“No! no! sir. Why I am a proof the other way. But you would do more good anywhere else. Everybody says you are a bright and a shining light, sir. Then why stay where there is dirty water thrown over you every day? Besides, it is killing you! I don't want to frighten you, sir; but if you could only see how you are changed since you came here--” “I do feel very ill.” “Of course you do; you are ill, and you will be worse if you don't get out of this dreadful place. If you are so fond of prisons, sir, you can go from here to another prison. There is more than one easy-going chaplain as would be glad to change with you. “Do you think so?” said Mr. Eden faintly, lying on his back on the sofa. “Not a doubt of it. If it warn't for Hawes you would convert half this prison; but you see, the governor is against you, and he is stronger than you. So it is no good to go wasting yourself. Now, what will be the upshot? Why, you'll break your heart to begin, and lose your health; and when all is done, at a word from Hawes the justices will turn you out of the jail--and send me after you for taking your part.” “What do you advise?” “Why, cut it.” “Cut it?” “Turn your back on the whole ignorant lot, and save yourself for better things. Why, you will win many a battle yet, your reverence, if you don't fling yourself away this time,” said Evans in tones of homely cheerfulness and encouragement. There was a deal of good sense in the rough fellow's words and a homely sympathy not intruded but rather, as it were, forcing its way against the speaker's intention. All this co-operated powerfully with Mr. Eden's present inclination and feeling as he lay sick and despondent upon the couch. “So that is really your advice?” inquired Mr. Eden, feebly and regretfully. “Yes, your reverence, that is my advice.” Mr. Eden rose in a moment like an elastic spring, and whirled round in front of Evans. “And this is my answer--RETRO SATANAS!” shouted he, with two eyes flashing like a pair of sabers in the sun. “Mercy on us,” roared Evans, recoiling so hastily that he rolled over a chair, “what is that?” and he sat upon the floor a long way off, with eyes like saucers, and repeated in a whisper, “what is that?” “A quotation,” replied the other grimly. “A quotation! now only think of that” said Evans, much relieved. “Sounded like cussing and swearing in Latin.” “Come here, my good friend, and sit beside me.” Evans came gingerly. “Well, but ye mustn't thunder at me in Latin any more.” “Well, I won't.” “It isn't fair; how can I stand up against Latin?”