rather be racked by all the tortures that pious inquisitors ever invented
out of compassion for obstinate heretics, than condemn the woman I have
so fatally loved to a penance the misery of which she cannot foresee.
She would accept me?--certainly! Why! Because she thinks she owes me
reparation--because she pities me. And my heart tells me that I might
become cruel, and mean, and vindictive, if I were to live day by day with
one who created in me, while my life was at noon, a love never known in
its morn, and to feel that that love's sole return was the pity
vouchsafed to the nightfall of my age. No; if she pitied, but did not
love me, when, eighteen years ago, we parted under yonder beech-tree, I
should be a dotard to dream that woman's pity mellows into love as our
locks become grey, and Youth turns our vows into ridicule. It is not
pride that speaks here; it is rather humility, Dick. But we must not now
talk of old age and bygones. Youth and marriage-bells, Dick! Know that,
I have been for hours pondering how to reconcile with my old-fashioned
notions dear Lionel's happiness. We must think of the living as well as
the dead, Dick. I have solved the problem. I am happy, and so shall the
young folks be."

"You don't mean to say that you will consent to--"

"Yes, to Lionel's marriage with that beautiful girl, whose parentage we
never will ask. Great men are their own ancestors; why not sometimes
fair women? Enough--I consent! I shall of course secure to my kinsman
and his bride an ample fortune. Lionel will have time for his honeymoon
before he departs for the wars. He will fight with good heart now, Dick.
Young folks of the present day cannot bear up against sorrow, as they
were trained to do in mine. And that amiable lady who has so much pity
for me has, of course, still more pity for a charming young couple for
whose marriage she schemed, in order to give me a home, Dick. And rather