“Lock the door, Frederic,” he said, “and then sit by me while I say to you what I have so long wished to say.”
With a lowering brow Frederic complied, and seating himself near to his father, he folded his arms and said, “Go on, I am ready now to hear—but if it is of Marian you would speak, I will spare you that trouble, father,” and Frederic’s voice was milder in its tone. “I have always liked Marian very much as a sister, and if it so chances that you are taken from us, I will be the best of brothers to her. I will care for her and see that she does not want. Let this satisfy you, father, for I cannot marry her. I do not love her, for I love another; one compared to whom Marian is as the night to the day. Let me tell you of Isabel, father,” and Frederic’s voice was still softer in its tone.
The old man shook his head and answered mournfully, “No, Frederic, were she as fair as the morning I could not wish her to be your wife. I have never told you before, but I once received an anonymous letter concerning this same Isabel, saying she was treacherous and deceitful, and would lead you on to ruin.”
“The villain! It was Rudolph’s doings,” muttered Frederic; then in a louder tone he said, “I can explain that, I think. When Isabel was quite young, she was engaged conditionally to Rudolph McVicar, a worthless fellow whom she has since discarded. He is a jealous, malignant creature, and has sworn to be revenged. He wrote that letter, I am sure. It is like him.”
“It may be,” returned the father, “but I distrust this Isabel. Her mother, as you are aware, is a distant relative of mine. I know her well, and though I never saw the daughter, I am sure she is selfish, ambitious, deceitful and proud, while Marian is so good.”
“Marian is a mere child,” interrupted Frederic.
“Almost sixteen,” rejoined the father, “and before you marry her she will be older still.”
“Yes, yes, much older,” thought Frederic, continuing aloud, “Listen to reason, father. I certainly do not love Marian, neither do I suppose that she loves me. Now if you have our mutual good at heart, you cannot desire a marriage which would surely result in wretchedness to both.”
“I have thought of all that,” returned the father. “A few kind words from you would win Marian’s love at once, and when once won she would be to you a faithful, loving wife, whom you would ere long learn to prize. You cannot treat any woman badly, Frederic, much less Marian. I know you would be happy with her, and should desire the marriage even though it could not save me from dishonor in the eyes of the world.”
“Father,” said Frederic, turning slightly pale, “what do you mean? You have in your letters hinted of a wrong done to somebody. Was it to Marian? If so, do not seek to sacrifice my happiness, but make amends in some other way. Will money repair the wrong? If so, give it to her, even to half your fortune, and leave me alone.”