“You are wrong, love; to which did I devote myself first?”
“Ah! you mean that I am the rival,” said she, looking up, with a smile.
“My profession is my duty, Hilary,” said he, gravely; “would you rival that? I hope not.”
“Never!” was her energetic answer. “And yet, am I only your plaything?” it was spoken with hesitation.
“That depends on yourself, Hilary!”
She looked as if to ask how; but pondered in silence.
“You may be, I trust you will be, my good angel! my better self! to inspirit, cheer, guide me in the path of honor; not the weight to draw me back, the bait to allure me to forget the grand object of life.”
“That is not professional honor!” said she, doubtingly.
“No, it is to do my duty in the state of life to which it has pleased God to call me,” was his quiet answer. “And, Hilary, professional honor is only dear to me, I trust, in so far as it may reflect light on a profession dearer still—that of a Christian warrior.”
“Ah! I felt that was the foundation of your zeal.”