"Indeed, thou hast piled mountains on us, but we are people of good will, though quick-tempered; and, in proof of this, I will say that if thou prefer Tola to thy feeling of offence—come—"
And he opened his arms to me. I fell into them, half conscious, half bewildered, happy. I felt that my throat was contracting, that I was fit only to burst into sobbing. I wanted absolutely to say something, but could not. I had in my soul one scream of delight, astonishment, and gratitude. All this had fallen on me at once, like a thunderbolt; neither my head nor my heart could take it in, and I felt pain almost from that excess of change, that excess of thoughts and feelings. Tola's father removed my hands gently from his shoulders, and, kissing me on the forehead, said,—
"That is well now, well! I expected this of thee after thy attachment to her. Forget what has happened, and compose thyself."
Seeing, however, that I could not regain self-control, or master my emotion, he began to scold me good-naturedly,—
"Be a man; control thyself! Thou art trembling as in a fever! Well, but that little boy has struck in deeply under thy rib."
"Oi, deeply!" whispered I, with an effort.
The father smiled and said,—
"Is it possible? but he seemed like still water."
Evidently my immense love for Tola pleased his parental pride, for he was glad, and smiling he repeated continually,—
"That's a tick! that's a tick!"