Christine had said that she would tell her father; but on second thoughts she found that she lacked the proper courage; and so Elias, not without some trepidation, had to take the mission upon himself. The old man, at the outset, professed no end of astonishment, and considerable indignation. “So!” he cried. “I engage you to paint my daughter's portrait, and you spend the time making love to her! A pretty kettle of fish, as I'm alive!” But by degrees his amiability was restored; and finally he remarked, “Well, Mr. Bacharach, though you are a Hebrew, you're white; and any how, religion don't worry us much in this household, and never did. I'm a Universalist, myself; and Chris--well, I guess no one knows what she is. One thing's certain--she might have gone further, and fared worse; she might, for a fact. You're a perfect gentleman; and you can't help it, if you _were_ born a Jew. You don't look like one, and you don't act like one. Of course, there's your name--Bacharach--a regular jaw-breaker; but I shan't stick on a name. It ain't I that's got to bear it; and so long as Chris is satisfied, it ain't for me to grumble. I guess she'll smell about as sweet under it, as she does under her present one. You see, I agree with the Great Bard. Any how, if she's made up her mind to have ye, I suppose I'll be obliged to say yes, sooner or later; and it'll save time and trouble for me to say it sooner.” So it was arranged that they should be married early in the spring, that they should spend the summer traveling in Europe, and that in the autumn they should return to New York, and domicile themselves under Redwood's roof. “The man who marries my daughter,” stipulated the old gentleman, with a grim smile, “has got to marry me. I ain't pretty, but I'm solid; and I'm not going to be separated from her in my old age. He's got to fetch his traps, and live in this house, besides, because I'm used to it, and I don't mean to quit it till I'm carried out horizontally. It's big enough, and to spare, the Lord knows. Come and look it over.” Elias followed the old man from cellar to garret. On the third floor his conductor threw open a door, and announced. “This is her room.” Elias's memory of the few brief seconds that he had been permitted to pass upon Christine's threshold, looking into her room, breathing the sweet air of it, and noting its hundred pretty little girlish fixings--inanimate companions of her most intimate life--thrilled in his heart many a time afterward. Was it not for him, her lover, like a glimpse into the Holy of Holies?