to obtain them, he would sacrifice every thing else, exile himself to
a far country for years, selling his very life and soul for gold?

Such a thought of him was so terrible--that is, would have been were
it tenable--that Hilary for an instant felt herself shiver all over.
The next she spoke out--in justice to him she forced herself to speak
out--all her honest soul.

"I do believe that this going abroad to make a fortune, which young
men so delight in, is often a most fatal mistake. They give up far
more than they gain--country, home, health. I think a man has no
right to sell his life any more than his soul for so many thousands a
year."

Robert Lyon smiled--"No, and I am not selling mine. With my temperate
habits I have as good a chance of health at Bombay as in
London--perhaps better. And the years I must be absent I would have
been absent almost as much from you--I mean they would have been
spent in work as engrossing and as hard. They will soon pass, and
then I shall come home rich--rich. Do you think I am growing
mercenary?"

"No."

"Tell me what you do think about me?"

"I--can not quite understand."

"And I cannot make you understand. Perhaps I will, some day when I
come back again. Till then, you must trust me, Hilary."