. Alvan assisted at the
cloaking and hooding of Clotilde. Her relatives were at hand; they hung
by while he led her to the stairs and down into a spacious moonlight that
laid the traceries of the bare tree-twigs clear-black on grass and stone.

'A night to head the Spring!' said Alvan. 'Come.'

He lifted her off the steps and set her on the ground, as one who had an
established right to the privilege and she did not contest it, nor did
her people, so kingly was he, arrayed in the thunder of the bolt which
had struck the pair. These things, and many things that islands know not
of, are done upon continents, where perhaps traditions of the awfulness
of Love remain more potent in society; or it may be, that an island
atmosphere dispossesses the bolt of its promptitude to strike, or the
breastplates of the islanders are strengthened to resist the bolt, or no
tropical heat is there to create and launch it, or nothing is to be seen
of it for the haziness, or else giants do not walk there. But even where
he walked, amid a society intellectually fostering sentiment, in a land
bowing to see the simplicity of the mystery paraded, Alvan's behaviour
was passing heteroclite. He needed to be the kingly fellow he was,
crowned by another kingly fellow--the lord of hearts--to impose it
uninterruptedly. 'She is mine; I have won her this night!' his bearing
said; and Clotilde's acquiesced; and the worthy couple following them had
to exhibit a copy of the same, much wondering. Partly by habit, and of
his natural astuteness, Alvan peremptorily usurped a lead that once taken
could not easily be challenged, and would roll him on a good tideway
strong in his own passion and his lady's up against the last
defences--her parents. A difficulty with them was foreseen. What is a
difficulty!--a gate in the hunting-field: an opponent on a platform: a
knot beneath a sword: the dam to waters that draw from the heavens. Not
desiring it in this case--it would have been to love the difficulty
better than the woman--he still enjoyed the bracing prospect of a
resistance, if only because it was a portion of the dowry she brought
him. Good soldiers (who have won their grades) are often of a peaceful
temper and would not raise an invocation to war, but a view of the enemy
sets their pugnacious forces in motion, the bugle fills their veins with
electrical fire, till they are as racers on the race-course.--His inmost
hearty devil was glad of a combat that pertain