“Oh, Heaven! I do not know what you mean, my father.”
“Why, this. If ever you are ill again, do not call in a physician, do not take medicine, do not use any means to keep off the death that may come to you naturally, easily, kindly, as an angel of mercy. Promise me this.”
“No, my father, I cannot. For not only does my conscience forbid me to destroy my own life, but it commands me to do all I can to preserve it; and I would no more be guilty of negative than of positive suicide,” said Alma, firmly, though mournfully.
“Then life, worse than death, must be on your head! You are warned! But remember, you who prize this earthly life so highly, do not deprive your mother of the comfort she finds in the supposition of my death by the remotest hint of my existence,” reiterated Hollis Elverton, earnestly.
“Father, you have my promise, and you may rely upon it. But, sir, there is one of whom neither you nor I have yet spoken, one whom we should both consider—one, indeed, who is much to be pitied in his widowed, childless and desolate old age. I mean your aged parent, my grandfather, Lord Elverton. Surely he at least would rejoice to hear that his only son still lives! and if necessary, he would keep your counsel as faithfully as I shall. Will you not communicate with him and comfort his aged heart with the news of your continued life?”
“Never!” broke forth Hollis Elverton, in a fury, that again frightened his gentle daughter almost into a swoon. “I have no father; I know nothing of your grandfather! and never, in this world, in Hades, or in Heaven, will I see, speak to, or acknowledge Lord Elverton again! Never! so save me, Heaven, in my utmost strait!”
“Oh, sir, he is your father! do not speak of him so bitterly!” faltered Alma.
“Girl! I told you a few moments since that there were misfortunes so monstrous as to be nameless; so shameful as to be contagious; so fatal as to be cureless except by death! and now I add to that, there are sins so great as to burst asunder all ties of kindred, destroy all the sympathies of humanity, and invalidate all obligations of duty! Ask me no more questions, for I find that you are willing the very spirit from my bosom! but answer me this: since the fatal night that drove me from my home forever, has that old man ever ventured to cross the threshold of Edenlawn?”
“But once, my father; but once, as I truly believe. I have never seen him there, but I heard that, within a few weeks after your flight and my birth, he came to Edenlawn late one afternoon, and was closeted with my mother in the library for an hour, at the end of which he came out, and without taking any refreshment—”
“Ha! a morsel swallowed in that house must have choked him!” interrupted Elverton.