for her to listen humbly.  It came of her quick summary survey of him, which was unnoticed by the woman’s present fiery mind as being new or strange in any way:  simply it was a fact she now read; and it directed her to reproach herself for an abasement beneath his leadership, a blind subserviency and surrender of her faculties to his greater powers, such as no soul of a breathing body should yield to man:  not to the highest, not to the Titan, not to the most Godlike of men.  Under cloak, they demand it.  They demand their bane.

And Victor! . . .  She had seen into him.

The reproach on her was, that she, in her worship, had been slave, not helper.  Scarcely was she irreproachable in the character of slave.  If it had been utter slave! she phrased the words, for a further reproach.  She remembered having at times murmured, dissented.  And it would have been a desperate proud thought to comfort a slave, that never once had she known even a secret opposition to the will of her lord.

But she had:  she recalled instances.  Up they rose; up rose everything her mind ranged over, subsiding immediately when the service was done.  She had not conceived her beloved to be infallible, surest of guides in all earthly-matters.  Her intellect had sometimes protested.

What, then, had moved her to swamp it?

Her heart answered.  And that heart also was arraigned:  and the heart’s fleshly habitation acting on it besides:  so flagellant of herself was she:  covertly, however, and as the chaste among women can consent to let our animal face them.  Not grossly, still perceptibly to her penetrative hard eye on herself, she saw the senses of the woman under a charm.  She saw, and swam whirling with a pang of revolt from her personal being and this mortal kind.

Her rational intelligence righted her speedily.  She could say in truth, by proof, she loved the man:  nature’s love, heart’s love, soul’s love.  She had given him her life.

It was a happy cross-current recollection, that the very beginning and spring of this wild cast of her life, issued from something he said and did (merest of airy gestures) to signify the blessing of life—­how good and fair it is.  A drooping mood in her had been struck; he had a look like the winged lyric up in blue heavens:  he raised the head of the young flower from its contemplation of grave-mould.  That was when he had much to bear:  Mrs. Burman present:  and when the stranger in their household had begun to pity him and have a dread of her feelings.  The lucent splendour of his eyes was memorable, a light above the rolling oceans of Time.