“Fidelity,” said Elsie in a low voice.
General Garnet laughed tauntingly, and continued without further notice of her reply:
“The young man who was to inherit the estate was to have the bride. It mattered nothing to me whether that were Magnus or Lionel; but the hand of my heiress was to be bestowed upon the heir of Hemlock Hollow. That was the treaty. So I reminded old Mr. Hardcastle. He remembered that it really was so, and fully and entirely agreed with me. Young Lionel Hardcastle is also conformable. You only are contumacious. But I have pledged myself to your consent, and, by Heaven, you shall redeem my pledge. Listen, minion! You never leave this room until you leave it as the wife of Lionel Hardcastle. Curious place for a marriage ceremony! but, come, it does not matter; we can have the wedding afterward. You were to be the wife of Dr. Hardcastle, as you very respectfully call him, on Thursday week. Ha! ha! ha! Come, what do you think of your prospects of marrying him now?”
“Father, as far as my marriage with Dr. Hardcastle on Thursday week is concerned, my fate has gone out of my hands and into God’s! I have no more to say about that.”
“Ha! ha! I should think not. Not quite so confident as you were an hour ago, hey?”
“But, father, forgive me for reminding you that as far as marriage with any other person is concerned, that is entirely in my hands for refusal. Church and State very properly make the bride’s consent an indispensable preliminary to marriage, and even a vital part of the marriage ceremony. And my consent can never be gained to marry Lionel.”
“Ha! my pretty piece of stubbornness, we shall see. Pray, do you know—have you ever felt the power of solitary imprisonment, cold, and hunger, in bringing a contumacious girl to docility?”
Elsie’s face flushed, more for him than herself.
He continued:
“For all those mighty engines can I spring upon you! And will I, by Satan and all his hosts!”