But a revulsion wrought in the brain and bosom of Elspie; And the passion she just had compared to the vehement ocean, Urging in high spring-tide its masterful way through the mountains Forcing and flooding the silvery stream, as it runs from the inland; That great power withdrawn, receding here and passive, Felt she in myriad springs, her sources far in the mountains, Stirring, collecting, rising, upheaving, forth-outflowing, Taking and joining, right welcome, that delicate rill in the valley, Filling it, making it strong, and still descending, seeking, With a blind forefeeling descending ever, and seeking, With a delicious forefeeling, the great still sea before it; There deep into it, far, to carry, and lose in its bosom, Waters that still from their sources exhaustless are fain to be added As he was kissing her fingers, and knelt on the ground before her, Yielding backward she sank to her seat, and of what she was doing Ignorant, bewildered, in sweet multitudinous vague emotion, Stooping, knowing not what, put her lips to the hair on his forehead: And Philip, raising himself, gently, for the first time round her Passing his arms, close, close, enfolded her, close to his bosom. As they went home by the moon, Forgive me, Philip, she whispered; I have so many things to think of, all of a sudden; I who had never once thought a thing,—in my ignorant Highlands. VIII. _Jam veniet virgo, jam dicetur Hymenæus._ But a revulsion again came over the spirit of Elspie, When she thought of his wealth, his birth and education: Wealth indeed but small, though to her a difference truly; Father nor mother had Philip, a thousand pounds his portion, Somewhat impaired in a world where nothing is had for nothing; Fortune indeed but small, and prospects plain and simple. But the many things that he knew, and the ease of a practised Intellect’s motion, and all those indefinable graces (Were they not hers, too, Philip?) to speech, and manner, and movement, Lent by the knowledge of self, and wisely instructed feeling,— When she thought of these, and these contemplated daily, Daily appreciating more, and more exactly appraising,— With these thoughts, and the terror withal of a thing she could not Estimate, and of a step (such a step!) in the dark to be taken, Terror nameless and ill-understood of deserting her station,— Daily heavier, heavier upon her pressed the sorrow, Daily distincter, distincter within her arose the conviction, He was too high, too perfect, and she so unfit, so unworthy, (Ah me! Philip, that ever a word such as that should be written!) It would do neither for him nor for her; she also was something, Not much indeed, it was true, yet not to be lightly extinguished Should _he_—_he_, she said, have a wife beneath him? herself be An inferior there where only equality can be? It would do neither for him nor for her.