In these days of his preparation, she haunted him continually.  In her he saw typified all those who possessed the:  divine discontent, the yearning unsatisfied,—­the fatalists and the dreamers.  And yet she seemed to have risen through instinct to share the fire of his vision of religion revealed to the countless ranks of strugglers as the hidden motive-power of the world, the impetus of scientist, statesman, artist, and philanthropist!  They had stood together on the heights of the larger view, whence the whole of the battle-line lay disclosed.

At other and more poignant moments he saw her as waving him bravely on while he steamed out through towering seas to safety.  The impression was that of smiling at her destiny.  Had she fixed upon it? and did she linger now only that she might inspire him in his charge?  She was capable, he knew, of taking calmly the irrevocable step, of accepting the decree as she read it.  The thought tortured, the desire to save her from herself obsessed him; with true clairvoyance she had divined him aright when she had said that he wished her to have faith in him for her own sake.  Could he save her in spite of herself? and how?  He could not see her, except by chance.  Was she waiting until he should have crossed the bar before she should pay some inexorable penalty of which he knew nothing?

Thus he speculated, suffered, was at once cast down and lifted up by the thought of her.  To him, at least, she was one of those rare and dauntless women, the red stars of history, by whom the Dantes and Leonardos are fired to express the inexpressible, and common clay is fused and made mad:  one of those women who, the more they reveal, become the more inscrutable.  Divinely inarticulate, he called her; arousing the passion of the man, yet stirring the sublimer efforts of the god.

What her feelings toward him, whether she loved him as a woman loves a man he could not say, no man being a judge in the supreme instance.  She beheld him emancipated, perhaps, from what she might have called the fetters of an orthodoxy for which she felt an instinctive antagonism; but whether, though proclaiming himself free, the fact of his continuation in the ministry would not of itself set up in her a reaction, he was unable to predict.  Her antipathy to forms, he saw, was inherent.  Her interest —­her fascinated absorption, it might be called—­in his struggle was spiritual, indeed, but it also had mixed in it the individualistic zeal of the nonconformist.  She resented the trammels of society; though she suffered from her efforts to transcend them.  The course he had determined upon appeared to her as a rebellion not only against a cut-and-dried state of mind, but also against vested privilege.  Yet she had in her, as she confessed, the craving for what privilege brings in the way of harmonious surroundings.  He loved her for her contradictions.