“There spake the voice of wisdom,” said Eugene. “We are shepherds both. In turning to at last, we turn to in earnest. Let us say no more of that, for a few years to come. Now, I have had an idea, Mortimer, of taking myself and my wife to one of the colonies, and working at my vocation there.”

“I should be lost without you, Eugene; but you may be right.”

“No,” said Eugene, emphatically. “Not right. Wrong!”

He said it with such a lively⁠—almost angry⁠—flash, that Mortimer showed himself greatly surprised.

“You think this thumped head of mine is excited?” Eugene went on, with a high look; “not so, believe me. I can say to you of the healthful music of my pulse what Hamlet said of his. My blood is up, but wholesomely up, when I think of it. Tell me! Shall I turn coward to Lizzie, and sneak away with her, as if I were ashamed of her! Where would your friend’s part in this world be, Mortimer, if she had turned coward to him, and on immeasurably better occasion?”