Ursula colored to the temples.
“Oh! I’ll ask nothing that you cannot speak of,” he said, noticing how the bashfulness of young love clouded the hitherto childlike purity of the girl’s blue eyes.
“Ask me, godfather.”
“What thought was in your mind when you ended your prayers last evening, and what time was it when you said them.”
“It was a quarter-past or half-past nine.”
“Well, repeat your last prayer.”
The girl fancied that her voice might convey her faith to the sceptic; she slid from his knee and knelt down, clasping her hands fervently; a brilliant light illumined her face as she turned it on the old man and said:—
“What I asked of God last night I asked again this morning, and I shall ask it till he vouchsafes to grant it.”
Then she repeated her prayer with new and still more powerful expression. To her great astonishment her godfather took the last words from her mouth and finished the prayer.
“Good, Ursula,” said the doctor, taking her again on his knee. “When you laid your head on the pillow and went to sleep did you think to yourself, ‘That dear godfather; I wonder who is playing backgammon with him in Paris’?”