his your lordship must excuse me. I cannot
do it with honor, and therefore cannot do it at all."

"Ah, I see, Dunroe, and I bitterly regret to see it--this fellow, this
Norton, has succeeded in gaining over you that iniquitous ascendancy
which the talented knave gains over the weak and unsuspicious fool.
Pardon me, for I speak plainly. He has studied your disposition and
habits; he has catered for your enjoyments; he has availed himself of
your weaknesses; he has flattered your vanity; he has mixed himself up
in the management of your affairs; and, in fine, made himself necessary
to your existence; yet you will not give him up?"

"My lord, I reply to you in one word--he IS MY FRIEND."

A shade of bitterness passed over the old man's face as he turned a
melancholy look upon Dunroe.

"May you never live, Dunroe," he said, "to see your only son refuse to
comply with your dying request, or to listen with an obedient I spirit
to your parting admonition. It is true, I am not, I trust, immediately
dying, and yet why should I regret it? But, at the same time, I feel
that my steps are upon the very threshold of death--a consideration
which ought to insure obedience to my wishes in any heart not made
callous by the worst experiences of life."

"I would comply with your wishes, my lord," replied Dunroe, "with the
sincerest pleasure, and deny myself anything to oblige you; but in
what you ask there is a principle involved, which I cannot, as a man of
honor, violate. And, besides, I really could not afford to part with him
now. My affairs are in such a state, and he is so well acquainted with
them, that to do so would ruin me."

His father, who seemed wrapt in some painful reflection, paid no
attention to this reply, which, in point of fact, contained, so far as
Norton was concerned, a confirmation of the old man's worst suspicions.
His chin had sunk on his breast, and looking into the palms of his hands
as he held them clasped together, he could not prevent the tears from
rolling slowly down his furrowed cheeks. At length he exclaimed:

"My child, Emily, my child! how will I look upon thee! My innocent,
my affectionate angel; what, what, oh what will become of thee? But it
cannot be. My guilt was not premeditated. What I did I did in ignorance;
and why should we suffer through the arts of others? I shall oppose
them step by step should they proceed. I shall leave no earthly resource
untried to frustrate their designs; and if