Richard Hardie was "a long-headed man." He knew the consequence of
giving one's reasons: eternal discussion ending in war. He had taken care
not to give any to Mrs. Dodd, and he was as guarded and reserved with
Alfred. The young man begged to know the why and the wherefore, and being
repulsed, employed all his art to elicit them by surprise, or get at them
by inference: but all in vain. Hardie senior was impenetrable; and
inquiry, petulance, tenderness, logic, were all shattered on him as the
waves break on Ailsa Craig.
Thus began dissension, decently conducted at first, between a father
indulgent hitherto and an affectionate son.
In this unfortunate collision of two strong and kindred natures, every
advantage was at present on the father's side: age, experience,
authority, resolution, hidden and powerful motives, to which my reader
even has no clue as yet; a purpose immutable and concealed. Add to these
a colder nature and a far colder affection; for Alfred loved his father
dearly.
At last, one day, the impetuous one lost his self-command, and said he
was a son, not a slave, and had little respect for Authority when afraid
or ashamed to appeal to Reason.
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