Sir Foster winked and tapped his boot at the sight of his lady, but he offered no opinion during the dialogue which ensued between the father and daughter. It seemed as if Sir Foster Kerrison had no power to understand, or feeling to be interested in any thing which had not a direct reference to himself. Sir John Wetheral led Clara to a chair, and spoke in tones of deep sorrow upon the subject which concerned so nearly her respectability and happiness.
"I did not think, Lady Kerrison, I should be doomed, by a child's forgetfulness to her duty, to become a party against her. Report has loudly declared what I have unfortunately witnessed more than once at Ripley—that it has become the scene of a wife's altercation with her husband."
"It is the scene of a brute's treatment of an unfortunate creature in his power," retorted Clara—"it is the scene of violence, blasphemy, and disgust. I desire to be taken from this hateful place, and I will never see it more!"
"What has made you so forgetful of the duty you decided so rashly upon assuming, Clara, when you fled from your father's house?..."
"I know I did—I know I did!" shrieked Clara—"God help me! I did leave my father's house, but my mother helped my flight, and beset me with her persuasions to marry that monster. She caused the mischief, and she must bear the blame. Who else had power to lead me into this horrible snare, or direct my thoughts to wretchedness?"
Sir John Wetheral was greatly distressed.
"Clara, it matters little now who guided you into this luckless marriage. You have vowed, at the altar, to obey the man you married, and your submission to Sir Foster is your duty and your vow."
"I vow to detest him all the days of my life!" answered Clara, with scornful energy.
"Then," said her father, rising, "farewell, Clara. I have no feelings to throw away upon a disobedient wife—I can be of no use."