Since that walk in the darkness from the Indian quarters to Cicely's lodge, when, suddenly, she had let her love have its way, she had allowed herself to be carried along by chance events whithersoever they pleased; she had defied conscience, she had accepted the bliss that hung temptingly before her; she did not think, she only enjoyed. Once or twice she had sent forth mentally this defiance,--"If you feel as I do, _then_ you may judge me!" To whom was this said? To Fate? To the world at large? In reality it was said to all women who in that summer of 1869 were young enough to love: "If you _can_ feel as I do, then you may judge me." But it was only once or twice that this mood had come to her, only once or twice that she thought of anything but Paul; his offered hand taken, her acceptance of it was at least superb in its completeness; there was no looking back, no fear, no regret; nothing but the fulness of joy. Still sweeter was it to feel that, deeply as she loved, she was loved as deeply. Paul might be imperious, he might be negligent in explaining things, and in other small ways; but there was nothing negligent in his passion. His genius for directness, which puzzled Hollis in other matters, showed itself also here; he had little to say--that was possible--but no woman could have misunderstood the language of his eyes or of the touch of his hand; or fail to be thrilled by it. The feeling that possessed him went straight to its end, namely, Eve Bruce for his wife; the same Eve whom he had not liked at all at first; to whom he had found it difficult only a few weeks before to write a short letter. This inconsistency did not trouble him; love had arrived, had descended upon him in some way, he knew not how, had taken possession of him by force and forever--he recognized that, and did not contest it. Women are only women: this had been one of the settled convictions in the depths of his mind, and it was a conviction not much changed even now; yet this same Paul, with his mediæval creed, made a lover much more invincible than a hundred, a thousand other men, who would have said, perhaps, that they revered women more. "Revered?" Paul would have answered, "I don't revere Eve, I _love_ her!" Whatever name he gave it, she knew that she held the joy of his life in her hands, that he would come to her for this--had already come; and that it always would be so. This was happiness enough for her. This happiness had existed but ten days. But these days had seemed like months of joy, she had lived each moment so fully. "Sejed, Prince of Ethiopia, vowed to have three days of uninterrupted happiness--" she might have remembered the old fable and its ending. But she remembered nothing, she scorned to remember; let the unhappy, the unloved, think of the past; she would drink in all the sunshine of the present, she would live, live!