“I have denied thee to wed Don Felix,” pursued Evaline. “In good sooth, my heart was then distract, but I will deny it thee no longer. Thou shalt give me to him, father.” “Our Lady forbid, my poor child!” faltered Sir Edgar. “Thou shalt! thou shalt!” cried Evaline, trying to smile. “What, wouldst turn on me with mine own waywardness, and cross me for being undutiful?” Perhaps, Sir Edgar saw, in spite of her smile, which was really more distressing than tears, how biting a sorrow was wringing her tortured heart, and so determined to yield to whatever she should propose. Whatever might be the motive that influenced him, however, he caught her round the waist as she ceased speaking, and, thus holding her, drew her up to his bosom. “Be it as thou wilt!” he said, in a broken voice. “First, I will write to Captain Clifford,” resumed Evaline, “and advise him, with what brevity I can, what he is charged withal. This were no more than common justice.” “No more,” said Sir Edgar. “But where wilt thou write to him, dear?” “To the lodging of Sir Walter Raleigh,” answered Evaline. “I had a missive from Sir Walter this morning,” said Sir Edgar, “enclosing a pass for Felix, but he makes no mention, in the few words he hath writ, of Captain Clifford.” “No doubt, they be both much occupied with the new levies, preparing against the armada,” observed Evaline. “I will advertise him, if he do not clear himself of the charges in ten days’ time, he shall never see me more. When that space has passed, I will hold myself free from him, and be ready to wed Felix.” “’Tis resolved like thyself, and let it be so,” replied Sir Edgar. “The letter should be despatched to him with all speed.” “I will write it incontinently,” returned Evaline. Accordingly, she repaired to the contiguous table, and there, sitting down, entered on the task forthwith. Her despair, instead of distracting her, marshalled her thoughts into order; her hand was as steady as marble; and, writing straight on, she shortly brought her letter to a close. When she had thus finished it, she carefully read it over; and then, though without speaking, offered it for the perusal of Sir Edgar. “I cannot read it,” cried Sir Edgar. “Seal it up!” She felt inclined to read it over again as she drew it back; but fearful that, as he had observed her read it over once, Sir Edgar might deem her irresolute, she forbore, and hastily sealed it up. Then, with a hand much less steady, she superscribed it, and gave it over to Sir Edgar. “Art resolved on this, Evaline?” asked that person, as he accepted the letter. She could not trust herself to speak; for the effort she had made to appear composed, and by which she had been sustained so long, was now spent, and her heart was bursting. By a desperate struggle, however, she forced her lips into a smile, and nodded affirmatively. “I will despatch the missive at once, then,” said Sir Edgar.