'I know what you mean,' she answered, in a qualified tone. 'Even this

old house in which we speak,' pursued her son, 'is an instance of what I

say. In my father's earlier time, and in his uncle's time before him,

it was a place of business--really a place of business, and business

resort.

Now, it is a mere anomaly and incongruity here, out of date and

out of purpose. All our consignments have long been made to Rovinghams'

the commission-merchants; and although, as a check upon them, and in

the stewardship of my father's resources, your judgment and watchfulness

have been actively exerted, still those qualities would have influenced

my father's fortunes equally, if you had lived in any private dwelling:

would they not?'

'Do you consider,' she returned, without answering his question, 'that

a house serves no purpose, Arthur, in sheltering your infirm and

afflicted--justly infirm and righteously afflicted--mother?'

'I was speaking only of business purposes.'

'With what object?' 'I am coming to it.' 'I foresee,' she returned, fixing her eyes upon him, 'what it is.

But the Lord forbid that I should repine under any visitation. In my

sinfulness I merit bitter disappointment, and I accept it.'

'Mother, I grieve to hear you speak like this, though I have had my

apprehensions that you would--'

'You knew I would. You knew ME,' she interrupted.

Her son paused for a moment. He had struck fire out of her, and was

surprised. 'Well!' she said, relapsing into stone.

'Go on. Let me hear.'

'You have anticipated, mother, that I decide for my part, to abandon

the business. I have done with it. I will not take upon myself to advise

you; you will continue it, I see. If I had any influence with you, I

would simply use it to soften your judgment of me in causing you this

disappointment: to represent to you that I have lived the half of a long

term of life, and have never before set my own will against yours. I

cannot say that I have been able to conform myself, in heart and spirit,

to your rules; I cannot say that I believe my forty years have been

profitable or pleasant to myself, or any one; but I have habitually

submitted, and I only ask you to remember it.'

Woe to the suppliant, if such a one there were or ever had been, who had

any concession to look for in the inexorable face at the cabinet. Woe to

the defaulter whose appeal lay to the tribunal where those severe eyes

presided. Great need had the rigid woman of her mystical religion,

veiled in gloom and darkness, with lightnings of cursing, vengeance, and

destruction, flashing through the sable clouds. Forgive us our debts as

we forgive our debtors, was a prayer too poor in spirit for her. Smite

Thou my debtors, Lord, wither them, crush them; do Thou as I would do,

and Thou shalt have my worship: this was the impious tower of stone she

built up to scale Heaven.




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