Still, Alan Merrick was now "getting on in his profession," and, as

people said, it was high time he should be settled. They said it

as they might have said it was high time he should take a business

partner. From that lowest depth of emotional disgrace Herminia

Barton was to preserve him. It was her task in life, though she

knew it not, to save Alan Merrick's soul. And nobly she saved it.

Alan, "looking about him," with some fine qualities of nature

underlying in the background that mean social philosophy of the

class from which he sprang, fell frankly in love almost at first

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.

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."




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