"Yes, yes; I mean to go. I'm glad you _have_ some feeling in you. But you--you look like a ghost! I declare you look frightful! Your face is as pale! and your eyes stare out of your head so! Son! son! what's the use of killing yourself just to get a little learning? What manner of good can come of it? Somebody, oh, the doctor, Dr. Williams, was asking me to-day if you was writing a book. I told him no; but I didn't tell him what I thought about it--that you had as good as promised me that you would be a preacher. I shall be so proud of you then. These fiddling poets! I like a man, as long as he is in the world, to be of some use in it." "Don't get in a passion, mother. _I_ am no poet. No son of yours will disgrace you by ever publishing a book." He spoke with frantic energy. "But it's getting late. I will now go with you." "No, no, you won't--I'll not hear of it, you look a'most as bad as Ella does." "Do you call her 'Ella' over there?" "No--you know I haven't much acquaintance with 'em." "Then I wouldn't condescend to call her so _here_," was the bitter rebuke. His mother did not answer him, but went out of the house lamenting her son's pride, rather audibly. And he kept another watch that night, and in a solemn passion vowed a vow; and wherever his eyes turned through the darkness he beheld a cross uplifted before him--and a voice was ringing in his ear--"THIS FOR THEE," and the shadow of that cross he could not escape, for it lay upon his soul. III. Another day-dawn, but how unlike those wild preceding days! Again the sun arose, and was no longer hid by threatening clouds--the wind swept steadily and keenly, but not fiercely over the waters; and the waves beat against the shore, upon the beach, and the rock, but not with angry violence, and the splendor of the dazzling sunlight was upon them all. And again a boyish form, in which a man's heart and a giant's soul were beating, paced to and fro upon that beach--and a vow made in the solitude of night was on his lips, and he spoke it calmly in that lonely place where there was only the mountain, and the waters, the singing petrel, and the sandy beach, and the Maker of them all, to testify against him if he should break the vow: "Oh ye waves, only give up that treasure dear to her, and I will obey my mother--I will not let one dream of Fame tempt me--I will _forget_ that I too could be a poet, and an author. Yes, yes, I _will_ be a preacher, as she would have me. God! hear me!"