"Beatrice in suso, ed io in lei guardava."
So shall it be to the end.
Well, we talked the whole thing over; debated all possibilities, laughed at difficulties, cut through obstacles, leaped over obstructions, and, at last, saw in imagination, written on the cold, frosty air of December, the mystic legend, I Will, surrounded by a gorgeous corona of orange blossoms.
Then, of course, the superb unreason of women. Beata began to cry as I handed her over to Miss Leslie, who looked daggers at me, and I am quite sure called me, in her own mind, "A horrid old thing!"
Father Letheby, after his unusually heavy confessional, was jubilant. Nothing exhilarates him like work. Given a scanty confessional, and he is as gloomy as Sisyphus; given a hard, laborious day, and he is as bright as Ariel. He was in uncommonly good spirits to-day.
"By Jove, Father Dan," he said, as we walked home together to our little bit of fish, "I have it. I'll try him with the Kampaner Thal!"
"The very thing," I replied.
"Don't you think it would do? You know he regards all our arguments as so much special pleading, and he discounts them accordingly."
"Of course," I said. "Wonder you never thought of it before!"
"That is curious now. But you always find things in unexpected quarters. But you're sure 't will do?"