“Do not think,” he said, “that when every thing conspires to favor me, I will be thwarted by a foolish whim. But let me beseech you to lay aside your scruples; and if your regard for me is not now all that you would desire, doubt not it will become so. The attachment which commences after marriage, if less romantic in its character, is often the most permanent. If my society is now displeasing to you, you shall be relieved from it at once, until your feelings become tranquillized. Business of the utmost importance calls me immediately from town, and my absence may continue for several weeks. Let but the ceremony be performed—” “_Never!_ Sir Philip Bender,” she exclaimed with emphasis, starting from her seat, which he had gradually approached. “It shall _never_ be. The God of Heaven will protect me. I will _never_ be your bride.” A flush of mingled mortification and anger reddened the cheek of Sir Philip. Pausing a moment to recover his self-command, he coolly replied, “My bride you certainly will be, although I can scarcely find it in my heart to deprive the stage of so admirable an actress.” Having thus spoken, he formally took leave, but with an expression of countenance that bespoke the most determined resolution. Frightened by threats, galled by taunts, every nerve strung to its utmost tension with excitement, Miss Gansevoort hastily retired to her room, where for many minutes her violent sobs, and the convulsive heavings of her breast, alone testified her irrepressible emotion. On the afternoon of the ensuing day, Colonel Gansevoort, and his intended son-in-law, were seated together in a private parlor in the mansion of the former. A profound silence existed, excepting the noise occasioned by the scratching of Sir Philip’s pen, who was diligently engaged in writing. Answering the violent ringing of a bell, the maid of Miss Gansevoort made her appearance. “Is my daughter ready?” inquired Col. G. “Please, sir,” responded the maid, “Miss Ellen is in a dreadful way. She pulls out the roses—” “A curse upon the roses!” exclaimed the other. “Fling them into the fire, and see that she is dressed and in the adjoining parlor within ten minutes.” “If you please, sir, she is almost ready now. Every few minutes she gets faint-like, and then we go on.” Entirely unmoved by this statement, Bender deliberately finished, and laid upon the table a neatly embossed marriage certificate, ready for signature. “Your priest can be depended on, I hope, Sir Philip?” inquired Col. Gansevoort. The other smiled as he slowly replied, “Doctor Felton owed his appointment as navy chaplain to me, ten years ago, at a time when he had not lost more than half of his faculties. His sight is dim now at the best, and in a judiciously darkened room, will be found all that can be desired; and as to hearing, he has laid no claim to the use of that organ within my memory. But even were both senses perfect, I do not think he would either see or hear more than I desire.”