“Itisstrange,”pursuedhe,“thatwhileIloveRosamondOliversowildly—withalltheiy,indeed,ofafirstpassion,theobjectofwhichisexquisitelybeautiful,graceful,fasating—Iexperiehesametimeacalm,unedscioushatshewouldnotmakemeagoodwife;thatsheisnotthepartnersuitedtome;thatIshoulddiscoverthiswithinayearaftermarriage;andthattotwelvemonths’rapturewouldsucceedalifetimeret.ThisIknow.”

    “Strangeindeed!”Icouldnothelpejaculating.

    “Whilesomethinginme,”hewenton,“isacutelysensibletohercharms,somethingelseisasdeeplyimpressedwithherdefects:theyaresuchthatshecouldsympathiseinnothingIaspiredto—co-operateinnothingIuook.Rosamondasufferer,alabourer,afemaleapostle?Rosamondamissionary’swife?No!”

    “Butyoubeamissionary.Youmightrelinquishthatscheme.”

    “Relinquish!What!myvoygreatwork?Myfoundationlaidohforamansioninheaven?Myhopesofbeingnumberedinthebandwhohavemergedallambitionsinthegloriousoneofbetteringtheirrace—ofcarryingknowledgeintotherealmsofignorance—ofsubstitutingpeaceforwar—freedomforbondage—religionforsuperstition—thehopeofheavenforthefearofhell?MustIrelinquishthat?Itisdearerthanthebloodinmyveins.ItiswhatIhavetolookforwardto,andtolivefor.”

    Afterasiderablepause,Isaid—“AndMissOliver?Areherdisappoiandsorrowofnoioyou?”

    “MissOliveriseversurroundedbysuitorsandflatterers:ihanamonth,myimagewillbeeffacedfromherheart.Shewillfetme;andwillmarry,probably,someonewhowillmakeherfarhappierthanIshoulddo.”

    “Youspeakcoollyenough;butyousufferintheflict.Youarewastingaway.”