"To give way to a woman's tears, when my judgment recoiled at the union, was folly, was wickedness. My heart will feel this, for I knew it was wrong, yet I sanctioned it by my presence. My poor Julia!--my poor, poor girl!" Christobelle could not bear to hear her father's self-reproach; she went to him and took his hand. "Papa," she said, "don't say you have done wrong; you never did wrong to any body. We all say how good and kind you are to us." He stopped and looked earnestly at her. "I have brought you up, Chrystal, with very different principles. I do not think _you_ will bring me in sorrow to the grave. I think you will not sell yourself to perjury and ambition, as others have done." "I will never do what you tell me not to do, papa." "I hope not--I hope not, my child. I tell you not to marry a selfish, heartless man, as Clara and Julia have done, to secure wealth and rank, which they will never enjoy in peace--which they will never enjoy in respectability. It is a hard fate, but even the young must endure it if they barter peace for riches. God help them! their poor mother has done this, and I did not act a father's part by them!" Sir John seated himself, and Christobelle knelt by him, and held his hand to her lips, and kissed it repeatedly. He was recalled to recollection by this movement, and he raised her from the attitude she had chosen, to a seat by her side. "My dear Chrystal, never repeat the remarks to any third person, which you have heard now from my lips. Remember the trust I have in your youth, because you have been my companion, and have learned to be silent, and to think a parent's word sacred. You will understand my distress of mind at a future period; but at this moment the knowledge of my suffering would be incomprehensible to you. In your steadiness of character I hope for much comfort hereafter." Christobelle did indeed hope to be his comfort in age, as he had been her shield in youth. Her words were simple, and her expressions were uttered with untutored energy, but they were sincere in feeling. His society, his kindness, his information, had been her happiness; for they had shielded her from a mother's reproaches, and her increasing loss of self-command. They had preserved her from ambitious feelings, by withdrawing her from her mother's influence; and, by offering her the calm pleasures of his study, instead of consigning her first young days to the infected air of Thompson's room, and Thompson's arguments, Christobelle had known only indulgence and gentle treatment. How could she help loving this estimable parent, or fail to make his slightest wish the law of her heart? She did promise--and redeemed that promise--that she would never breathe to a human being the conversations which he entrusted to her sacred keeping.