"I care for her, and for all that have been kind to her, now or ever," he replied, impressively; "most of all I am grateful to yourself." "Once again," said aunt Hannah, clinging tenaciously to the point which seemed to interest her so much, "if you could not marry Isabel Chester without becoming as poor, for instance, as Joseph Esmond is--would you give up all and marry her?" "Once again, then, yes, I would." "And be happy after it?" "With _her_, yes!" "But you have never worked?" "I can learn!" "You are learned and love to mingle with great men. You are proud, and this is a poor old house!" She argued so earnestly that he could not refrain from smiling. "I fancy, if the need come, I would get along with all these difficulties, without much regret. But this is idle speculation. In another month I shall be of age; then no one can claim legal authority over me or mine. I know there is great wealth to be accounted for, but have never known how much, or what restrictions are upon it. If it leaves me at liberty to marry Isabel, and she will give up this cruel resolve to abandon me, for her sake independence shall be welcome, if not, then I will answer your questions more promptly than you perhaps expect." "That girl will never marry your mother's son--she has taken an oath against it." "She shall marry me. Who can help it? Do we not love each other? If her proud spirit rejects the property, so be it--I care as little for gold as she does. As for that miserable oath, it is worthless as the wind, taken in a moment of romantic excitement. The angels do not register oaths like that." "I say it again, Isabel Chester will not marry Mrs. Farnham's son," persisted aunt Hannah. And she was right. CHAPTER XLVI. THE MOTHER'S FRAUD. That solemn oath is on my soul, Its weight is creeping through my life-- It binds me with a firm control, I cannot--cannot be thy wife! Frederick Farnham would not leave the country. With the resolution of a strong will he persisted in treating Isabel's vow as nothing, and would not be convinced that she might not herself see it in this light at last. As for his mother, one month more and he would be of age, and her power over him must give way; surely Isabel would recognize his independent position then. Every day he went to the Old Homestead with renewed hope, and left it in disappointment. Isabel's recovery was protracted till even the physician believed that she was sinking into a decline. She could not see Frederick in her wretched state, the excitement would have killed her. Oh, that rash, rash oath! In the pure atmosphere of her new home, with the invigorating influence of Mary Fuller's cheerful piety and rare good sense assuming its former sway, Isabel began to see her act in its true light, but repentance could not expunge the black vow from her soul. It was devouring her vitality like a vampire.