"O, Love! let this my lady's picture glow
Under my hand to praise her name, and show
Even of her inner self a perfect whole
That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,
Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
The very sky and sea-line of her soul"
The suite of rooms which belonged especially to the heir of Meriton were
very handsome ones, and their long, lofty parlor was full of art treasures
gathered from the various cities which Allan had visited. The fire in this
room had been lighted for some time and was burning cheerily, and the
young man sat in its ruddy glow when his father entered.
"I was lonely to-night, Allan, so I have come to make you a visit."
"You do me a great honor, sir, and are most welcome." And he went to meet
him gladly. But as Blair, his valet, was softly moving about in an inner
room, conversation was confined to conventional grooves until the servant
with a low "good night, sir," glided away. As soon as they were alone the
effort to conceal emotion was mutually abandoned. John Campbell sat on one
side of the hearth, with his head dropped toward his folded hands. Allan
kept his eyes fixed upon the glowing coals; but he was painfully aware of
his father's unhappy presence, and waiting for him to open the
conversation which he saw was inevitable.
"I have had a knock-me-down blow to-night, son Allan."
"And I am much to blame for it; that is what grieves me, father."
"You are altogether to blame for it, Allan. I thought Mary loved you when
you came home this summer; to-night I am sure she loves you. You must have
made some great blunder or she would have married you."
"There was a great blunder. I did the thing accidentally which I had often
had in my heart to do, but which I am very certain would have been
impossible to me, had it not blundered out in a very miserable way. We
were speaking of my late absence, and I let her know that she had been the
cause of our dispute, the reason why I had left home."
"If you had planned to get 'no,' you could have taken no better way. What
girl worth having would take you after you had let her understand you
preferred a quarrel with your father, and an exile from your home, to a
marriage with her?"
"I would, for your sake, father, unsay the words if I could. Is there any
excuse, any--"
"There is no excuse but time and absence. Mary loves you; go away from her
sight and hearing until she forgets the insult you have given her. I don't
mean go away to the east or to the west coast, or even to London or Paris.
I mean go far away--to China or Russia; or, better still, to America. I
have friends in every large sea-port. You shall have all that my name and
money can do to make your absence happy--and women forgive! Yes, they
forget also; wipe the fault quite out, and believe again and again. God
bless them! You can write to Mary. Where a lover cannot go he can send,
and you need not blunder into insults when you write your words. You have
time to think and to rewrite. I shall have to part with you again, son
Allan. I feel it very bitterly."