Julia then began to piece together as well as she could the torn fragments.  She first made out these words, “Love-wounded Protheus;” and lamenting over these and such-like loving words, which she made out though they were all torn asunder, or, she said, wounded (the expression “Love-wounded Protheus,” giving her that idea), she talked to these kind words, telling them she would lodge them in her bosom as in a bed, till their wounds were healed, and that she would kiss each several piece, to make amends.

In this manner she went on talking with a pretty lady-like childishness, till finding herself unable to make out the whole, and vext 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’ 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 Valentine, he is gone to the duke of Milan’s court.  Your son is fit for any of these things, and it will be a great disadvantage to him in his riper age, not to have travelled in his youth.”

Protheus’ father thought the advice of his friend was very good, and upon Protheus telling him that Valentine “wished him with him, the partner of his fortune,” he at once determined to send his son to Milan; and without giving Protheus any reason for this sudden resolution, it being the usual habit of this positive old gentleman to command his son, not reason with him, he said, “My will is the same as Valentine’s wish:”  and seeing his son looked astonished, he added, “Look not amazed, that I so suddenly resolve you shall spend some time in the duke of Milan’s court; for what I will I will, and there is an end.  To-morrow be in readiness to go.  Make no excuses; for I am peremptory.”