considering such a thing a serious obstacle to two people's happiness."

"You see, when it comes to action, my broad views dwindle down to
detail, and I am only an old man with old-fashioned ideas. However, I
shall remind Dr. Kemp of this grave consideration, and then--you will
not object to this?"

"Oh, no; but I know--I know--" What did she know except of the greatness
of his love that would annihilate all her father's forebodings?

"Yes," her father answered the half-spoken thought; "I know too. But
ponder this well, as I shall insist on his doing; then, on Monday night,
when you have both satisfactorily answered to each other every phase of
this terrible difference, I shall have nothing more to say."

Love is so selfish. Ruth, hugging her happiness, failed, as she had
never failed before, to mark the wearied voice, the pale face, and the
sad eyes of her father.

"Your mother will soon be awake," he said; "had you not better go back?"

Something that she had expected was wanting in this meeting; she looked
at him reproachfully, her mouth visibly trembling.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"Why, Father, you are so cold and hard, and you have not even--"

"Wait till Monday night, Ruth. Then I will do anything you ask me. Now
go back to your mother, but understand, not a word of this to her yet. I
shall not recur to this again; meanwhile we shall both have something to
think of."

That afternoon Dr. Kemp received the following brief note:--

BEACHAM'S, August 25, 188--

DR. KEMP:

DEAR SIR,--Have you forgotten that my daughter is a Jewess; that you
are a Christian? Till Monday night I shall expect you to consider this
question from every possible point of view. If then both you and my
daughter can satisfactorily override the many objections I undoubtedly
have, I shall raise no obstacle to your desires.

Sincerely your friend,

JULES LEVICE.

In the mean time Ruth was thinking it all out. Love was blinding her,
dazzling her; and the giants that rose before her were dwarfed into
pygmies, at which she tried to look gravely, but succeeded only in
smiling at their feebleness. Love was an Armada, and bore down upon the
little armament that thought called up, and rode it all to atoms.

Small wonder, then, that on their return on Monday morning, as little
Rose Delano stood in Ruth's room looking up into her friend's face, the
dreamy, starry eyes, the smiles that crept in thoughtful dimples about
the co