'Never:--after having promised me not to hold converse with that villain without my consent? Had I no other cause of complaint against her;--had she not by her coquettish arts seduced the affections of the man I loved:--never, never would I forgive her having violated the sacred promise which she gave me.' 'A promise,' interrupted the doctor, 'which she would never have violated, had not you first violated that sacred compact which you entered into at her birth.' 'What mean you, sir?' 'I mean, that though a parent does not, at a child's birth, solemnly make a vow to do all in his or her power to promote the happiness of that child,--still, as he has given it birth, he has tacitly bound himself to make it happy. This tacit agreement you broke, when at the age of forty, you, regardless of your daughter's welfare, played the fool and married a pennyless profligate, merely because he had a fine person and a handsome leg.' Mrs Mowbray was too angry and too agitated to interrupt him, and he went on: 'Well, what was the consequence? The young fellow very naturally preferred the daughter to the mother; and, as he could not have her by fair, was resolved to have her by foul means; and so he--' 'I beg, Dr Norberry,' interrupted Mrs Mowbray in a faint voice, 'that you would spare the disgusting recital.' 'Well, well, I will. Now do consider the dilemma your child was in: she must either elope, or by her presence keep alive a criminal passion in her father-in-law, which you sooner or later must discover; and be besides exposed to fresh insults.--Well, Glenmurray by chance happened to be on the spot just as she escaped from that villanous fellow's clutches, and--' 'He is dead, Dr Norberry,' interrupted Mrs Mowbray; 'and you know the old adage, "Do not speak ill of the dead."' 'And a very silly adage it is. I had rather speak ill of the dead than the living, for my part: but let me go on.--Well, love taking the name and habit of prudence and filial piety, (for she thought she consulted your happiness, and not her own,) bade her fly to and with her lover; and now there she is, owing to the pretty books which you let her read, living with him as his mistress, and glorying in it, as if it was a notable praiseworthy action.' 'And you would have me forgive her?'