"Enough!" said the merchant; starting violently; then with an effort regaining his calmness, "don't speak that name in my presence, ever. How came you, young man, to be present at a ceremony you knew was without my sanction or knowledge, and utterly against my will?"
"I knew nothing of the circumstances, sir, before hand; not even aware I was to witness a marriage ceremony till after I reached the Cathedral. But I like Mr. Wilkins—have been a warm friend of his since I've been here, and when I found he was to be married, I officiated with pleasure."
"Knowing it was my—knowing who the lady was?"
"No, sir, not till afterwards—just as they were about to leave; but when I found out the truth, I did congratulate my friend most heartily, for I deem him worthy of any lady in the land, and rejoiced to see him happy."
"And they seemed happy. Oh, curses on them!"
"Nay, do not curse them. Your daughter's view of happiness was but different from your own, and she has seen fit to follow it out. She shed many tears, no doubt, for her father; but she smiled also many times upon her husband, and I know must have felt much sorrow mingled with her joy. Had she but gone with her father's blessing, how unalloyed would her happiness have been."
"He took her for her fortune; curse him, I say! Not a cent of mine shall he ever touch. When poverty falls upon her head, she'll think of what she's lost by her disobedience."
"A father's curse is a fearful thing," said Guly with a shudder.
Mr. Delancey suddenly drew himself up as if just aware that he had been betrayed into saying a great deal more than he ever intended to, and at the same time cast a look of mute wonder upon Guly, who stood with his eyes fixed upon his face. It was rarely that any one dared to approach the merchant, (at least any of his subordinates,) as, cold and stern, he sat at his high desk during business hours, and none ever thought of differing from his opinions, or advancing any of their own. Guly's courage astonished him.