Ernest could not be blind to the frequency of Xerxes’ visits, and he determined to put an end to them by a marriage at an early day as he could prevail upon Clara to appoint. He had not doubted her constancy, but since the ball he dreaded the consequences of the comparisons between himself and his rival, which it was but natural the young lady should institute. Accordingly, the next time he called, he directed the conversation to their engagement, and said earnestly: “I hope, my dear Clara, you will appoint the day for our union. This you have not yet done. You have only said it would be in the next few weeks, which is indefinite. I can see no use in waiting longer. Please make the day as near in the future as possible.” Clara’s beautiful face at once assumed an expression of ominous seriousness but she spoke promptly and directly: “I am thinking of asking you to release me from that hasty engagement.” Ernest turned pale. He made no attempt to conceal his amazement and anguish. For a moment he sat as if petrified, or as if he did not clearly understand her. Surely she could not mean what these words signified: he could not believe it, for did she not love him? Why break the engagement? O, she must be tantalizing him for sport--yes, that was all. He would humor this pleasantry. Then he tried to smile, but it was an expressionless distortion of his face. “You want a divorce, do you?” he asked in a husky voice. “Well, that will be hard to get.” “I said nothing about a divorce,” she replied in a cold manner. “You did not use that word, I know, but an engagement, Clara, solemnly entered into is equivalent to marriage in the sight of God. You are mine; how can I release you?” “I see no difficulty in the way whatever. I’m not yours: I only promised to be.” “Well, are you going to deliberately violate your promise, your solemn vow, which God witnessed? How can you do such a thing? Did you mean what you said?” “Certainly, I did, but I have changed my mind: I don’t want to marry you.” “O, Clara, Clara,” he cried in agony, “you crush me into the dust! You do not mean what you say--tell me, you do not mean it. You merely want to tantalize me. Well, dear, do you not see that I cannot endure it? I never could appreciate jokes. Come, you have had enough sport. Be serious, and appoint the day for our marriage.” “Mr. Edgefield,” she said firmly, “I’m not joking; I’m in earnest, and I ask you to release me from the engagement.” “Ask God to release you,” cried Ernest wildly, “and see if He will do it. You are mine, Clara. How can I give you up? It would be a sin.” “O, pshaw!” said Clara contemptuously, “I see no sin in it. I’ll never marry you. Don’t you understand that?” “I see how it is,” suddenly cried Ernest, “that tippling fop has deceived you. You surely would not think of rejecting me for a stranger whose moral character is bad? You are too wise for that. Your father will not permit you to be so foolish.”