"There's nothing strange in that. When they were young they were told that they believed, and have grown up with that conviction. The same people would scorn to accept a new and incredible story on the evidence which is presented in favor of the Christian religion."
The girl sighed as though the paternal wisdom was somewhat unsatisfactory. Meantime the slight raising of Monsieur's voice had attracted the attention of the dusty wayfarers who, in default of other occupation, took to observing the pair.
"She is very pretty," said the youth.
The elder did not answer. He was intently scrutinizing Beverley Claghorn. After a moment of hesitation he surprised his companion by rising and approaching that person with outstretched hand.
"I cannot be mistaken," he exclaimed in a loud, hearty voice. "This is a Claghorn."
"That is my name," replied the would-be Gallic owner of the appellation in English. "I have the honor of seeing——" but even as he uttered the words he recognized the man who was now shaking a somewhat reluctant hand with gushing heartiness.
"I am Jared. You remember me, of course. I see it in your eyes. And so this is really you—Eliphalet! 'Liph, as we called you at the old Sem. 'Liph, I am as glad to see you as a mother a long-lost son."
"And I," replied the other, "am charmed." He bore it smiling, though his daughter looked on in wonder, and he felt that the secret of his baptism had been heartlessly disclosed.
"This," said Jared, "is my son, Leonard," and while the son grew red and bowed, the clergyman looked at the girl to whom his son's bow had been principally directed.
"My daughter, Natalie de Fleury-Claghorn," said her father. "My dear, this is my cousin, Professor Claghorn, whom I have not seen for many years."