lessly upstairs to my own room and sat there
undisturbed for hours.

The clock downstairs struck one, startling me from my dreams of
happiness, and at the same moment a flash of light attracted me. My
room was in an angle of the building, and my window looked almost
directly down into those of Father Paul's study, into which at that
instant he was entering, carrying a lamp. "Why, Laurence," I heard
him exclaim, "what are you doing here? I thought, my boy, you were
in bed hours ago."

"No, uncle, not in bed, but in dreamland," replied Laurence, arising
from the window, where evidently he, too, had spent the night hours
as I had done.

Father Paul fumbled about a moment, found his large black book,
which for once he seemed to have got separated from, and was turning
to leave, when the curious circumstance of Laurence being there at
so unusual an hour seemed to strike him anew. "Better go to sleep,
my son," he said simply, then added curiously, "Has anything
occurred to keep you up?"

Then Laurence spoke: "No, uncle, only--only, I'm happy, that's all."

Father Paul stood irresolute. Then: "It is--?"

"Esther," said Laurence quietly, but he was at the old man's side,
his hand was on the bent old shoulder, his eyes proud and appealing.

Father Paul set the lamp on the table, but, as usual, one hand held
that black book, the great text of his life. His face was paler than
I had ever seen it--graver.

"Tell me of it," he requested.

I leaned far out of my window and watched them both. I listened with
my very heart, for Laurence was telling him of me, of his love, of
the new-found joy of that night.

"You have said nothing of marriage to her?" asked Father Paul.

"Well--no; but she surely understands that--"

"Did you speak of _marriage_?" repeated Father Paul, with a harsh
ring in his voice that was new to me.

"No, uncle, but--"

"Very well, then, very well."

There was a brief silence. Laurence stood staring at the old man as
though he were a stranger; he watched him push a large chair up to
the table, slowly seat himself; then mechanically following his
movements, he dropped on to a lounge. The old man's head bent low,
but his eyes were bright and strangely fascinating. He began:

"Laurence, my boy, your future is the dearest thing to me of all
earthly interests. Why you _can't_ marry this girl--no, no, sit, sit
until I have finished," he added, with raised voice, as Laurence
sprang up, remonstrating.