"And what where these conditions, pray?" the young woman asked, turning and facing her father, who sat watching her every move and gesture.
"First of all, he must do something; and do it off his own bat. His old father spent his last dollar to educate this young rascal, to equip him for the battle of life, and his sole achievement is a curve that nobody can find. Now I insist he shall do something, and I have given him five years for the work."
"Five years!" she gasped, as she lost herself in a big chair.
"He is to have time to forget you, and you are to have ample opportunity to forget him, which you will doubtless do, for you are not to meet or communicate with each other during this period of probation."
"Did he promise this?"
"Upon his honor."
"And if he break that promise?"
"Ah, then he would be without honor, and you would not marry him." A moment's silence followed, broken by a long, deep sigh that ended in little quivering waves, like the faint ripples that reach the shore,—the whispered echoes of the sobbing sea.
"O father, it is cruel! cruel! cruel!" she cried, raising a tearful face to him.
"It is justice, stern justice; to you, my dear, to myself, and this fine young fellow who has stolen your heart. Let him show himself worthy of you, and you have my blessing and my fortune."