“My professional career is over,” resumed he, calmly. “I may return to Hilary, and die in peace.”
Maurice concealed his face.
“Yes, death may be slow, but it will be certain; so it is to all: only I feel his cold finger touching me. The spine is irrecoverably injured, and I shall never stand on the quarter deck again.”
“Poor Hilary!”
“Yes, poor Hilary; she will suffer: it will be your duty to comfort her when I am gone; but I trust I shall see her again. Maurice, you need not pity me very much. One can not live on earth for ever, and to die for duty has been my first wish.”
“Hepburn, I must go home with you.”
“Maurice, you must not! you can not! there is your profession!”
“I don’t care, I will renounce it—quit the service—give up any thing to be of use to you.”
“Madness—think of your sisters; you know they look to you for help—of your honor! your prospects in life! would you give up all, and do me no good? I will not hear of it.”
“What steps shall you take?” said Maurice, resolved, yet unwilling to dispute the topic.