Harry looked up with trembling eagerness, as if on this one frail chance of Mr. Aylett’s agreement depended his life’s happiness; but the clergyman did not give him a moment’s hope. ’No, Harry, that is not possible, my lad. You are an only child. On you depends the happiness of your parents. This sacrifice is asked of you by God, and is it too hard a matter to give up your own will? Look you, my dear Harry, I am not over-blaming you, nor am I thinking that the crushing of this desire is not a difficult matter, but we who lived through the late troublous times see farther than young heads, who are easily persuaded to cozen their conscience according to their wishes. And if you travelled, Harry, temptations and trials would follow too, and be but troublesome companions; and further, there would be always a worm gnawing at your heart when you thought of the childless old folks at home. Believe me, Harry, even out in "the golden yonder," as some one calls it, you would not find what you expect; there would be no joy for you who had deprived those dependent on you of it. Take my advice, boy, wait for God’s own good time, and do not fall into strong distemper of mind.’ Mr. Aylett paused and put a kind hand on the boy’s shoulder. Harry did not answer at once, but slowly his eyes turned away from the waters and the golden sun, slowly they were bent upon the marshes where the cattle were grazing, and then nearer yet to where Pitsea Manor Farm raised its head above a plantation of elms and oaks. Then a great struggle went on in the boy’s mind; he remembered he was but sixteen years old, and that many a year must most likely elapse before he became the owner of Pitsea Farm and could do as he pleased, and that those years must be filled with dull routine labour, where little room was left for any adventure beyond fishing in the creek, or going over to Canvey Island to watch when the high waves broke over the new embankments made by Joas Croppenburg, the Dutchman, whose son still owned a third of the rich marshland of the island as a recompense for his father’s sea walls. But young Joas used to tell tales of great Dutch sea fights and exploits, which, if Harry made the sacrifice Mr. Aylett was asking him to make, would but probe the wound of his desire, and so Croppenburg’s stories must also be given up. Harry’s courage, however, was not merely nominal, it was of the right sort. The sacrifice he was asked to make was none the less great because it was one not seen of men. He was to give up his will, the hardest thing a man or a boy can do; but it needed only Mr. Aylett’s firm answer to show Harry that his duty was very plain, and that God required this of him.