If Evaline had imagined that Don Felix was really in danger, she would have been the first, at any risk to herself, to have urged him to flee. But she was firmly of opinion that the hazard he incurred would be but small; and, which was probably the case, that his fears, as he had expressed them, were more urgent and startling than the occasion would warrant. The conclusion she arrived at was decidedly to his disadvantage; and, comparing his conduct with that of Hildebrand, to whom she and her father were perfect strangers, but who, nevertheless, had befriended them at their need, and his own imminent peril, her unfavourable impression of his character was confirmed, and her previous regard for him entirely alienated. She had paused in her reply to his last remark; but her hesitation, if such it might be called, was only momentary, and, before Don Felix could make it available, she resumed her interrupted speech. “But thou mayst go, Sir,” she said, in an indignant tone. “I have no right to keep thee here, an’ it bring thee into danger.” “How could my staying avail thee, Evaline?” replied Don Felix. “I tell thee, Sir, thou canst go,” rejoined Evaline. “Ay,” returned Don Felix, knitting his brows, “I hear that the nameless stranger has returned, and he, mayhap, will win from thee more gracious words.” Evaline, without shrinking before his glance, coloured deeply at this insinuation. “I would have thee be guarded in what thou sayest, Don Felix,” she said, angrily, “or thou mayst rue it.” “Well, let it pass! let it pass!” answered Don Felix. “Tell me only, dost thou love him?” “This is not to be borne,” cried Evaline. “What warrant hast thou, Sir, to ask me such a question?” “Thy father hath promised me thy hand,” said Don Felix. “But the time presses on me now. When we meet again, we shall be more at liberty. Adieu!” Evaline, overpowered by her resentment, rendered no reply to his farewell. His announcement that her father designed to make him her husband, instead of conciliating her, furnished her with a new reason for holding him in dislike; and, under the pressure of that dislike, she suffered him to depart without a word. Her horror at the prospect which would arise from a marriage with him was unbounded. To be wedded to a man whom she could never love, and be inforced by her conscience to thoughts and feelings that, cling to them as she might, would be negatived by her heart, was nothing less than utter ruin and destruction. That her own father, whom she loved so tenderly, and for whose advantage she would gladly lay down her very life, would consign her to such a fate, she felt to be impossible. He might, it is true, have such a marriage in contemplation; but he would allow its settlement to rest with herself; and her resolution to oppose it, by the adoption of every means that equity would sanction, was fixed and unalterable.