led, and beamed, and soothed. He could not resist this;
and wild thrills of joy and hope passed through him, visions of unbroken
bliss far from the world.

But this sweet delirium was followed by misgivings of another kind. And
here _she_ was at fault. What could they be?

It was the voice of conscience telling him that he was really wining her
love, once inaccessible; and, if so, was bound to tell her his whole
story, and let her judge between him and the world, before she made any
more sacrifices for him. But it is hard to stop great happiness; harder
to stop it and ruin it. Every night, as he lay alone, he said, "To-morrow
I will tell her all, and make her the judge." But in the morning her
bright face crushed his purpose by the fear of clouding it. His limbs got
strong and his heart got weak. And they used to take walks, and her head
came near his shoulder. And the path of duty began to be set thicker than
ever with thorns; and the path of love with primroses. One day she made
him sit to her for his portrait; and, under cover of artistic enthusiasm,
told him his beard was godlike, and nothing in the world could equal it
for beauty. She never saw but one at all like it, poor Mr. Seaton's; but
even that was very inferior to his. And then she dismissed the sitter.
"Poor thing," said she, "you are pale and tired." And she began to use
ornaments; took her bracelets out of her bag, and picked pearls out of
her walls, and made a coronet, under which her eyes flashed at night with
superlative beauty--conscious beauty brightened by the sense of being
admired and looked at by the eye she desired to please.

She revered him. He had improved her character, and she knew it, and
often told him so.

"Call me Hazelia," she said; "make me liker you still."

One day, he came suddenly through the jungle, and found her reading her
prayer-book.

He took it from her, not meaning to be rude, neither, but inquisitive.

It was open at the marriage-service, and her cheeks were dyed scarlet.

His heart panted. He was a clergyman; he could read that service over
them both.

Would it be a marriage?

Not in England; but in some countries it would. Why not in this? This was
not England.

He looked up. Her head was averted; she was downright distressed.

He was sorry to have made her blush; so he took her hand and kissed it
tenderly, so tenderly that his heart seemed to go into his lips. She
thrilled under it, and her white brow sank