But, my son, I wish to clear this bright
vision from the shadow of a doubt. I believe in your docility; I believe
I may trust the salutary force of your respect for my memory. But I must
remember that when I am removed you will stand here alone, face to face
with a hundred nameless temptations to perversity. The fumes of
unrighteous pride may rise into your brain and tempt you, in the interest
of a vulgar theory which it will call your independence, to shatter the
edifice I have so laboriously constructed. So I must ask you for a
promise--the solemn promise you owe my condition.' And he grasped my
hand. 'You will follow the path I have marked; you will be faithful to
the young girl whom an influence as devoted as that which has governed
your own young life has moulded into everything amiable; you will marry
Isabel Vernor.' This was pretty 'steep,' as we used to say at school. I
was frightened; I drew away my hand and asked to be trusted without any
such terrible vow. My reluctance startled my father into a suspicion
that the vulgar theory of independence had already been whispering to me.
He sat up in his bed and looked at me with eyes which seemed to foresee a
lifetime of odious ingratitude. I felt the reproach; I feel it now.
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