Van Dorn seized Levin's wrist in a vise-like grip, but, as he did so, threw his own knife upon the floor.
"Oh! huérfano, waif," Van Dorn murmured, while his blush returned, "take heed thou ever sayest 'No' with courage like that, when cowardice or weak acquiescence would extort thy 'Yes.' This moment, if thou hadst consented, thy heart would be on my knife, young Levin!"
He drew the knife from Levin's hand and put it in his ragged coat again, and set the boy on his knee as if he had been a little child.
"Oh, God be thanked I did not kill you, sir," sobbed Levin, his tears quickly following his courage; "twice I have thought of doin' it to-day."
"I never would have put you to that test, my poor lad, but that I saw your conscience at work all this day under the stimulation of virtuous love. Think nothing of me. Build your own character upon some good example, and, sweet as life is, fight for it on the very frontiers of your character. Die young, but surrender only when you are old."
"Captain," Levin said, "how kin I git character? My father is dead. Everybody twists me around his fingers."
"Then think of some plain, strong, faithful man you may know and refer every act of your character to him. Ask yourself what he would do in your predicament, then go and do the same."
"I do know such a man," Levin said, in another moment; "It is Jimmy Phœbus, my poor, beautiful mother's beau."
"El rayo ha caido!" Van Dorn spoke, low and calm; "yes, Levin, any man worthy of your mother will do."
"Captain, turn back with me! Is it too late?"