“Where are they?” was the question of Frederica. Her face was very pale, but her lips were firm, and her eyes gazed without faltering into those of her oppressor. “They will be present when the time comes. They will be present at the ceremony.” “Then they will never be present!” she answered, firmly. “Beware, girl, how you provoke me! You little know the power I have to punish—” “You have no power upon my voice or my heart.” “Ha!” The preacher interposed, “My daughter be persuaded. The consent of your parents should be enough to incline you to Captain Dunbar. They are surely the best judges of what is good for their children.” “I cannot and I will not marry with Captain Dunbar.” “Beware, Frederica,” said Dunbar, in a voice studiously subdued, but with great difficulty—the passion speaking out in his fiery looks, and his frame that trembled with its emotions. “‘Beware, Frederica!’ Of what should I beware? Your power? Your power may kill me. It can scarcely go farther. Know, then, that I am prepared to die sooner than marry you!” Though dreadfully enraged, the manner of Dunbar was still carefully subdued. His words were enunciated in tones of a laborious calm, as he replied, “You are mistaken in your notions of the extent of my power. It can reach where you little imagine. But I do not desire to use it. I prefer that you should give me your hand without restraint or coercion.” “That I have told you is impossible.” “Nay, it is not impossible.” “Solemnly, on my knees, I assure you that never can I, or will I, while I preserve my consciousness, consent to be your wife.” The action was suited to the words. She sunk on her knees as she spoke, and her hands were clasped and her eyes uplifted, as if taking a solemn oath to heaven. Dunbar rushed furiously toward her. “Girl!” he exclaimed, “will you drive me to madness. Will you compel me to do what I would not!” The preacher interposed. The manner of Dunbar was that of a man about to strike his enemy. Even Frederica closed her eyes, expecting the blow. “Let me endeavor to persuade the damsel, my brother,” was the suggestion of Veitch. Dunbar turned away, and went toward the window, leaving the field to the preacher. To all the entreaties of the latter Frederica made the same reply. “Though death stared me in the face, I should never marry that man!” “Death shall stare you in the face,” was the fierce cry of Dunbar. “Nay, you shall behold him in such terrors as you have never fancied yet, but you shall be brought to know and to submit to my power. Ho, there! Nesbitt, bring out the prisoner.”