His sister, he strove in vain to appease:—Lady Margaret was in no temper of mind to admit of his excuses. Her son had arrived and again left the castle, without even seeing Calantha; and when the Duke attempted to pacify Lady Margaret, she turned indignantly from him, declaring that if he had the weakness to yield to the arts and stratagems of a spoiled and wayward child, she would instantly depart from under his roof, and never see him more. No one event could have grieved him so much, as this open rupture with his sister. Yet his child’s continued danger turned his thoughts from this, and every other consideration:—he yielded to her wishes:—he could not endure the sight of her misery:—he had from infancy never refused her slightest request:—and could he now, on so momentous an occasion, could he now force her inclinations and constrain her choice. The kind intentions of the Duke were however defeated. Stung to the soul, Calantha would not hear of marriage with Lord Avondale:—pride, a far stronger feeling than love, at that early period, disdained to receive concessions even from a father:—and a certain moroseness began to mark her character, as she slowly recovered from her illness, which never had been observed in it before. She became austere and reserved; read nothing but books of theology and controversy; seemed even to indulge an inclination for a monastic life; was often with Miss St. Clare; and estranged herself from all other society. “Let her have her will,” said Lady Margaret, “it is the only means of curing her of this new fancy.”—The Duke however thought otherwise: he was greatly alarmed at the turn her disposition seemed to have taken, and tried every means in his power to remedy and counteract it.—A year passed thus away; and the names of Buchanan and Lord Avondale were rarely or never mentioned at the castle; when one evening, suddenly and unexpectedly, the latter appeared there to answer in person, a message which the Duke had addressed to him, through the Admiral, during his daughter’s illness. Lord Avondale had been abroad since last he had parted from Calantha; he had gained the approbation of the army in which he served; and what was better, he knew that he deserved it. His uncle’s letter had reached him when still upon service. He had acted upon the staff; he now returned to join his own regiment which was quartered at Leitrim; and his first care, before he proceeded upon the duties of his profession, was to seek the Duke, and to claim, with diminished fortune and expectations, the bride his early fancy had chosen.—“I will not marry him—I will not see him:”—These were the only words Calantha pronounced, as they led her into the room where he was conversing with her father.