Fort Worth daily gazette. (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1882-1891, 1886-03-21
CHAPTER XVIII.

In my life would be AZ hand. Not for one
moment did contemplate the Idea oil re-
signing my future happiness because my
father objected TO my choice. Much as
owed him, knew that there were bounds
TO the duty son owed to his father-thai
there are situations in which man IL
justified in disregarding parental author
ity. lie had shown me no valid reason
for has objection 10 my marriage Will
ClaudiHe. II the world laid sin at Lady
Estmere's door, II was the refinement OF
cruelty to visit 1t upon her niece. II
had ever believed Lord RothwelPs I'M
piled supposition that my father would
object TO the alliance, felt sure that all
opposition must vanish when he saw the
girl. Now this hope was at an end. lie
had confessed her beautiful; he had
nothing TO say against her; II was simply
her relationship TO Lady Estmere which
made her obnoxious 10 him. sighed
deeply as thought of what might be the
result when next broached the subject
TO my father.
was gTleved to see that upon his re-
turn he at once fell into the old grooves
of life. SO easily did he pick up every
dropped thread, that he might have been
away for day In the next county, in
stead Of having made a journey OF many
thousands OF miles. The very morning
after his return he resumed scientific
paper at the point he left II when he
started He spent his hours with his
books us OF old; he took his walks In the
same listless way as ever. could see
no change, or prospect of change, in his
manner Of life
During the firsttwo days / was nervlng
myself for the struggle which lknewmust
take place. | dare not delay II any
longer Whatever Valentine might tell
his mother, she would Mt least know my
father had returned. She and Claudine
would be expecting news most likely, eX-
pectlng should bring him TO them. What
would they say when they knew the
truth-knew that he forbade the marriage,
and knew or guessed why he did so.
lay awake at night for hours thinking
over my position, and the more | thought
the stronger grew the sad truth that the
time was ut hand when | must choose be-
tween the woman | loved and my father.
The suspense was growing unbearable.
Although we met In the most friendly
way felt there was something between
my father and myself, something that
changed the old loving relations. | hoped
that he would speak, but he showed no
inclination 10 approach the subject, so
with a heavy heart | was fain TO com
mence the attack.
II was glorious summer evening; the
sun was already 40 low that Its rays
were endurable. My father and had
dined together, and after lingering u
few minutes over our wine, had, by mu-
tual consent, risen from the table and
walked out of the house. We strolled
slowly to the top of the great tor, and, as
we rested there, | thought of the day
when took my first step into the outside
world; thought OF that moment when
] passed In the steamer the old house,
and borrowed the captains binoc-
ular TO look at the tall dark figure standing
on the summit OF the hill until the tears
which sprang to my eyes blurred the
glasses and for while rendered them
useless. l remembered how that first
parting stirred all the passion in my boy
ish nature; how blamed and condemned
myself for even wishing to leave my
father. How wept as thought Of his
loneliness. And now, a few years later,
was compelled to exercise a mans pre-
rogative, and for the sake of the woman
| loved rebel against his commands.
Perhaps my silence told my father
what was in my mind. lie looked ut me
inquirlngly, think he had made one OF
two remarks on the beauty Of the sunset
remarks which had fallen unheeded OF
my cars AT last turned to him.
81 hope you have reconsidered the
matter spoke to you about on the day
of your return?n
st has never left my thoughts min
ute,n he said, sadly and quietly.
"Surely,h said, ''you VIII withdraw
your prohibition. Leaving my happiness
out of the question, what would you wish
more Ia my wife She is beautiful, good
well-born and, II u recommendation wer,
needed, rich,n
81 have spoken, Philip | have no more
to say
"Then am to understand that because
she Is the niece OF a woman whose hus
band left her In u 1T OF mad jealousy, you
think she Is unfit to be your daughter
Oh, my father! think again. Rememhel
that love her. Think what your decis
Ion must meant
took his hand, but he Kept his eyel
turned from me, His face was pale, bu
hard, firm look was settling on hi
mouth. knew that my entreaties wer,
nnayalling.
81 have thought" he said, "and m,
answer Is the same.n
"You forbid Il absolutely?n
81 forbid II. Stayl | am going he
yond my rights. You are man, aud
know mean to please yourself. You hay,
the right to do so. You may marry Mis-.
Neville tomorrow, cannot prevent
you,p
"llow can marry her whilst | am de
pendent on your | will not live on her
money. ! can walt until can make an
income.n
otis not matter Of money, Philip
That, thank God, win never come be
tween us. Whether You marry against
my wish or not, your income win be as
surad.n
GLOW can take Il when | displeas,
your"
"You need not trouble about that
There Is money you are Justly entitled TO
J will not have you swerve hairs
bread from your course for mer
cenary consideration, Bnt, Phillip
He paused, and looked me full in III,
face With a yearning look In bis eyes
From the day you marry Miss Neville
Lady Estmere's niece, yon aud will bt
strangers. The father and the son who
have loved aud horne with zach othor ~,