ation."

"My fatherly friend," Edward began, "can you then persist in your
determination, which to me is so utterly incomprehensible? Is it quite
impossible for you to consent to what alone will make me happy, and
assuredly will make your daughter so too?"

"I had hoped, my dear friend," answered the old man very mildly, "you
would not have toucht on this string again, which thrills far too
painfully through my whole frame. Pray convince yourself that this
long-formed resolution, which you if you please may term a whim, I
cannot possibly revoke; it is much too firmly intertwined with my
whole being. What we do from conviction as we call it, from pondering
about a matter and balancing it first in one scale and then in the
other, over and over again, is seldom worth much. Whatever is
permanent, characteristic, genuine in our nature, is instinct,
prejudice, call it superstition;--a conclusion without question or
inquiry, an act because one cannot help it. Such is this of mine! You
may look upon it as a vow, a solemn oath which I have sworn to myself,
and which I cannot violate without the most atrocious perjury against
my own heart. I owe my poor good Eleazar much amends for having let my
soul entertain and cherish disgust, bitterness, and aversion toward
him for so many years.--And as to the happiness of the pair!--on this
point my opinion is just the reverse of yours. He is wise, sensible,
virtuous; he is happy already, and will keep so, whether he marry or
not. It is an act of condescension in a person of his grave character
to take up with my daughter. A man who has got the philosopher's stone
can never be harmed by any of earth's paltry troubles. And my Rose! O
my dear friend, the truly dreadful thing would be, if I were to give
her to you to wife: this being, this child, that I cannot help loving
so dearly, that I fold up with remorse and sorrow in my heart, would
go to wreck like others amid the pleasures of the world, in self-will
and frivolity, in dissipation and recklessness. You would indulge her
out of love in all sorts of follies, and so make her and yourself
miserable. No, it cannot be on any terms; and you yourself will thank
me hereafter for my reasonable refusal. And now not a word more,
dearest Edward, on this subject: let us come to your other request,
which I can safely promise to grant you."

Edward began, with a cheerless spirit, to reckon up the damage his
master had sustained from the robberies t