and the hum of myriad wings stirred the sultry air; Herminia let him lead her.  She was woman enough by nature to like being led; only, it must be the right man who led her, and he must lead her along the path that her conscience approved of.  Alan seated himself by her side, and took her hand in his; Herminia let him hold it.  This lovemaking was pure honey.  Dappled spots of light and shade flecked the ground beneath the trees like a jaguar’s skin.  Wood-pigeons crooned, unseen, from the leafy covert.  She sat there long without uttering a word.  Once Alan essayed to speak, but Herminia cut him short.  “Oh, no, not yet,” she cried half petulantly; “this silence is so delicious.  I love best just to sit and hold your hand like this.  Why spoil it with language?”