ly,' said Eugene, 'I mean it. When M. R. F. said that, and followed
it up by rolling the claret (for which he called, and I paid), in his
mouth, and saying, "My dear son, why do you drink this trash?" it was
tantamount in him--to a paternal benediction on our union, accompanied
with a gush of tears. The coolness of M. R. F. is not to be measured by
ordinary standards.'

'True enough,' said Lightwood.

'That's all,' pursued Eugene, 'that I shall ever hear from M. R. F. on
the subject, and he will continue to saunter through the world with
his hat on one side. My marriage being thus solemnly recognized at the
family altar, I have no further trouble on that score. Next, you really
have done wonders for me, Mortimer, in easing my money-perplexities, and
with such a guardian and steward beside me, as the preserver of my life
(I am hardly strong yet, you see, for I am not man enough to refer
to her without a trembling voice--she is so inexpressibly dear to me,
Mortimer!), the little that I can call my own will be more than it ever
has been. It need be more, for you know what it always has been in my
hands. Nothing.'

'Worse than nothing, I fancy, Eugene. My own small income (I devoutly
wish that my grandfather had left it to the Ocean rather than to me!)
has been an effective Something, in the way of preventing me from
turning to at Anything. And I think yours has been much the same.'

'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?'

'Honourable and stanch,' said Lightwood. 'And yet, Eugene--'

'And yet w