"Then you will not marry him, as I command you?"
"No—I cannot."
"And you won't give up being a Methodist?"
"I cannot help being what I am. I will not go to church, papa, anywhere that you forbid me."
She spoke low, endeavouring to keep calm. The Squire got up out of his chair. He had no calmness to keep, and he spoke loud.
"Have you taught your sister to think there is any harm in dancing?"
"In dancing parties, I suppose I have."
"And you think they are wicked, and won't go to them?"
"I do not like them. I cannot go to them, papa; for I am a servant of Christ; and I can do no work for my Master there at all; but if I go, I bear witness that they are good."
"Now hear me, Eleanor Powle—" the Squire spoke with suppressed rage—"No such foolery will I have in my house, and no such disrespect to people that are better than you. I told you what would come of all this if you did not give it up—and I stand to my word. You come here to-morrow morning, prepared to put your hand in Mr. Carlisle's and let him know that you will be his obedient servant—or, you quit my house. To-morrow morning you do one thing or the other. And when you go, you will stay. I will never have you back, except as Mr. Carlisle's wife. Now go! I don't want your paper any more."