unable to make out the whole, and vexed at her own ingratitude in destroying such sweet and loving words, as she called them, she wrote a much kinder letter to Protheus than she had ever done before.
Protheus was greatly delighted at receiving this favourable answer to his letter; and while he was reading it, he exclaimed, "Sweet love, sweet lines, sweet life!" In the midst of his raptures he was interrupted by his father. "How now!" said the old gentleman; "what letter are you reading there?"
"My lord," replied Protheus, "it is a letter from my friend Valentine, at Milan."
"Lend me the letter," said his father: " let me see what news."
"There are no news, my lord," said Protheus, greatly alarmed, " but that he writes how well beloved he is of the duke of Milan, who daily graces him with favours; and how he wishes me with him, the partner of his fortune."
"And how stand you affected to his wish?" asked the father.
"As one relying on your lordship's will, and not depending on his friendly wish," said Protheus. Now it had happened that Protheus's father had just been talking with a friend on this very subject: his friend had said, he wondered his lordship suffered his son to spend his youth at home, while most men were sending their sons to seek preferment abroad; " some," said he, "to the wars, to try their fortunes there, and some to discover islands far away, and some to study in foreign universities; and there is his companion
