Dora Thorne [24]
me; they would have forced her to marry some one she did not like."
"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let me understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not."
Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular.
"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt. "You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position--and Dora Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest."
"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only son."
"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven grant no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine! Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, wishes, ambitions, and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add fresh luster to a grand old name. I have lived in your life; and now, for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken me--you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had."
"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these things."
"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never trust you again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir you must be when the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead to me."
There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy young man.
"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You have chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to me; go to her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look upon your face again, and I never will."
"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only child. I shall die if you send him from me."
"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am sorry for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I shall not break my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son, "it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and are doubtless prepared for it."
"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald.
"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your last look at me. I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have chosen your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master. I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning."
"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!"
"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I learned that you had deceived me."
"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!"
"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now, farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you, but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your money, and he will arrange everything in my place."
"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word, touch my
"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let me understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not."
Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular.
"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt. "You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position--and Dora Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest."
"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only son."
"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven grant no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine! Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, wishes, ambitions, and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add fresh luster to a grand old name. I have lived in your life; and now, for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken me--you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had."
"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these things."
"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never trust you again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir you must be when the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead to me."
There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy young man.
"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You have chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to me; go to her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look upon your face again, and I never will."
"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only child. I shall die if you send him from me."
"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am sorry for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I shall not break my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son, "it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and are doubtless prepared for it."
"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald.
"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your last look at me. I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have chosen your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master. I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning."
"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!"
"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I learned that you had deceived me."
"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!"
"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now, farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you, but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your money, and he will arrange everything in my place."
"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word, touch my