Do not press me too much." His father's eyes shone bright and wrathful.

He beat on the table with his open hand; but the boy was too quick for him.
"I beg of you, sir, not to make me speak too soon.

It may be that you would hate that I should speak more than my silence." His whole person was tense and magnetic; his face was paler than ever; and it seemed as if his father understood enough, at least, to make him hesitate.

The two looked at one another; and it was the man's eyes that tell first.
"You may have till Pentecost," he said.
III It would be at about an hour before dawn that Robin awoke for perhaps the third or fourth time that night; for the conflict still roared within his soul and would give him no peace.

And, as he lay there, awake in an instant, staring up into the dark, once more weighing and balancing this and the other, swayed by enthusiasm at one moment, weighed down with melancholy the next--there came to him, distinct and clear through the still night, the sound of horses' hoofs, perhaps of three or four beasts, walking together.
Now, whether it was the ferment of his own soul, or the work of some interior influence, or indeed, the very intimation of God Himself, Robin never knew (though he inclined later to the last of these); yet it remains as a fact that when he heard that sound, so fierce was his curiosity to know who it was that rode abroad in company at such an hour, he threw off the blankets that covered him, went to his window and threw it open.