manifestly God’s ordinance that a man should live together with a woman?  How poor a creature does the man become who has shirked his duty in this respect, who has done nothing to keep the world going, who has been willing to ignore all affection so that he might avoid all burdens, and who has put into his own belly every good thing that has come to him, either by the earning of his own hands or from the bounty and industry of others!  Of course there is a risk; but what excitement is there in anything in which there is none?  So on the Tuesday he speaks his mind to the young lady, and tells her candidly that there will be potatoes for the two of them sufficient, as he hopes, of potatoes, but no more.  As a matter of course the young lady replies that she for her part will be quite content to take the parings for her own eating.  Then they rush deliciously into each others arms and the matter is settled.  For, though the convictions arising from the former line of argument may be set aside as often as need be, those reached from the latter are generally conclusive.  That such a settlement will always be better for the young gentleman and the young lady concerned than one founded on a sterner prudence is more than one may dare to say; but we do feel sure that that country will be most prosperous in which such leaps in the dark are made with the greatest freedom.

Our friend Hugh, as he sat smoking on the knife-board of the omnibus, determined that he would risk everything.  If it were ordained that prudence should prevail, the prudence should be hers.  Why should he take upon himself to have prudence enough for two, seeing that she was so very discreet in all her bearings?  Then he remembered the touch of her hand, which he still felt upon his palm as he sat handling his pipe, and he told himself that after that he was bound to say a word more.  And moreover he confessed to himself that he was compelled by a feeling that mastered him altogether.  He could not get through an hour’s work without throwing down his pen and thinking of Nora Rowley.  It was his destiny to love her and there was, to his mind, a mean, pettifogging secrecy, amounting almost to daily lying, in his thus loving her and not telling her that he loved her.  It might well be that she should rebuke him; but he thought that he could bear that.  It might well be that he had altogether mistaken that touch of her hand.  After all it had been the slightest possible motion of no more than one finger.  But he would at any rate know the truth.  If she would tell him at once that she did not care for him, he thought that he could get over it; but life was not worth having while he lived in this shifty, dubious, and uncomfortable state.  So he made up his mind that he would go to St. Diddulph’s with his heart in his hand.