There was a little pause, during which, as he fancied the young man looked somewhat frowningly on the scene of reconciliation; but the frown, if frown it were, passed speedily away, and left the bold, dark face as calm and impassive as the surface of a deep unruffled water. A moment or two afterward, Sir Miles raised his head, which he had bowed a little, perhaps to conceal the feelings which might have agitated it, and again clasping the hand of the other, said eagerly, “It is you, William, who have saved my boy, my Jasper; and this is not the first time that a scion of your house has preserved one of mine from death, or yet worse, ruin!” William Allan started, as if a sharp weapon had pierced him, “And how,” he cried, “Miles St. Aubyn, how was the debt repaid? I tell you it is written in the books that cannot err, that our houses were ordained for mutual destruction!” “What, man,” exclaimed Sir Miles, half jestingly, “do you still cling to the black art? Do you still read the dark book of fate? Methought that fancy would have taken wing with other youthful follies.” The old man shook his head sadly, but made no reply. “And what has it taught _thee_, William, unless it be that this life is short, and this world’s treasures worthless; and _that_ I have learned from a better book, a book of wider margin. What, I say, has it taught thee, William Allan?” “All things,” replied the old man, sorrowfully. “Even unto this meeting—every action, every event of my own life, past or to come, happy or miserable, virtuous or evil, it has taught me.” “But has it taught thee, William, whereby to win the good and eschew the evil; whereby to hold fast to the virtuous, and say unto the evil, ‘get behind me?’ Has it taught thee, I say not to be wiser, but to be happier or better?” “What is, is! What shall be, shall be! What is written, shall be done! We may flap, or flutter, or even fight, like fish or birds, or, if you will, like lions in the toil; but we are netted, and may not escape, from the beginning! The man may learn the workings of the God, but how shall he control them?” “And this is thy philosophy—this all that thine art teaches?” “It is. No more.” “A sad philosophy—a vain art,” replied the other. “I’ll none of them.”