They had a long talk in very quiet tones. At the end the rector asked:—
“Didn’t you once meet Dr. Sevier’s two nieces—at his house?”
“Yes,” said Richling.
“Do you remember the one named Laura?—the dark, flashing one?”
“Yes.”
“Well,—oh, pshaw! I could tell you something funny, but I don’t care to do it.”
What he did not care to tell was, that she had promised him five years before to be his wife any day when he should say the word. In all that time, and this very night, one letter, one line almost, and he could have ended his waiting; but he was not seeking his own happiness.
They smiled together. “Well, good-by again. Don’t think I’m always going to persecute you with my solicitude.”
“I’m not worth it,” said Richling, slipping slowly down from his high stool and letting the little man out into the street.
A little way down the street some one coming out of a dark alley just in time to confront the clergyman extended a hand in salutation.