That night he did not sleep.  He paced up and down the room glancing at the clock every five minutes or so.  He would now and then hoist the window and strain his eyes to see if there were any sign of approaching dawn.  After what seemed to him at least a century, the sun at last arose and ushered in the day.  As soon as he thought Miss Martin was astir and unengaged, he was standing at the door.  They each looked sad and forlorn.  Viola knew and Bernard felt that some dark shadow was to come between them.

Viola caught hold of Bernard’s hand and led him silently into the parlor.  Bernard sat down on the divan and Viola took a seat thereon close by his side.  She turned her charming face, sweet in its sadness, up to Bernard’s and whispered “kiss me, Bernard.”

Bernard seized her and kissed her rapturously.  She then arose and sat in a chair facing him, at a distance.

She then said calmly, determinedly, almost icily, looking Bernard squarely in the face:  “Bernard, you know that I love you.  It was I that asked you to kiss me.  Always remember that.  But as much as I love you I shall never be your wife.  Never, never.”

Bernard arose and started toward Viola.  He paused and gazed down upon that beautiful image that sat before him and said in anguish:  “Oh God!  Is all my labor in vain, my honors common dirt, my future one dreary waste?  Shall I lose that which has been an ever shining, never setting sun to me?  Viola!  If you love me you shall be my wife.”

Viola bowed her head and shook it sadly, saying:  “A power higher than either you or I has decreed it otherwise.”

“Who is he?  Tell me who he is that dare separate us and I swear I will kill him,” cried Bernard in a frenzy of rage.

Viola looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and said:  “Would you kill God?”

This question brought Bernard to his senses and he returned to his seat and sat down suddenly.  He then said:  “Viola Martin, you are making a fool of me.  Tell me plainly why we cannot be man and wife, if you love me as you say you do?”

“Bernard, call here to-morrow at 10 o’clock and I will tell you all.  If you can then remove my objections all will be well.”

Bernard leaped up eager to get away, feeling that that would somewhat hasten the time for him to return.  Viola did not seem to share his feelings of elation.  But he did not mind that.  He felt himself fully able to demolish any and all objections that Viola could bring.  He went home and spent the day perusing his text-book on logic.  He would conjure up imaginary objections and would proceed to demolish them in short order.  He slept somewhat that night, anticipating a decisive victory on the morrow.