The day arrived. A trembling bride, and an impassioned lover faintly articulated the awful vow. Lord Avondale thought himself the happiest of men; and Calantha, though miserable at the moment, felt that, on earth, she loved but him. In the presence of her assembled family, they uttered the solemn engagement, which bound them through existence to each other; and though Calantha was deeply affected, she did not regret the sacred promise she had made. When Lord Avondale, however, approached to take her from her father’s arms—when she heard that the carriages awaited, which were to bear them to another residence, nor love, nor force prevailed. “This is my home,” she cried: “these are my parents. Share all I have—dwell with me where I have ever dwelt; but think not that I can quit them thus. No spirit of coquetry—no petty airs, learned or imagined, suggested this violent and reiterated exclamation—I will not go.” I will not—was sufficient as she imagined, to change the most determined character; and when she found that force was opposed to her violence, terror, nay abhorrence took possession of her mind; and it was with shrieks of despair she was torn from her father’s bosom. “Unhappy Avondale!” said Sophia, as she saw her thus borne away, “may that violent spirit grow tame, and tractable, and may Calantha at length prove worthy of such a husband!” This exclamation was uttered with a feeling which mere interest for her cousin could not have created. In very truth, Sophia loved Lord Avondale. And Alice MacAllain, who heard the prayer with surprise and indignation, added fervently:—“that he may make her happy—that he may know the value of the treasure he possesses—this is all I ask of heaven.—Oh! my mistress—my protectress—my Calantha—what is there left me on earth to love, now thou art gone? Whatever they may say of thy errors even those errors are dearer to my heart, than all the virtues thou has left behind.” CHAPTER XVII.