'Cromwell is going abroad,' he said, finally. 'He's been talking with a sea captain for a month back. It's all out now. He's going to quit his class, and take deck passage for Havre; going to the school of mines in Paris, and, when through with that, on a mineral hunt from Africa to Siberia. And he hasn't a cent of money! Perhaps that's the spirit you like. Perhaps you won't object to my going with him.' Josephine looked at Paul; she was not in the least alarmed. 'I like the spirit well enough,' she said, 'but it isn't your kind; it would be misery to do a thing in that way, for you. He has another 'fervor.'' 'Yes, he has,' said Paul, with a deeper meaning than his sister guessed. 'You say I like a queer kind of spirit,' said she. 'I like independence. But there's some great lack in me, there must be. I'm what you call too prudent, I suppose. I seem unable to put out of sight the chances of failure; and it can't be that people who venture a great deal think much of them. I wish, as you do, that Harry had a little money--ever so little--to fall back on. He never seems to think of accidents, or sickness; but he is going to a strange country, and, to be sure, if he is able to do exactly what he expects, he will succeed; and in the _end_ he will, I know, whatever happens. But it would be dreadful for him to meet with misfortunes, though he laughs at my croaking. Everything is to turn out just as he wants! But do things often, I wonder?' 'Yes, with August Scheffer--the only one I know of.' 'But you never _can_ know the struggle he passed through; it was terrible. You call him a philosopher; he is so, because he found out early how to fight the good fight. Nothing will ever look so alluring to him as the career he might have had by choosing the thing he did not choose.' Ceasing to speak aloud and to Paul, Josephine added, in a voice no one could hear: 'I was in the midst of that struggle; I understand him as no one else does. And--he knows it.' 'Tell me about it,' said Paul. 'You don't know how much I admire Scheffer.' 'Well you may,' she answered; 'but there is nothing to tell. He had the opportunity to keep at school, or to go into his uncle's shop--and he chose the shop on his mother's account.' 'And I chose a profession on _my_ mother's account,' said Paul bitterly. Josephine laid her hand on his; it was a gentle touch, but it recalled him. 'The best choice in both cases,' said she. 'Any one can see you are not expert enough to make a successful trader. Ask August if a man must not have a talent for trade, just as an artist must have a genius for painting.' 'Then you think August a born trader?' 'I know he can do more than one thing well,' she answered. 'If you think so well of August,' said he, 'I don't see how you _can_ think better of another fellow. The town couldn't contain him if he heard what you said just now.' Josephine turned a page of her book. 'He knows perfectly well what I think of him, Paul.'