"You shall not
marry an actor and a Protestant. You shall not marry a man like that--
never--never--never. If you do, you will never have a penny of mine,
and I will never--"
"Oh, hush--Mother of Heaven, hush!" she cried. "You shall not put a
curse on me too."
"What curse?" he burst forth, passion shaking him. "You cursed my
mother's baptism. It would be a curse to be told that you would see me
no more, that I should be no more part of this home. There has been
enough of that curse here. . . . Ah, why--why--" she added with a
sudden rush of indignation, "why did you destroy the only thing I had
of hers? It was all that was left--her guitar. I loved it so."
All at once, with a cry of pain, she turned and ran to the door--entering
on the staircase which led to her room. In the doorway she turned.
"I can't help it. I can't help it, father. I love him--but I love you
too," she cried. "I don't want to go--oh, I don't want to go! Why do
you--?" her voice choked; she did not finish the sentence; or if she did,
he could not hear.
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