When he laid his hand upon the plough, he was of those who rarely look back.

Unfortunate qualities these for a crisis in life such as now existed.
On the morning of the twenty-fourth of December, no word having come from his wife, Emerson coolly penned the letter to Mr.Delancy which is given in the preceding chapter, and mailed it so that it would reach him on Christmas day.

He was in earnest--sternly in earnest--as Mr.Delancy, on reading his letter, felt him to be.

The honeymoon flight was one thing; this abandonment of a husband's home, another thing.

Emerson gave to them a different weight and quality.