"
My father smiled--I saw my mother wipe away a tear--at that moment
I could have struck my uncle dead. I muttered a few words--I knew not
what, and left the room. Boy as I was, (for I had barely completed
my seventeenth year,) I felt all the vindictive passions of manhood
kindling within me. It seemed as if a sentence had been passed upon
me, the more terrible, because a secret voice whispered to me, it was
prophetic! _That impression never forsook me!_
I questioned my father haughtily, a few days afterwards, as to the
reasons of his brother for thus speaking of me; and I even dared to
insinuate, that, had he felt what a father should, he would have
resented the indignity. He answered me (I write it with shame and
contrition) most mildly, most affectionately. The gentle being--I see
him now, as he tenderly took my hand--apologized to me--to me! who ought
to have stood trembling in _his_ presence! I followed up my blow.
With cold, but subtle malignity. I played off my revenge towards my
uncle, through the idolatry of my father's love towards myself. I
barbarously gave him a choice of misery; for I disdainfully replied,
that he must henceforth determine, whether he would lose a brother or
a son, as _I_ had determined to remain no longer under his roof,
unless I had the assurance that I should never again see my uncle there.
He looked at me. My God! what a look it was! so full of meek sorrow
and appalling obedience! Without uttering a word, he sat down to his
writing-table.
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