ons, and all that sort of thing, which it is so very
delightful and charming to reflect upon; or you will repent it.'

'I shall never repent the preservation of my self-respect, sir,' said
Edward. 'Forgive me if I say that I will not sacrifice it at your
bidding, and that I will not pursue the track which you would have me
take, and to which the secret share you have had in this late separation
tends.'

His father rose a little higher still, and looking at him as though
curious to know if he were quite resolved and earnest, dropped gently
down again, and said in the calmest voice--eating his nuts meanwhile,

'Edward, my father had a son, who being a fool like you, and, like you,
entertaining low and disobedient sentiments, he disinherited and cursed
one morning after breakfast. The circumstance occurs to me with a
singular clearness of recollection this evening. I remember eating
muffins at the time, with marmalade. He led a miserable life (the son,
I mean) and died early; it was a happy release on all accounts; he
degraded the family very much. It is a sad circumstance, Edward, when a
father finds it necessary to resort to such strong measures.

'It is,' replied Edward, 'and it is sad when a son, proffering him his
love and duty in their best and truest sense, finds himself repelled
at every turn, and forced to disobey. Dear father,' he added, more
earnestly though in a gentler tone, 'I have reflected many times on what
occurred between us when we first discussed this subject. Let there be
a confidence between us; not in terms, but truth. Hear what I have to
say.'

'As I anticipate what it is, and cannot fail to do so, Edward,' returned
his father coldly, 'I decline. I couldn't possibly. I am sure it would
put me out of temper, which is a state of mind I can't endure. If
you intend to mar my plans for your establishment in life, and the
preservation of that gentility and becoming pride, which our family
have so long sustained--if, in short, you are resolved to take your own
course, you must take it, and my curse with it. I am very sorry, but
there's really no alternative.'

'The curse may pass your lips,' said Edward, 'but it will be but empty
breath. I do not believe that any man on earth has greater power to call
one down upon his fellow--least of all, upon his own child--than he has
to make one drop of rain or flake of snow fall from the clouds above us
at his impious bidding. Beware, sir, what you do.'

'Yo