Over and over again
he said to himself, let come what come might, he must never aid and
abet that innocent soul in rushing blindfold over a cliff to her
own destruction. It is so easy at twenty-two to ruin yourself for
life; so difficult at thirty to climb slowly back again. No, no,
holy as Herminia's impulses were, he must save her from herself; he
must save her from her own purity; he must refuse to be led astray
by her romantic aspirations. He must keep her to the beaten path
trod by all petty souls, and preserve her from the painful crown of
martyrdom she herself designed as her eternal diadem.
Full of these manful resolutions, he rose up early in the morning.
He would be his Herminia's guardian angel. He would use her love
for him,--for he knew she loved him,--as a lever to egg her aside
from these slippery moral precipices.
He mistook the solid rock of ethical resolution he was trying to
disturb with so frail an engine. The fulcrum itself would yield
far sooner to the pressure than the weight of Herminia's
uncompromising rectitude.
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