“Yes! the whole of a sailor’s life is an allegory; an acted picture of things unseen. But that is not what I meant to speak of when alluding to a possible rivalry between duty and you. Hilary, while health and strength are granted to me, they must be at my country’s service when required; and no domestic tie, not even that of a wife, dear as it may be, may interfere. Not from the old heathen pride in patriotism which made one’s country’s glory the idol of life, but for the higher, holier reason, the belief that my path has been appointed by my Heavenly Father; and that to follow it with all my might, is but doing my duty in its simplest form. Do you not think me right? Life itself, were I called on to lay it down on service, would be gladly devoted; not to win the praise of men here, but to testify to the truth and sincerity of my profession!” Hilary’s eyes filled; and as she sat silently thinking on his words, almost unconsciously her fingers pressed the ring which he had placed there as a sign of their betrothal. He watched her countenance anxiously. “You are not satisfied,” continued he; “your look asks where you come in my estimation of life. Is not that it?” “Am I selfish? I did think that.” “First of this world’s objects; reward of labor and peril here in hours of rest; companion for ever in that life where duty will involve no sacrifice, and love will bring no pain or tears.” She could not answer, except by the quivering lip and drooping eyelid, which spoke of strong, but suppressed, emotion. “I had not loved thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more!” continued he, taking her hands in his, and speaking in a voice of ineffable tenderness. “I believe it! I feel it!” she answered, eagerly. “I know that while Heaven has the first place in your heart, I am sure of retaining my rightful portion there. I am not, indeed, I am not jealous of your devotion to what is so high and holy――only――” “Only what?” inquired he, as she hesitated. “Only I would rather you should serve your country, mankind, and above all, the cause of religion, by living, and not――” her words failed her again. “To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late,” was his reply; “and, Hilary, ever since I can remember, it has been my dream, my wish, my hope to devote my life――I do not mean to _live_, but to _die_――in some great, high, holy cause, something which may show that a Christian, with the hope of salvation and the promise of Heaven, is not afraid to do and dare all that a heathen warrior might have done with the poor promise of an earthly glory. But to no other ear than your own would I breathe this aspiration; who else would understand my feelings? In confiding to you the deepest passion of my soul, Hilary, I prove to you how I have merged my life in yours. To ordinary companions such thoughts do not find words to express them.”