“No, sir: and as for hazarding life for love of a woman, I must tell you I put a higher value upon life than that implies. You understand me—for _love_ of a woman. To save a woman in danger, to serve a woman in any way, is a different matter. But merely to participate in the absurdities of love, to exchange assurances and go through the rest of the comedy,—will you have me believe ’tis worth staking such a gift as life for? Pretty odds, egad!—life against love! Love, which is at most an incident, against life, which is everything and includes all incidents! Love, against the possibilities of who knows how many years! My dear Will!—and yet you say I am rash.” “I am glad to find you a convert to a sense of the value of life,” laughed Will. “Why, you don’t think I have held life cheap because I have sometimes ventured it perhaps without much hesitation? Be sure I have always known what I was doing. There has always been, as there is now, a good chance of winning through. I have not lagged behind the boldest in a fight, ’tis true—” “Except in a retreat.” “Ah, well, it broke my heart to fly from the field at Culloden. When I thought of the Prince and his hopes—when I perceived that all was ended in the whirling snow of that bleak day—I forgot myself. For a moment life did seem of little worth; not that I ever had the cause so much at heart, but ’twas a sad end of a brave adventure, and I felt what was passing in the Prince’s mind. I tarried for a last stroke of protest, and a pity it is it fell on no better object than a dog whose only business on the field was plunder,—for I don’t think that fellow was a true soldier; ’twas by fool’s luck he pinked me with his bayonet.—But, deuce take it, where was I? Ah, yes. If I’ve been venturesome now and again, I have never felt that the danger was more than my arm and eye were equal to,—and that’s not rashness, Will. A man is a fool who doesn’t hold life precious. If it isn’t precious, what’s the merit in risking it for a good cause? There are so many fine things to see and do when one is alive, ’tis sheer lunacy to place them all in the balance against a trifle. As for the satisfaction of looking on a pretty face for a greater or less space of time,—no, ’tis not enough.” “Wait till you see the right face, dear lad,” said Roughwood, quietly. “When I do, dear lad, you shall hear of it.” Upon this speech, blithely uttered, Everell filled their two glasses with wine from the single bottle they had ordered. The young men were about to pledge each other, when the sudden opening of the door caused them to look sharply in that direction, holding their glasses midway between table and lips. A young lady came in with quick steps. At sight of the gentlemen, she stopped at once, and looked sweetly embarrassed. Everell and Roughwood rose to their feet, and bowed.