“I trust you, sir, as one gentleman would trust another in any undertaking; but I have not the same knowledge of what to expect from you as I should have from any Jew who would ask for my daughter’s hand.”
“I understand that,” admitted the other; “but a few minutes ago you imputed a possibility to me that would be an impossibility to any gentleman. You may have heard of such happenings among some, but an event of that kind would be as removed from us as the meeting of the poles. Everything depends on the parties concerned.”
“Besides, Father,” added Ruth, her sweet voice full with feeling, “when one loves greatly, one is great through love. Can true married love ever be divided and sink to this?”
The little white and gold clock ticked on; it was the only sound. Levice’s forehead rested upon his hand over which his silvery hair hung. Kemp’s strong face was as calm as a block of granite; Ruth’s was pale with thought.
Suddenly the old man threw back his head. They both started at the revelation: great dark rings were about his eyes; his mouth was set in a strained smile.
“I—I,” he cleared his throat as if something impeded his utterance,—“I have one last suggestion to make. You may have children. What will be their religion?”
The little clock ticked on; a dark hue overspread Kemp’s face. As for the girl, she scarcely seemed to hear; her eyes were riveted upon her father’s changed face.
“Well?”
The doctor gave one quick glance at Ruth and answered,—
“If God should so bless us, I think the simple religion of love enough for childhood. Later, as their judgment ripened, I should let them choose for themselves, as all should be allowed.”