"There, there, my dear boy, go and tell Clara all that!" said the doctor, pressing the young man's hand and dismissing him.
Traverse went immediately to seek Clara, whom he found sitting alone in the parlor.
She was bending over some delicate needlework that Traverse knew by instinct was intended for himself.
Now, had Traverse foreseen from the first the success of his love, there might possibly have been the usual shyness and hesitation in declaring himself to the object of his affection. But although he and Clara had long deeply and silently loved and understood each other, yet neither had dared to hope for so improbable an event as the doctor's favoring their attachment, and now, under the exciting influence of the surprise, joy and gratitude with which the doctor's magnanimity had filled his heart, Traverse forgot all shyness and hesitation, and, stepping quickly to Clara's side, and dropping gently upon one knee, he took her hand, and, bowing his head upon it, said: "Clara, my own, own Clara, your dear father has given me leave to tell you at last how much and how long I have loved you!" and then he arose and sat down beside her.
The blush deepened upon Clara's cheek, tears filled her eyes, and her voice trembled as she murmured: "Heaven bless my dear father! He is unlike every other man on earth!"
"Oh, he is--he is!" said Traverse, fervently, "and, dear Clara, never did a man strive so hard for wealth, fame, or glory, as I shall strive to become 'worthy to be called his son!'"
"Do, Traverse--do, dear Traverse! I want you to honor even his very highest drafts upon your moral and intellectual capacities! I know you are 'worthy' of his high regard now, else he never would have chosen you as his son--but I am ambitious for you, Traverse! I would have your motto be, 'Excelsior!'--higher!" said the doctor's daughter.
"And you, dear Clara, may I venture to hope that you do not disapprove of your father's choice, or reject the hand that he permits me to offer you?" said Traverse, for though he understood Clara well enough, yet like all honest men, he wanted some definite and practical engagement.
"There is my hand--my heart was yours long ago," murmured the maiden, in a tremulous voice.
He took and pressed that white hand to his heart, looked hesitatingly and pleadingly in her face for an instant, and then, drawing her gently to his bosom, sealed their betrothal on her pure lips.