"Bless you, no. More than two years ago. I haven't been near him since, except to taste of some old madeira he keeps on his sideboard. No. I can't quite explain why I am anxious to speak of this matter so soon, so hastily. I only want to ask one or two impertinent questions which you will forgive in a man who has grown, as to certain matters, as fussy as an old maid--or a mother." "Why, I will answer gladly enough," I said awkwardly. I thought I knew what was on his mind; my tongue grew large in my mouth. He was pacing up and down the room then, but finally he stopped and laughed and grew solemn again. "Darn it, my boy," he said. "I know you. I like you. I just wanted to know if you had ever been engaged--in the broad sense--engaged to a woman--with promises to fulfill. I just wanted to ask." "No," said I. "There!" said he. "I knew it all the time." "Was there another question?" I asked. "Why, yes," he said. "Why, yes. I believe I did have another. Now, what was it? I had another question. It was awkward, too, if I remember. I had another." We both laughed then. "Yet it seems so strange for me to ask these questions now, doesn't it?" he went on, fingering the pages of a book on the desk. "It is so early and a good deal more natural for you to speak to me than for me to speak to you. But, good God! there is a reason if you only knew--a reason. Let us say, for instance, that I might not be here then." "Ask it, sir," I said. "Why, I was only going to say that, in case you should succeed,--I doubt if you do succeed,--but in case you should succeed in causing her to love you, there would be no withdrawal on your part. Little Julie--my little daughter! Neither of you has known what it means yet. And, Estabrook, when she does, it must not go wrong. I know her well. She will never love but one man. He must not withdraw when he has won her!" I started to speak angrily. "Wait!" he cried, with his hands clenched. "He must not be shaken from her by anything--anything for which she is not to blame herself--no matter how strange or terrible--anything. Nothing will come. I know it. But that must be promised me--to stand by her, no matter what misfortune might descend upon her." "What could?" I asked in a trembling voice. "Nothing," the Judge said. "It is not in God's character to allow such a thing. When you love her, Estabrook, my boy, you will not ask me that question in answer to mine." "No," I said at once. "There need be no doubts between us, sir. It is not necessary for either of us to answer." His whole countenance lit up as if my words had fed his soul. I should be sorry to have wiped from my memory the impression of that old man's look, as, without taking his eyes from my face, he reached for his hat.