quickly considered his answer.

"I trust you, sir, as one gentleman would trust another in any
undertaking; but I have not the same knowledge of what to expect from
you as I should have from any Jew who would ask for my daughter's hand."

"I understand that," admitted the other; "but a few minutes ago you
imputed a possibility to me that would be an impossibility to any
gentleman. You may have heard of such happenings among some, but an
event of that kind would be as removed from us as the meeting of the
poles. Everything depends on the parties concerned."

"Besides, Father," added Ruth, her sweet voice full with feeling, "when
one loves greatly, one is great through love. Can true married love ever
be divided and sink to this?"

The little white and gold clock ticked on; it was the only sound.
Levice's forehead rested upon his hand over which his silvery hair hung.
Kemp's strong face was as calm as a block of granite; Ruth's was pale
with thought.

Suddenly the old man threw back his head. They both started at the
revelation: great dark rings were about his eyes; his mouth was set in a
strained smile.

"I--I," he cleared his throat as if something impeded his utterance,--"I
have one last suggestion to make. You may have children. What will be
their religion?"

The little clock ticked on; a dark hue overspread Kemp's face. As for
the girl, she scarcely seemed to hear; her eyes were riveted upon her
father's changed face.

"Well?"

The doctor gave one quick glance at Ruth and answered,--

"If God should so bless us, I think the simple religion of love enough
for childhood. Later, as their judgment ripened, I should let them
choose for themselves, as all should be allowed."

"And you, my Ruth?"

A shudder shook her frame; she answered mechanically,--

"I should be guided by my husband."

The little clock ticked on, backward and forward, and forward and back,
dully reiterating, "Time flies, time flies."

"I have quite finished," said Levice, rising.

Kemp did likewise.

"After all," he said deferentially, "you have not answered my question."

"I--think--I--have," replied the old man, slowly. "But to what question
do you refer?"

"The simple one,--will you give me your daughter?"

"No, sir; I will not."

Kemp drew himself up, bowed low, and stood waiting some further word,
his face ashy white. Levice's lips trembled nervously, and then he spoke
in a gentle, restrained way, half apologetically and