“Not for the world! Not for ten thousand worlds!” exclaimed the proud girl, vehemently.
“Ah, then I don’t know what to do with you—go to bed, and try to sleep, and if you can’t do that, ring for the housekeeper, and make her give you some of her nostrums, to put you to sleep! And go into a state of non-existence, that shall obliterate the time between this and to-morrow morning. And to-morrow, I’ll warrant Archer will be here to breakfast with us, and to beg your pardon for the sins that you committed! for that’s the end of all lovers’ quarrels! No matter who’s right and who’s wrong—who’s sinned against, and who’s sinning, the gentleman has to do the penance! There! kiss me, and be off with you!—and hark ye, Carolyn! don’t forget to kneel down and pray Heaven to give you the grace of a meeker temper!”
Carolyn Clifton went to her room and retired to bed, to heat her pillow with her feverish head, to wet it with her hot tears—to sigh, and groan, and toss, and sob all night. This bitter, bitter quarrel, was the first trouble the girl had ever had in all her favored life. And she was impatient with it, indignant at it. She was angry with herself for her injustice and indelicacy; angry with Clifton for not forcing upon her the explanation she would not consent to receive, but which, had she been forced to hear, would have arrested the quarrel, and saved this cruel suffering; angry at the tedious night, that lingered so long, keeping her in agonizing suspense; angry at the morning, that delayed its coming, and bringing her the peace and joy of a reconciliation. And so she tossed, and groaned, and suffered, like one in high fever, while the long, long night was slowly, slowly passing away.
In the meantime Captain Clifton had ridden away, not so angry as shocked, repulsed and alienated by the unprecedented behaviour of his lady-love. He disliked all demonstrations of emotion, and detested all exhibitions of evil passion in a woman. It was the high-bred delicacy and refinement—the queenly placidity—the cool reserve and stately dignity of Carolyn Clifton, that had attracted his first admiration. And though he sometimes gallantly complained of her cruelty, he would not have had her manner one degree warmer. But now this fair, cool, peerless queen o’er herself and her emotions, had yielded to passions that might govern a serving-maid—to suspicion, jealousy, and fierce anger—had descended to virulent, vituperative abuse! And, henceforth, she was discrowned, and degraded from her pride of place.
He arrived at Hardbargain—gave his horse in charge of a servant, and entered the house.
The candles were just lighted in the parlor, and Mrs. Clifton and her favorite Kate sat sewing by the work-stand. As he entered, Kate arose as usual with the intention of withdrawing, but he signed to her with his hand, and said in a tone of command—
“No—stay, Catherine, and once for all give up that habit of retiring as soon as myself, or any other visitor enters.”
The young girl returned to her seat and resumed her work. Then with a sort of spirit of persecution upon him, as one would think, he went to the maiden and inquired, impatiently—
“Why do you always do that? Why do you always rise and leave as soon as any one enters the room?”