insisted upon coming in, and would take no excuse.

Owen, too, had been ruminating upon the nature of woman, and was not in
a very good humour; he, however, had been cheerfully talking to his
mother of the events of the day, and duly lauding their own particular
hero, Rowland.

When he entered, he looked surprised at seeing Rowland with his Bible in
his hand; he took a chair, and, turning his seat towards him, sat down
astride upon it, leaning his chin upon the back and facing Rowland.

'Now, Rowland, I'm going to ask you a very plain question. There ought
to be no secrets between brothers: I've told you all mine, nearly? you
must tell me yours. Are you in love?'

Poor Rowland coloured to the temples, but did not answer.

'You won't tell me? There was a time, Rowland, when you and I knew one
another's hearts as well as if they were two open books, in which we
could read when we like, but I suppose London and fine people--'

'Stop, Owen, do not disgrace yourself or me by going on. Why do you wish
to probe me in a wounded place, where every stab is death?'

Owen looked at his brother, and saw the conflict that was going on in
his mind in the working of his features.

'Rowland, I only want your confidence; by Jove you shall have mine, even
though you are my successful rival; and I love you so well that I would
give her up to you, if it cost me--let me see--a voyage to the North
Pole.'

'Owen, this is no jesting matter. I have been a fool, I am ashamed of
myself, I am trying to conquer my feelings; leave me until I have
succeeded, and then--'

'But, Rowland, if she loves you, I don't see why you should try to
overcome your feelings. It would not be quite the right match,
certainly; but she would make a better parson's wife than a sailor's
wife after all; and my father might consent in time, and--'

'Owen, is it kind of you to make a jest of me?' asked Rowland, rising
from his chair, and resuming his walk up and down his room. 'If you had
ever really loved either of the many girls you have fancied you adored,
you would understand me better; but I deserve it all for my
presumption--my folly.'

'For that much, Rowland, perhaps I love her a trifle better than you do
at this very moment; still I am not selfish enough to come between you,
and would rather try absence and the northern latitudes; only just be
honest. I'm not quite such a piece of blubber as not to be capable of
constancy, though I may have been a rove