There was something in the way the young man spoke which would have amply satisfied the outsider, had he been present; but the bishop’s eyes were still unrelaxed and anxious.  He made an impatient motion with his hand.

“I know you too well, I hope,” he said, “to think of doubting your attitude in that particular.  I know you are a gentleman, that is enough for that; but there is something beyond these more common evils.  You see, I am terribly in earnest over this—­you may think unjustly so, considering how well I know you, but this child is my only child.  If her mother had lived, my responsibility would have been less great; but, as it is, God has left her here alone to me in my hands.  I do not think He intended my duty should end when I had fed and clothed her, and taught her to read and write.  I do not think He meant that I should only act as her guardian until the first man she fancied fancied her.  I must look to her happiness not only now when she is with me, but I must assure myself of it when she leaves my roof.  These common sins of youth I acquit you of.  Such things are beneath you, I believe, and I did not even consider them.  But there are other toils in which men become involved, other evils or misfortunes which exist, and which threaten all men who are young and free and attractive in many ways to women, as well as men.  You have lived the life of the young man of this day.  You have reached a place in your profession when you can afford to rest and marry and assume the responsibilities of marriage.  You look forward to a life of content and peace and honorable ambition—­a life, with your wife at your side, which is to last forty or fifty years.  You consider where you will be twenty years from now, at what point of your career you may become a judge or give up practise; your perspective is unlimited; you even think of the college to which you may send your son.  It is a long, quiet future that you are looking forward to, and you choose my daughter as the companion for that future, as the one woman with whom you could live content for that length of time.  And it is in that spirit that you come to me tonight and that you ask me for my daughter.  Now I am going to ask you one question, and as you answer that I will tell you whether or not you can have Ellen for your wife.  You look forward, as I say, to many years of life, and you have chosen her as best suited to live that period with you; but I ask you this, and I demand that you answer me truthfully, and that you remember that you are speaking to her father.  Imagine that I had the power to tell you, or rather that some superhuman agent could convince you, that you had but a month to live, and that for what you did in that month you would not be held responsible either by any moral law or any law made by man, and that your life hereafter would not be influenced by your conduct in that month, would you spend it, I ask you—­and on your answer depends mine—­would you spend those thirty days, with death at the end, with my daughter, or with some other woman of whom I know nothing?”