med at nothing but to know the Truth,
and to act upon it freely; for, as Tennyson says,--

'To live by law
Acting the law we live by without fear,
And because right is right to follow right,
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'"

She broke off suddenly, and looking up, let her eye rest for a
second on the dark thread of clambering pines that crest the down
just above Brockham. "This is dreadfully egotistical," she cried,
with a sharp little start. "I ought to apologize for talking so
much to you about my own feelings."

Alan gazed at her and smiled. "Why apologize," he asked, "for
managing to be interesting? You, are not egotistical at all. What
you are telling me is history,--the history of a soul, which is
always the one thing on earth worth hearing. I take it as a
compliment that you should hold me worthy to hear it. It is a
proof of confidence. Besides," he went on, after a second's pause,
"I am a man; you are a woman. Under those circumstances, what
would otherwise be egotism becomes common and mutual. When two
people sympathize with one another, all they can say about
themselves loses its personal tinge and merges into pure human and
abstract interest."

Herminia brought back her eyes from infinity to his face. "That's
true," she said frankly. "The magic link of sex that severs and
unites us makes all the difference. And, indeed, I confess I
wouldn't so have spoken of my inmost feelings to another woman."

III.

From that day forth, Alan and Herminia met frequently. Alan was
given to sketching, and he sketched a great deal in his idle times
on the common. He translated the cottages from real estate into
poetry. On such occasions, Herminia's walks often led her in the
same direction. For Herminia was frank; she liked the young man,
and, the truth having made her free, she knew no reason why she
should avoid or pretend to avoid his company. She had no fear of
that sordid impersonal goddess who rules Philistia; it mattered not
to her what "people said," or whether or not they said anything
about her. "Aiunt: quid aiunt? aiant," was her motto. Could she
have known to a certainty that her meetings on the common with Alan
Merrick had excited unfavorable comment among the old ladies of
Holmwood, the point would have seemed to her unworthy of an
emancipated soul's consideration. She could estimate at its true
worth the value of all human criticism upon human action.