said Septimius; "all the certainty that can be had lies on the surface, as
it should, and equally accessible to every man or woman. If we try to
grope deeper, we labor for naught, and get less wise while we try to be
more so. If life were long enough to enable us thoroughly to sift these
matters, then, indeed!--but it is so short!"

"Always this same complaint," said Robert. "Septimius, how long do you wish
to live?"

"Forever!" said Septimius. "It is none too long for all I wish to know."

"Forever?" exclaimed Rose, shivering doubtfully. "Ah, there would come
many, many thoughts, and after a while we should want a little rest."

"Forever?" said Robert Hagburn. "And what would the people do who wish to
fill our places? You are unfair, Septimius. Live and let live! Turn about!
Give me my seventy years, and let me go,--my seventy years of what this
life has,--toil, enjoyment, suffering, struggle, fight, rest,--only let me
have my share of what's going, and I shall be content."

"Content with leaving everything at odd ends; content with being nothing,
as you were before!"

"No, Septimius, content with heaven at last," said Rose, who had come out
of her laughing mood into a sweet seriousness. "Oh dear! think what a worn
and ugly thing one of these fresh little blades of grass would seem if it
were not to fade and wither in its time, after being green in its time."

"Well, well, my pretty Rose," said Septimius apart, "an immortal weed is
not very lovely to think of, that is true; but I should be content with