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CHAPTER V.
Nothing could exceed the grief and anger of the elder Mr. Gansevoort on learning the conduct of his son. The first burst of his resentment fell upon poor Ellen, whom he had long suspected of entertaining disloyal views, and who he now fully believed had been chiefly instrumental in forming the sentiments of her brother. Her continued repugnance to the addresses of Major Bender, had already incensed her father most highly, and, his anger being now literally without bound, he notified her, in the most peremptory manner, that she must prepare for her immediate marriage with that gentleman. In vain did she expostulate. “You alone,” he said, “remain to inherit an ample estate, derived from the bounty of a generous sovereign. Never shall it pass to rebellious hands. Son, or son-in-law, never shall a traitorous subject lord it in these halls.”
Ellen was not without the most serious alarm. She knew well her father’s firmness and her own helplessness. She did not doubt his power, in conjunction with Sir Philip, to execute his threat in relation to her marriage. The times were favorable to almost every scheme of iniquity and fraud. Indeed, an event similar to the one threatened, and which had proved almost tragical in its termination, had but recently taken place in the city. There was none to whom she could look for help. Her mother who alone had ever possessed any real influence over the iron will of her other parent, had been many years deceased. She was literally confined, a prisoner in her room, excepting when compelled to descend to the parlor to receive the visits of Sir Philip, who did not fail, on his part, to use every art and blandishment which a life of gallantry had placed at his command to overcome her dislike. He painted in the most alluring colors her reception in England as his bride; the sensation which her beauty would make in the highest circles, and the prospect of his own expected elevation to the peerage. It is needless to say that his assiduities only increased her abhorrence. At length he assumed a sterner tone. He claimed her hand as a matter of right, alledging that prior to her brother’s arrival, her encouragement of his addresses had been such as to constitute an implied contract of marriage. This assertion was palpably false, but the change which he supposed Francis had wrought in her political sentiments, he thought would give color to it. The fulfillment of that contract, he said, he had a right to enforce. Her father was anxious for their immediate marriage, and if she persisted in interposing her childish objections, means could readily be found to overcome every obstacle.
“Do not think,” he said, “that when every thing conspires to favor me, I will be thwarted by a foolish whim. But let me beseech you to lay aside your scruples; and if your regard for me is not now all that you would desire, doubt not it will become so. The attachment which commences after marriage, if less romantic in its character, is often the most permanent. If my society is now displeasing to you, you shall be relieved from it at once, until your feelings become tranquillized. Business of the utmost importance calls me immediately from town, and my absence may continue for several weeks. Let but the ceremony be performed—”
“Never! Sir Philip Bender,” she exclaimed with emphasis, starting from her seat, which he had gradually approached. “It shall never be. The God of Heaven will protect me. I will never be your bride.”
A flush of mingled mortification and anger reddened the cheek of Sir Philip. Pausing a moment to recover his self-command, he coolly replied,
“My bride you certainly will be, although I can scarcely find it in my heart to deprive the stage of so admirable an actress.” Having thus spoken, he formally took leave, but with an expression of countenance that bespoke the most determined resolution.
Frightened by threats, galled by taunts, every nerve strung to its utmost tension with excitement, Miss Gansevoort hastily retired to her room, where for many minutes her violent sobs, and the convulsive heavings of her breast, alone testified her irrepressible emotion.
On the afternoon of the ensuing day, Colonel Gansevoort, and his intended son-in-law, were seated together in a private parlor in the mansion of the former. A profound silence existed, excepting the noise occasioned by the scratching of Sir Philip’s pen, who was diligently engaged in writing.