"Well, better late than never--Halcyone is over on the bench under the
cypress, gazing upon the Tarpeian rock; perhaps you may like to go to
her--" and he pointed in that direction.
"It is what I have come at post-haste from Venice to do, Master," John
Derringham said. "Mrs. Cricklander was kind enough to release me on
Saturday evening--she has other views, it seems!"--and he laughed with
his old boyish gayety.
"Well, I won't keep you," Cheiron answered. "Bring my little girl back
to the hotel when these gates shut. No doubt you will have enough to
talk about till then," and he smiled benignly.
"You will give us your blessing, Master?" John Derringham asked. But the
Professor growled as he turned to go on.
"She has my blessing always," he said, "and you will have it, too, if
you make her happy, but you don't deserve her, you know, John."
John Derringham drew himself up and looked straight out in front of
him--his face was moved.
"I know I do not," he said, "but I hope you believe me, Cheiron, when I
tell you that I mean to devote the rest of my life to attain that
object--and at least no man could worship her more.
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