affectionately--yes, and solemnly to him; for, God bless him--he was proud
of me, and he listened with regard to my words--on account of my little
education, already so superior to his own. I was better able to
remonstrate with him, because I had taken no part in the contest which I
had witnessed, further than placing myself between them when _his_ rage
seemed to have robbed him of reason.

"I stepped into his bed-room before he quitted it.

"Father"--said I.

"'What? Edgar,' he replied kindly, 'what can I do for you?'

"I had arranged in my mind the words which I proposed to utter, but they
vanished suddenly, and I could do nothing but weep.

"My father, sir, was the strangest of men. Indeed, since his alienation
from his wife, the most unaccountable. Rude and violent as he could be to
her--he was the tenderest, the most anxious of fathers. He turned pale as
death when he saw me in tears, and entreated me to tell him what I
suffered. I gained confidence from his anxiety, and spoke.

"'Father,' I said, 'you must not be angry with me for speaking boldly.
Poor mother! you will kill her--you do not treat her well. I am sure
nothing could justify all you said and did last night. You called her
cruel names. It is not right. I am certain it is not.'

"'Edgar,' said my father, frowning as he went on, 'be silent. You are a
child, and I love you. I will do any thing for your happiness. I forbid
you to speak to me of your mother.'