His nephew gave him a wistful glance, but hid his thought whatever it was. “I am going to see her tonight,” remarked he. “I am afraid my love is something like a torrent that has once burst its barrier; it cannot rest until it has worked its channel and won its rightful repose.”
“That is something the way with all love,” returned his uncle. “It may be dallied with while asleep, but once aroused, better meet a lion in his fury or a tempest in its rush. Are you going to test your hope, tonight?”
The young man flushed. “I cannot say.” But in another moment gayly added, “I only know that I am prepared for any emergency.”
“Well, my boy, I wish you Godspeed. If ever a man has won a right to happiness, you are that man; and you shall enjoy it too, if any word or action of mine can serve to advance it.”
“Thank you!” replied Bertram, and with a bright look around the apartment, prepared to take his leave. “When I come back,” he remarked, with a touch of that manly naivete to which I have before alluded, “I hope I shall not find you alone.”
Ignoring this wish which was reechoed somewhat too deeply within his own breast for light expression, Mr. Sylvester accompanied his nephew to the front door.
“Let us see what kind of a night it is,” observed he, stepping out upon the stoop. “It is going to rain.”
“So it is,” returned Bertram, with a quick glance overhead; “but I shall not let such a little fuss as that deter me from fulfilling my engagement.” And bestowing a hasty nod upon his uncle, he bounded down the step.
Instantly a man who was loitering along the walk in front of the house, stopped, as if struck by these simple words, turned, gave Bertram a quick look, and then with a sly glance back at the open door where Mr.