are these impulses implanted in my breast. They are the voice of
the soul of all women within me. If I were to neglect them for the
sake of gratifying your wishes,--if I were to turn traitor to my
sex for the sake of the man I love, as so many women have turned
before me, I should hate and despise myself. I couldn't love you,
Alan, quite so much, loved I not honor more, and the battle imposed
upon me."

Alan wavered as she spoke. He felt what she said was true; even if
he refused to take her on the only terms she could accept, he would
not thereby save her. She would turn in time and bestow herself
upon some man who would perhaps be less worthy of her,--nay even on
some man who might forsake her in the sequel with unspeakable
treachery. Of conduct like that, Alan knew himself incapable. He
knew that if he took Herminia once to his heart, he would treat her
with such tenderness, such constancy, such devotion as never yet
was shown to living woman. (Love always thinks so.) But still, he
shrank from the idea of being himself the man to take advantage of
her; for so in his unregenerate mind he phrased to himself their
union. And still he temporized. "Even so, Herminia," he cried,
bending forward and gazing hard at her, "I couldn't endure to have
it said it was I who misled you."

Herminia lifted her eyes to his with just a tinge of lofty scorn,
tempered only by the womanliness of those melting lashes. "And you
can think of THAT?" she murmured, gazing across at him half in
tears. "O Alan, for my part I can think of nothing now but the
truths of life and the magnitude of the issues. Our hearts against
the world,--love and duty against convention."