"Yes, I do," was his reply, "and that decides me."
"To go?" she asked, watching his pale, disturbed face.
"Yes, to go! There is nothing to stay here for. I need the change. I have been here long enough—too long!"
"Yes," she returned, "I think you have been here too long. You had better go away—if you think there is nothing to stay for."
"When a man has nothing to offer"—he broke off and flushed up hotly. "If I had a shadow of a right to a reason for staying," he exclaimed, "do you suppose I should not hold on to it, and fight for it, and demand what belonged to me? There might be a struggle—there would be; but no other man should have one jot or tittle that persistence and effort might win in time for me! A man who gives up is a fool! I have nothing to give up. I haven't even the right to surrender! I hadn't the right to enter the field and take my wounds like a man! It is pleasant to reflect that it is my own—fault. I trifled with my life; now I want it, and I can't get it back."
"Ah!" she said, "that is an old story!"
And then Agnes returned, and he took her home.
On their way there they talked principally of Tom and Kitty.
"They will miss you greatly," Agnes said.
"They will be very kind to do it," was his reply.