“Do you think so?” said Mr. Eden faintly, lying on his back on the sofa.

“Not a doubt of it.  If it warn’t for Hawes you would convert half this prison; but you see, the governor is against you, and he is stronger than you.  So it is no good to go wasting yourself.  Now, what will be the upshot?  Why, you’ll break your heart to begin, and lose your health; and when all is done, at a word from Hawes the justices will turn you out of the jail—­and send me after you for taking your part.”

“What do you advise?”

“Why, cut it.”

“Cut it?”

“Turn your back on the whole ignorant lot, and save yourself for better things.  Why, you will win many a battle yet, your reverence, if you don’t fling yourself away this time,” said Evans in tones of homely cheerfulness and encouragement.

There was a deal of good sense in the rough fellow’s words and a homely sympathy not intruded but rather, as it were, forcing its way against the speaker’s intention.  All this co-operated powerfully with Mr. Eden’s present inclination and feeling as he lay sick and despondent upon the couch.

“So that is really your advice?” inquired Mr. Eden, feebly and regretfully.

“Yes, your reverence, that is my advice.”

Mr. Eden rose in a moment like an elastic spring, and whirled round in front of Evans.  “And this is my answer—­RETRO SATANAS!” shouted he, with two eyes flashing like a pair of sabers in the sun.

“Mercy on us,” roared Evans, recoiling so hastily that he rolled over a chair, “what is that?” and he sat upon the floor a long way off, with eyes like saucers, and repeated in a whisper, “what is that?”

“A quotation,” replied the other grimly.

“A quotation! now only think of that” said Evans, much relieved.  “Sounded like cussing and swearing in Latin.”

“Come here, my good friend, and sit beside me.”

Evans came gingerly.

“Well, but ye mustn’t thunder at me in Latin any more.”

“Well, I won’t.”

“It isn’t fair; how can I stand up against Latin?”

“Well, come here and I’ll have at you in the vulgar tongue.  Aha!  So you come in robust health and spirits and tempt a poor, broken, sick creature to mount the white feather; to show his soldierly qualities by running from the foe to some cool spot where there are no enemies, and there fighting the good fight in peace.  Evans, you are a good creature, but you are a poor creature.  Yes, Hawes is strong, yet I will resist him.  And I am weak—­yet I will resist.  He will get the justices on his side—­yet I will resist.  I am sick and dispirited—­yet I will resist.  The representative of humanity and Christianity in a stronghold of darkness and cruelty and wrong must never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.  I will fight with pen and hand and tongue against these outlaws, so long as there is a puff of wind in my body, and a drop of indomitable blood in my veins.”