“I do not think of it at all! I see its excellence at a glance. I spring to meet it! I embrace it! I hug it to my heart! Oh, Mrs. Clifton, you are our deliverer! Oh, Mrs. Clifton! you are the great-grand-daughter of Oliver Cromwell, the general, the conqueror, the deliverer, the statesman, the politician, the diplomatist, the everything at an emergency!—You’ll see how gloriously I’ll execute your orders! You’ll make me Lieutenant-General when you are Lady Protector of the Commonwealth!” exclaimed the old man, starting up and clapping his hat upon his head, and joking like a boy, for very joy that his difficulty was smoothed. He shook hands with Mrs. Clifton, begging her not to be late, as he should want the encouragement of her presence in order to enable him to make his speech. Then he mounted his horse, and rode rapidly away down the mountain-path to Clifton. When he arrived at home, he found the lawn already covered with carriages, horses and servants, and the piazza, halls, and all the first floor rooms, thronged with company. He passed through them all, bowing right and left and hastened to his daughter’s room. Mr. Clifton had some doubts about getting his proud daughter to consent to the wise plan suggested by his sister-in-law. But he meant to carry his consent by a coup-de-main. So he pushed open her door, burst into her chamber, and threw himself, puffing, blowing, and perspiring, into the nearest chair, exclaiming— “He’s gone, Carolyn! He’s clear gone, confound him!” Carolyn drew nearer her father, and gazed into his face, to read there the confirmation of what she scarcely could believe. The old man wiped his streaming face with his handkerchief, and stuffed it again into his pocket, exclaiming— “Yes! he’s gone! gone! gone! gone!” Then opening wide his arms, he murmured, “But never mind, my dear child! you’ve got your old father left to love you, and to avenge you, too, if needful! Don’t grieve! Come to my bosom! Don’t grieve!” “‘_Grieve_,’ sir!” exclaimed the imperious girl, elevating her queenly head, “we do not _grieve_ for a traitor! We pronounce sentence on him, and execute it!” “True! true! my noble girl! There spoke your mother’s daughter! Yet—” suddenly cried the old gentleman, as by a quick recollection and revulsion of feeling, “what a devil of a kettle of fish this is, my dear! Blame the fellow, what are we to do? Deuce take the man—what are we to say to the people down stairs? _Say_, Carolyn! Woman’s wit is quick! Can you think of anything?” Carolyn stood in proud and bitter thought for some minutes, and then she smiled, with a scornful smile, and said— “Do nothing, sir! Let all go on as was planned! Let the band of music take its place in the saloon! Let the wedding guests come, and be received! And _then_ leave all the rest to me! And now, my dear father, pray excuse me, as it is time to dress.”