As they entered, the countenance of Carolyn Clifton was flushed and eager. But when they had all got in, and were seated at the table, the color died out of her face, leaving her pale as marble. She merely trifled with her breakfast, pretending to eat, but no morsel passed her lips. When breakfast was over, and the company dispersed about the room, Carolyn almost reeled past her father in going out, and muttered with pale lips—“Father! Not come yet?”
“Never mind! Never mind, my dear! I will ride up to Hardbargain and fetch him.”
“Not for the universe, father! if he never comes!” replied the determined girl, plucking up her spirit, and sweeping proudly past and going into the piazza, where she sat, by-the-bye, with her eyes strained up the mountain-path by which he ought to come.
Frank got no opportunity of speaking alone with Zuleime. Old Mr. Clifton met him, however, when he came in from looking after his horse, and said, kindly patting him on the shoulder—
“Indeed, my dear boy, I don’t see the least necessity for your leaving us until after dinner. The stage coach doesn’t pass through L—— till eight o’clock at night, and five or six hours is ample time in which to reach there!”
“Yes, sir! I grant it, but I have to go this morning to Hardbargain to take leave of Mrs. Clifton, and of my friend Archer, if, indeed, the latter is not ordered on the same duty as myself, which, upon Miss Clifton’s account, I am inclined to fear!”
“Oh! Are you going to ride to Hardbargain? Then, perhaps, you will be pleased to learn that Zuleime is going there this morning, also, to assist Mrs. Clifton in putting the last finishing touches to her dress for this evening. And you can escort her!” said Georgia, smoothly gliding between them, and laying her head and hand with child-like freedom and affection upon the old man’s shoulder.
“Oh! I shall be very happy!” said Frank, “really happy—nay, overjoyed, intoxicated, with the prospect of an uninterrupted, farewell tête à tête with Zuleime.”
Old Mr. Clifton looked rather disappointed, but he was not of a very combative disposition—especially had he no inclination to contradict Georgia. Besides, he at once reflected that there was really no danger. They couldn’t be married in the neighborhood, because they could get no license, and no clergyman dare marry them without one. And it was not probable, or even possible, that Frank would elope with his daughter on the very eve of joining his regiment for a distant and dangerous service. In truth, he felt it was folly to cherish a misgiving. And yet he had misgivings, nor could he banish them—the utmost extent of his self-control was—not to act upon them—not to forbid their riding together. While Zuleime was putting on her hat and riding habit, Frank got the ear of the old gentleman once more, and for the last time. The old man had sunk into his broadbottomed flag chair in the hall, with his thick gold-headed stick between his knees, and his two hands and his chin resting upon it, when Frank stood before him with folded arms and head dropped upon his breast, and said—
“Mr. Clifton—once more, and for the last time, I ask you, and I implore you to answer me candidly. Is there any possibility that, under any change of circumstances, at any future time, I may hope for your consent to my union with Zuleime?”