"Aye, Father—so much! Please, there never was any body else but him and Beattie." Lawrence was very near adding, "and you." A feeling of reverence restrained him, but he might have done it safely.
"Who is Beattie?"
"Blumond's Beattie—at the fishmonger's at Usk."
"Oh! I know. A good child."
"May I love Beattie, please, Father?"
"Thou mayest love who so thou wilt, and as much as ever thou wilt, so long as thou lovest our Lord first and most."
"Whoever I will?"
"Certainly. Who dost thou think too great to be loved?"
"Not great, exactly; but—Father Robesart, might I love you? I never thought I dare, before."
Mr. Robesart was more touched than he thought it well to let Lawrence see. But he did what nobody had ever done to the boy in all his life—he stooped and kissed him. It was an affirmative of the strongest type, and Lawrence felt it so.