“I’m an old man, you see, my dear:  a surprise like this makes me feel it,” he made shift to say, in an uncertain voice.  “So—­you’re engaged to each other?”

“We’re waiting for you to say we may be, papa.”

“It is right—­it is just!” said the professor, solemnly, though still with a sluggish utterance.  “I sought to glorify God to the end of mine own glorification, and lo!  He hath taken from me my own heart’s blood!” Swept off his feet by the profundity of his emotion, the ministerial form of speech, so long disused, rose naturally to the old man’s lips.

But presently, the paralyzing effect of the shock beginning to wear off, he drew a few long breaths, and found himself growing very hot.  He took out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration that had gathered on his forehead.  Then he took his little daughter strongly yet tremblingly to his heart, and kissed her more than once.

“God bless you! my darling—­my Sophie—­you’re my Sophie still, if you are in love with that—­great overgrown rascal.  I’m a fool—­an old fool!  Well—­and how long has this been going on between you, my darling?”

Sophie’s heart, which, in the passionate tumult of her recent interview with her lover, had remained so steady and unfaltering, began now to beat with such violence as to impede her utterance and visibly to shake her.  She was resolved to show herself to her father even as she was.

“I hardly can say how long, papa—­I think—­I think it must have been a—­a long time—­at least, on my side.  Oh!  I have been so false—­so false to myself, and so unwomanly!  I have courted him, papa—­I, papa—­think of it!  I’ve thrown myself in his way, and—­and made him interested in me; and talked to him about things that—­no one but his mother, or you, should have done.  Poor fellow!—­I’ve forced myself upon him, papa.  I took advantage of his illness and helplessness, and pretended all the time I was thinking only of his spiritual welfare, and—­and not of—­of any thing else.  That was the wickedest part.  And yet, somehow, I deceived myself too—­or, rather, I wouldn’t see the truth:  and I didn’t know—­papa, I really believe I didn’t know that I—­loved him, till he—­till he began to speak of it; then it seemed suddenly to fill all my heart, as if it had always lived there.  For I succeeded, papa:  I’ve won his love, and, oh! he loves me so! he loves me so! and so I’ve found my punishment in my happiness.  God is so just and good.  The happier his love makes me, you see, the more I shall be humbled to think how it became mine.  It is well for me, for I was proud and reserved and full of self-conceit.  And you really think it will not hurt him to love me, and to have me love him, papa?”

“Stuff and nonsense!” growled the old gentleman, testily; “hurt him!”