“What would you say, then,” said Miss Vere, in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the younger sister, who rode before them, the narrow path not admitting of their moving all three abreast,—“What would you say, my dearest Lucy, if it were proposed to you to endure his company for life?”
“Say? I would say, NO, NO, NO, three times, each louder than another, till they should hear me at Carlisle.”
“And Sir Frederick would say then, nineteen nay-says are half a grant.”
“That,” replied Miss Lucy, “depends entirely on the manner in which the nay-says are said. Mine should have not one grain of concession in them, I promise you.”
“But if your father,” said Miss Vere, “were to say,—Thus do, or—”
“I would stand to the consequences of his OR, were he the most cruel father that ever was recorded in romance, to fill up the alternative.”
“And what if he threatened you with a catholic aunt, an abbess, and a cloister?”
“Then,” said Miss Ilderton, “I would threaten him with a protestant son-in-law, and be glad of an opportunity to disobey him for conscience’ sake. And now that Nancy is out of hearing, let me really say, I think you would be excusable before God and man for resisting this preposterous match by every means in your power. A proud, dark, ambitious man; a caballer against the state; infamous for his avarice and severity; a bad son, a bad brother, unkind and ungenerous to all his relatives—Isabel, I would die rather than have him.”
“Don’t let my father hear you give me such advice,” said Miss Vere, “or adieu, my dear Lucy, to Ellieslaw Castle.”
“And adieu to Ellieslaw Castle, with all my heart,” said her friend, “if I once saw you fairly out of it, and settled under some kinder protector than he whom nature has given you. O, if my poor father had been in his former health, how gladly would he have received and sheltered you, till this ridiculous and cruel persecution were blown over!”