I do not know whether this was the best answer to make, but I had little
time to think.

"But you don't know that he's like that."

"I do not, my dear. And more, I will not associate the idea with him till I
know for certain. We will leave it to ignorant old ladies who lay claim to
an instinct for theology to jump at conclusions, and reserve ours--as even
such a man as we have been supposing might well teach us--till we have
sufficient facts from which to draw them. Now go to bed, my child."

"Good-night then, dear papa," she said, and left me with a kiss.

I was not altogether comfortable after this conversation. I had tried to be
fair to the young man both in word and thought, but I could not relish the
idea of my daughter falling in love with him, which looked likely enough,
before I knew more about him, and found that _more_ good and hope-giving.
There was but one rational thing left to do, and that was to cast my care
on him that careth for us--on the Father who loved my child more than even
I could love her--and loved the young man too, and regarded my anxiety, and
would take its cause upon himself. After I had lifted up my heart to him I
was at ease, read a canto of Dante's _Paradise_, and then went to bed. The
prematurity of a conversation with my wife, in which I found that she was
very favourably impressed with Mr. Percivale, must be pardoned to the
forecasting hearts of fathers and mothers.

As I went out for my walk the next morning, I caught sight of the sexton,
with whom as yet I had had but little communication, busily trimming some
of the newer graves in the churchyard. I turned in through the nearer gate,
which was fashioned like a lych-gate, with seats on the sides and a stone