“We look afar off, sir,” returned Richard.

“Well!” said Mr. Jarndyce.  “That’s rational.  Now, hear me, my dears!  I might tell you that you don’t know your own minds yet, that a thousand things may happen to divert you from one another, that it is well this chain of flowers you have taken up is very easily broken, or it might become a chain of lead.  But I will not do that.  Such wisdom will come soon enough, I dare say, if it is to come at all.  I will assume that a few years hence you will be in your hearts to one another what you are to-day.  All I say before speaking to you according to that assumption is, if you do change—­ if you do come to find that you are more commonplace cousins to each other as man and woman than you were as boy and girl (your manhood will excuse me, Rick!)—­don’t be ashamed still to confide in me, for there will be nothing monstrous or uncommon in it.  I am only your friend and distant kinsman.  I have no power over you whatever.  But I wish and hope to retain your confidence if I do nothing to forfeit it.”

“I am very sure, sir,” returned Richard, “that I speak for Ada too when I say that you have the strongest power over us both—­rooted in respect, gratitude, and affection—­strengthening every day.”

“Dear cousin John,” said Ada, on his shoulder, “my father’s place can never be empty again.  All the love and duty I could ever have rendered to him is transferred to you.”

“Come!” said Mr. Jarndyce.  “Now for our assumption.  Now we lift our eyes up and look hopefully at the distance!  Rick, the world is before you; and it is most probable that as you enter it, so it will receive you.  Trust in nothing but in Providence and your own efforts.  Never separate the two, like the heathen waggoner.  Constancy in love is a good thing, but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort.  If you had the abilities of all the great men, past and present, you could do nothing well without sincerely meaning it and setting about it.  If you entertain the supposition that any real success, in great things or in small, ever was or could be, ever will or can be, wrested from Fortune by fits and starts, leave that wrong idea here or leave your cousin Ada here.”

“I will leave it here, sir,” replied Richard smiling, “if I brought it here just now (but I hope I did not), and will work my way on to my cousin Ada in the hopeful distance.”

“Right!” said Mr. Jarndyce.  “If you are not to make her happy, why should you pursue her?”

“I wouldn’t make her unhappy—­no, not even for her love,” retorted Richard proudly.

“Well said!” cried Mr. Jarndyce.  “That’s well said!  She remains here, in her home with me.  Love her, Rick, in your active life, no less than in her home when you revisit it, and all will go well.  Otherwise, all will go ill.  That’s the end of my preaching.  I think you and Ada had better take a walk.”