at he regarded as the masterscheme of life; namely,
to obtain a small pecuniary independence and to emancipate himself
formally and entirely from his father's control. Aware of poor Roland's
chivalrous reverence for his name, firmly persuaded that Roland had no
love for the son, but only the dread that the son might disgrace him,
he determined to avail himself of his father's prejudices in order to
effect his purpose.

He wrote a short letter to Roland (that letter which had given the poor
man so sanguine a joy),--that letter after reading which he had said to
Blanche, "Pray for me", stating simply that he wished to see his father,
and naming a tavern in the City for the meeting.

The interview took place. And when Roland--love and forgiveness in his
heart, but (who shall blame him?) dignity on his brow and rebuke in his
eye--approached, ready at a word to fling himself on the boy's breast,
Vivian, seeing only the outer signs, and interpreting them by his own
sentiments, recoiled, folded his arms on his bosom, and said, coldly,
"Spare me reproach, sir,--it is unavailing; I seek you only to propose
that you shall save your name and resign your son."

Then, intent perhaps but to gain his object, the unhappy youth declared
his fixed determination never to live with his father, never to
acquiesce in his authority, resolutely to pursue his own career,
whatever that career might be, explaining none of the circumstances
that appeared most in his disfavor,--rather, perhaps, thinking that, the
worse his father judged of him, the more chance he had to achieve his
purpose. "All I ask of you," he said, "is this: Give me the least you
can afford to preserve me from the temptation to rob, or the necessity
to starve; and I, in my turn, promise never to molest you in life,
never to degrade you in my death; whatever my misdeeds, they will never
reflect on yourself, for you shall never recognize the misdoer! The
name you prize so highly shall be spared." Sickened and revolted, Roland
attempted no argument; there was that in the son's cold manner which
shut out hope, and against which his pride rose indignant. A meeker man
might have remonstrated, implored, and wept; that was not in Roland's
nature. He had but the choice of three evils: to say to his son, "Fool,
I command thee to follow me!" or say, "Wretch, since thou wouldst cast
me off as a stranger, as a stranger I say to thee,--Go, starve or rob,
as thou wilt!" or lastly, to bow hi