“It was my resolve, uncle,” replied the young man quietly, “but something has occurred since, which has caused me to alter my determination. My mates, moreover, are very anxious to profit by the fine weather of this season, and so soon as I can ship a cargo, and get some brisk bold hands, I shall set sail.” “I like not such quick and sudden changes,” replied the old man; “nor admire the mind which cannot hold to a steady purpose.” The dark complexion of Durzil fired for a moment at the rebuke, and his nether lip quivered, as though he had difficulty in repressing a retort. He did repress it, however, and answered, apparently without emotion: “You are a wise man, uncle, and must know that circumstances will arise which must needs alter all plans that are merely human. _L’homme propose_, as the Frenchman has it, _mais Dieu dispose_. So it is with me, just now. The changed determination which I have just announced does not arise from any change in my desires, but from a contingency on which I did not calculate.” “It were better not to determine until one had made sure of all contingencies,” said William Allan, sententiously. “Then, I think, one never would determine at all. For, if I have learned aright, mutability is a condition unavoidable in human affairs. But be this as it may, the only change, I can imagine, which will hinder me from sailing on the Virginia voyage, so soon as I can ship a crew and stow a cargo, will be a change of the wind. It blows fair now, if it will only hold a week. One other change there is,” he added, as his fair cousin entered the room with a basket of fresh gathered roses, “which might detain, but that change will not come to pass, do you think it will, Theresa?” “I think not, cousin Durzil,” she replied with a slight blush, “if you allude to that concerning which we spoke this morning.” The old knight looked from one to the other of the young people in bewilderment. Their perfect understanding, and extreme control of their feelings was beyond his comprehension, and yet he could not believe that he had mistaken. “What, are you too against me, girl?” said her father quickly. “Have you given your consent to his going?” “My consent!” she replied, “I do not imagine that my consent is very necessary, or that Durzil would wait long for it. But I do think it is quite as well he should go now, if he must go at all, particularly as he intends, if I understand rightly, that it shall be his last voyage.” “I did not promise that, Theresa,” said the sailor, with a faint smile—“although”— “Did you not”—she interrupted him quickly—“I thought you had; but it must be as you will, and certainly it does not much concern me.” And with the words, she left the room hastily, and not as it appeared very well pleased. “There! see’st thou that?” cried her father—“see’st thou that, Durzil?”