pursued his object? Could I do so honourably, having promised to

assist his suit?--But it is all over, I and Mareschal have made
up our minds to die like men; it only remains to send you from

hence under a safe escort."
"Great powers! and is there no remedy?" said the terrified

young woman.
"None, my child," answered Vere, gently, "unless one which you

would not advise your father to adopt--to be the first to betray
his friends."

"O, no! no!" she answered, abhorrently yet hastily, as if to
reject the temptation which the alternative presented to her.

"But is there no other hope--through flight--through mediation
--through supplication?--I will bend my knee to Sir Frederick!"

"It would be a fruitless degradation; he is determined on his
course, and I am equallyresolved to stand the hazard of my fate.

On one condition only he will turn aside from his purpose, and
that condition my lips shall never utter to you."

"Name it, I conjure you, my dear father!" exclaimed Isabella.
"What CAN he ask that we ought not to grant, to prevent the

hideous catastrophe with which you are threatened?"
"That, Isabella," said Vere, solemnly, "you shall never know,

until your father's head has rolled on the bloody scaffold; then,
indeed, you will learn there was one sacrifice by which he might

have been saved."
"And why not speak it now?" said Isabella; "do you fear I would

flinch from the sacrifice of fortune for your preservation? or
would you bequeath me the bitter legacy of life-long remorse, so

oft as I shall think that you perished, while there remained one
mode of preventing the dreadfulmisfortune that overhangs you?"

"Then, my child," said Vere, "since you press me to name what I
would a thousand times rather leave in silence, I must inform you

that he will accept for ransom nothing but your hand in marriage,
and that conferred before midnight this very evening!"

"This evening, sir?" said the young lady, struck with horror at
the proposal--"and to such a man!--A man?--a monster, who could

wish to win the daughter by threatening the life of the father
--it is impossible!"

"You say right, my child," answered her father, "it is indeed
impossible; nor have I either the right or the wish to exact such

a sacrifice--It is the course of nature that the old should die
and be forgot, and the young should live and be happy."

"My father die, and his child can save him!--but no--no--my dear
father, pardon me, it is impossible; you only wish to guide me to

your wishes. I know your object is what you think my happiness,
and this dreadful tale is only told to influence my conduct and

subdue my scruples."
"My daughter," replied Ellieslaw, in a tone where offended

authority seemed to struggle with parental affection, "my child
suspects me of inventing a false tale to work upon her feelings!

Even this I must bear, and even from this unworthysuspicion I
must descend to vindicate myself. You know the stainless honour

of your cousin Mareschal--mark what I shall write to him, and
judge from his answer, if the danger in which we stand is not

real, and whether I have not used every means to avert it."
He sate down, wrote a few lines hastily, and handed them to

Isabella, who, after repeated and painful efforts, cleared her
eyes and head sufficiently to discern their purport.

"Dear cousin," said the billet, "I find my daughter, as I
expected, in despair at the untimely and premature urgency of Sir

Frederick Langley. She cannot even comprehend the peril in which
we stand, or how much we are in his power-- Use your influence

with him, for Heaven's sake, to modify proposals, to the
acceptance of which I cannot, and will not, urge my child against

all her own feelings, as well as those of delicacy and propriety,
and oblige your loving cousin,--R. V."

In the agitation of the moment, when her swimming eyes and dizzy
brain could hardly comprehend the sense of what she looked upon,

it is not surprising that Miss Vere should have omitted to remark
that this letter seemed to rest her scruples rather upon the form

and time of the proposed union, than on a rooted dislike to the
suitor proposed to her. Mr. Vere rang the bell, and gave the

letter to a servant to be delivered to Mr. Mareschal, and, rising
from his chair, continued to traverse the apartment in silence

and in great agitation until the answer was returned. He glanced
it over, and wrung the hand of his daughter as he gave it to her.

The tenor was as follows:--
"My dear kinsman, I have already urged the knight on the point

you mention, and I find him as fixed as Cheviot. I am truly
sorry my fair cousin should be pressed to give up any of her

maidenly rights. Sir Frederick consents, however, to leave the
castle with me the instant the ceremony is performed, and we will

raise our followers and begin the fray. Thus there is great hope
the bridegroom may be knocked on the head before he and the bride

can meet again, so Bell has a fair chance to be Lady Langley
A TRES BON MARCHE. For the rest, I can only say, that if she can

make up her mind to the alliance at all--it is no time for mere
maiden ceremony--my pretty cousin must needs consent to marry in

haste, or we shall all repent at leisure, or rather have very
little leisure to repent; which is all at present from him who

rests your affectionate kinsman,--R. M."
"P.S.--Tell Isabella that I would rather cut the knight's throat

after all, and end the dilemma that way, than see her constrained
to marry him against her will."

When Isabella had read this letter, it dropped from her hand, and
she would, at the same time, have fallen from her chair, had she

not been supported by her father.
"My God, my child will die!" exclaimed Vere, the feelings of

nature overcoming, even in HIS breast, the sentiments of selfish
policy; "look up, Isabella--look up, my child--come what will,

you shall not be the sacrifice--I will fall myself with the
consciousness I leave you happy--My child may weep on my grave,

but she shall not--not in this instance--reproach my memory." He
called a servant.--"Go, bid Ratcliffe come hither directly."

During this interval, Miss Vere became deadly pale, clenched her
hands, pressing the palms strongly together, closed her eyes, and

drew her lips with strong compression, as if the severe
constraint which she put upon her internal feelings extended even

to her muscular organization. Then raising her head, and drawing
in her breathstrongly ere she spoke, she said, with firmness,

--"Father, I consent to the marriage."
"You shall not--you shall not,--my child--my dear child--you

shall not embrace certain misery to free me from uncertain
danger."

So exclaimed Ellieslaw; and, strange and inconsistent beings that
we are! he expressed the real though momentary feelings of his

heart.
"Father," repeated Isabella, "I will consent to this marriage."

"No, my child, no--not now at least--we will humble ourselves to
obtain delay from him; and yet, Isabella, could you overcome a

dislike which has no real foundation, think, in other respects,
what a match!--wealth--rank--importance."

"Father!" reiterated Isabella, "I have consented."
It seemed as if she had lost the power of saying anything else,

or even of varying the phrase which, with such effort, she had
compelled herself to utter.

"Heaven bless thee, my child!--Heaven bless thee!--And it WILL
bless thee with riches, with pleasure, with power."

Miss Vere faintly entreated to be left by herself for the rest of
the evening.

"But will you not receive Sir Frederick?" said her father,
anxiously.

"I will meet him," she replied, "I will meet him--when I must,
and where I must; but spare me now."