e not high. I have thought little of marriage, and till I am
sought, have no wish to leave this sequestered spot, believe me."

"And who, think you, will seek you here? You had better banish such idle
hopes, for they will end in disappointment."

"Be it so, then," Lilla replied, calmly, though had her father been near
her, he would have seen her cheek suddenly become pale and her eyelids
quiver, as if by the pressure of a tear. "Is marriage a thing so
indispensable, that you would compel me to leave you, my dear father?"

"To you it is indispensable; when once you have lost the name you now
hold, the world and all its pleasures will be spread before you, the
stain will be remembered no more; your life need not be spent in gloom
and exile like this."

"And what, then, will become of you?"

"Of me! who cares. What am I, and what have I ever been to either of my
children, that they should care for me? I scorn the mere act of duty,
and which of you can love me? no, Lilla, not even you."

"Father, you do me wrong; oh, do not speak such cruel words," said
Lilla, springing from her seat, and flinging herself on her knees by her
father's side. "Have I indeed so failed in testimonies of love, that you
can for one instant believe it is only the duty of a child I feel and
practise? Oh, my father, do me not such harsh injustice; could you read
my inmost heart, you would see how full it is of love and reverence for
you, though I have not always courage to express it. Ask of me any,
every proof but this, and I will do it, but, oh, do not command me to
wed Mr. Clapperton; why, oh, why would you thus seek to send me from
you?"

"I speak but for your happiness, Lilla;" his voice was somewhat
softened. "You cannot be happy now with one so harsh, irritable, cruel
as, I know, I am too often."

"And would you compare the occasional irritation proceeding from the
failing health of a beloved father, with the fierce passion and constant
impatience of a husband, with whom I could not have one idea in common,
whom I could neither love nor reverence, to whom even my duty would be
wretchedness? oh, my father, can you compare the two? Think of Mrs.
Greville: Philip Clapperton ever reminds me of Mr. Greville, of what at
least he must have been in his youth, and would you sentence me to all
the misery that has been poor Mrs. Greville's lot and her children's
likewise?"

"You do not know enough of Clapperton to judge him thus harshly, Lilla;