"You surprise me," said Septimius, who, immersed in his own pursuits, had
taken no notice of the growing affection between Robert and his sister.
"Do you think it well to snatch this little lull that is allowed you in
the wild striving of war to try to make a peaceful home? Shall you like to
be summoned from it soon? Shall you be as cheerful among dangers
afterwards, when one sword may cut down two happinesses?"

"There is something in what you say, and I have thought of it," said
Robert, sighing. "But I can't tell how it is; but there is something in
this uncertainty, this peril, this cloud before us, that makes it sweeter
to love and to be loved than amid all seeming quiet and serenity. Really,
I think, if there were to be no death, the beauty of life would be all
tame. So we take our chance, or our dispensation of Providence, and are
going to love, and to be married, just as confidently as if we were sure
of living forever."

"Well, old fellow," said Septimius, with more cordiality and outgush of
heart than he had felt for a long while, "there is no man whom I should be
happier to call brother. Take Rose, and all happiness along with her. She
is a good girl, and not in the least like me. May you live out your
threescore years and ten, and every one of them be happy."

Little more passed, and Robert Hagburn took his leave with a hearty shake
of Septimius's hand, too conscious of his own happiness to be quite
sensible how much the latter was self-involved, strange, anxious,
separated from healthy life and interests; and Septimius, as soon as
Robert had disappeared, locked the door behind him, and proceeded at once
to apply the silver key to the lock of the old strong box.