sition to commands that originated in whim,
caprice, and selfishness. Even when countenanced, however, by the
authority of her other parent, and absolutely urged against compliance
with injunctions that were often cruel and oppressive, she preferred, at
any risk, to accommodate herself to them rather than become the cause of
estrangement or ill-feeling between him and her mother, or her mother's
friends. Such a charge as this, then, was not only ungenerous, but, as
he must have well known, utterly unfounded.

"I do not wish, sir," she replied, "to make any allusion to the past,
unless simply to say, that, if severe and trying instances of obedience
have been exacted from me, under very peculiar circumstances, I trust I
have not been found wanting in my duty to you."

"That obedience, Miss Gourlay, which is reluctantly given, had better
been forgotten."

"You have forced me to remember it in my own defence, papa; but I am not
conscious that it was reluctant."

"You contradict me, madam."

"No, sir; I only take the liberty of setting you right. My obedience,
if you recollect, was cheerful; for I did not wish to occasion ill-will
between you and mamma--my dear mamma."

"I believe you considered that you had only one parent, Miss Gourlay?"

"That loved me, sir, you would add. But, papa, why should there be such
a dialogue as this between you and your daughter--your orphan
daughter, and your only child? It is not natural, Something, I see, has
discomposed your temper; I am ignorant of it."

"I made you aware, some time ago, that the Earl of Cullamore and I had
entered into a matrimonial arrangement between you and his son, Lord
Dunroe."

A deadly paleness settled upon her countenance at these words--a
paleness the more obvious, as it contrasted so strongly with the
previous rich hue of her complexion, which had been already heightened
by the wanton harshness of her father's manner. The baronet's eyes, or
rather his eye, was fixed upon her with a severity which this incident
rapidly increased.

"You grow pale, Miss Gourlay; and there seems to be something in this
allusion to Lord Dunroe that is painful to you. How is this, madam? I do
not understand it."

"I am, indeed, pale, and I feel that I am; for what is there that could
drive the hue of modesty from the cheek of a daughter, sooner than
the fact of her own father purposing to unite her to a profligate? You
seldom jest, papa; but I hope you do so now."

"I