Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, Edited by his friend Reuben Shapcott by Mark Rutherford
page 74 of 137 (54%)
page 74 of 137 (54%)
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afresh.
I could not plead against hysterics. I was afraid she would get ill. I thought nobody was in the house, and I rushed across the passage to get her some stimulants. When I came back her father was in the room. He was my aversion--a fussy, conceited man, who always prated about "my daughter" to me in a tone which was very repulsive--just as if she were his property, and he were her natural protector against me. "Mr. Rutherford," he cried, "what is the matter with my daughter? What have you said to her?" "I don't think, sir, I am bound to tell you. It is a matter between Ellen and myself." "Mr. Rutherford, I demand an explanation. Ellen is mine. I am her father." "Excuse me, sir, if I desire not to have a scene here just now. Ellen is unwell. When she recovers she will tell you. I had better leave," and I walked straight out of the house. Next morning I had a letter from her father to say, that whether I was a Unitarian or not, my behaviour to Ellen showed I was bad enough to be one. Anyhow, he had forbidden her all further intercourse with me. When I had once more settled down in my solitude, and came to think over what had happened, I felt the self-condemnation of a criminal without being able to accuse myself of a crime. I believe with Miss Arbour that it is madness for a young man who finds out he has made a blunder, not to set it right; no matter what the wrench may be. But |
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