The Irish standard., 1893-05-27

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presence. She found him inpatiently
arranging the chess-men on the board.
He consulted his watch before ac-
knowledging her cheerful greeting:
s.You are outgrowing the old-fash-
toned virtue of punctuality, Ida, am
sorry to see
81 am outgrowinga great many other
things, father, l am glad to say, but /
hope will always retain due respect for
that old-fashioned virtue, as you call it. :"
She took her place opposite him, but
made no motion towards avaiing her
self of the accorded privilege of taking
the first move:
ST think our game will have to wait
a little while this morning, father. I
want to have long and plain talk
with you-must have, In fact"
The sybarite leaned back in his chair
with a groan:
s.Spare me! Are the mules dying
with epizootic? Send for veterinary.
Are the gin-saws in need of sharpening?
Send for gin-wright."
Ida held up her hand imperiously:
'Father, am in no mood for your
cynical jests. I have just come from
White Cliffs Mrs. Lorimer is very i'll,
but I do not think she will die. Her
sons do"
"White Cliffs! You have been to
White Cliffs, and have the temerity to
acknowledge it to me?'' His face was
! purple with rage.
II have"
"And you are not afraid OF my
curse?"
'.Not in the least"
There was such cool assurance, such
indomitable courage, in her face and
! voice that her father felt suddenly self
| convicted of foolish bluster. He shifted
his position restlessly, but remained 81
lent.
Father" she said, in a sweet, grave
voice, utterly devoid Of disrespect, II
want you to listen to me quietly. When
get through, then will be time enough
for any vaporing you may feel inclined
! to- But things must be altered"
''You take advantage of my helpless
old age 10 insult me with impunity,
girl. It is the common lot Of parents
to experience the ingratitude OF chill
lren. But go on; go on. I am listen
ing"
It was poor old Lear's lament minus
| its dignity and its provocation.
She let it pass without comment.
Gone hears a great deal of what
children owe to their parents in this
| world, father, but remarkably little OF
what parents owe to their children.
! Among other fixed moral laws of creat'
ton is the one that compels child to
believe every word it's parent utters,
for no better reason than that it is ut
tered by a parent
"For twenty-one years, father, or, at
least, ever. since have had sense
! enough to imbibe hatred, have been
told that it was my duty to hate any
! body. everybody, rather, and every
thing, connected with White Cliffs.
And honestly tried to do my duty in
that respect. I owed it to my father.
"When I met Dennis Lorimer at the
Pass that summer on my one free holt
day and fell in love with him, felt
like the worst of criminals and a
traitor to you. There YVES some mys-
FERROUS thing between him and me, be-
tween me and my happiness, that l
bowed before with the blindness Of
fetichisn. drove my lover away from
me, with more resolution, perhaps, than
i would have exercised if he had COM
mitted crime in his own person.
owed 1T to my father.
'When he came to me and told me
that he was going into exile for my
sake, that his mothers vindictive de-
termination to separate us had carried
her to the extent Of telling him that he
| must either vow never to try to see me, or
leave her presence then and there, never
to return again, helped him to bow to
the fat which bore equally upon. US
both. told him we owed it to our
parents. And when you, hearing
through Cato's treachery that he was in
the summer house that day, sent him
your insulting message, I almost de-
spised him for the promptness and
meekness with which he>ebeyed it. He
went away, and in my heart called
him a coward. I began to cultivate