sight with Herminia. He admired and respected her. More than
that, he understood her. She had power in her purity to raise his
nature for a time to something approaching her own high level.
True woman has the real Midas gift: all that she touches turns to
purest gold. Seeing Herminia much and talking with her, Alan could
not fail to be impressed with the idea that here was a soul which
could do a great deal more for him than "make him comfortable,"--
which could raise him to moral heights he had hardly yet dreamt
of,--which could wake in him the best of which he was capable. And
watching her thus, he soon fell in love with her, as few men of
thirty are able to fall in love for the first time,--as the young
man falls in love, with the unselfish energy of an unspoilt nature.
He asked no longer whether Herminia was the sort of girl who could
make him comfortable; he asked only, with that delicious tremor of
self-distrust which belongs to naive youth, whether he dare offer
himself to one so pure and good and beautiful. And his hesitation
was justified; for our sordid England has not brought forth many
such serene and single-minded souls as Herminia Barton.

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.