It is a bitter thing for a parent to find an obstacle to his heart’s desire in his own child, even when, as in Sir Edgar’s case, he feels that his child’s opposition is perfectly and strictly legitimate. It is as if his hand, acting on a judgment of its own, refused to answer the call of his mouth--as if his body disdained to be swayed by his mind. Though he may distinctly perceive and understand, that his child sees in his command an object of abhorrence, and may mentally bleed at her every pang, he yet feels, in his heart, that she ought to be persuaded that it is really a path to happiness, and embrace it cheerfully. He may know how the idea appals her; he may commiserate and writhe under her deep sufferings; but for all this, he still thinks, in his moments of retirement, that her terrors are foolish, that her sufferings are the offspring of her own imagination, and that obedience to him would insure her happiness and fruition.
Though he had promised never again to request Evaline to accept the hand of Don Felix, Sir Edgar found, on reflection, that he could not tear that project from his heart, or forego its realization, without a bitter pang. He had conceived it when they were yet children; it had, as it were, grown on his affections, as his affections had grown with them; and he now saw a weak and unhappy passion, which could never be pursued, and the mere entertainment of which was degrading, step in to oppose it. He was to see his child wither under the breath of a villain, when, as he thought, a career of happiness was open to her, and the height of earthly bliss was within her reach.
The last of his house would never wed: when he should be laid in the cold grave, he would leave in the world, in which all men seek a memorial, not a vestige of his race. The inheritance of a score of ancestors, improved by his care, and extended by his economy, would pass to strangers, and he would die unmourned, and lie in his sepulchre unremembered.
Such were the bitter reflections that passed through his mind. And yet, in the face of these reflections, at the very moment that his disappointment pressed upon him most severely--even while he was thinking, every now and then, that the opposition to his wishes was unkind and unreasonable, his paternal heart bled for his child. He imagined her looking on the wreck of her bright dreams of promise--on lofty hopes overthrown, and deep aspirations stifled; and he saw her, as the ruin still confronted her, become paralysed at the view, and overwhelmed with the terrors of despair.