“‘Patient, with her!’ Why, uncle, I wouldn’t have her a bit different from what she is! She’s charming, delightful, piquant, spicy! ‘Patient with her!’ Why, Gov’, I shall end in falling desperately in love with her! But I say, nunc! make the little virago fix our marriage day, will you? I have got to go out now and have Spitfire saddled; those fellows never draw the girth tight enough, or fix the bit firm enough—and I have to pull her head off to stop her sometimes, for she is the foul fiend incarnate when she gets to running. I’ll make Zule ride her sometime, to see which will get the better of the other. Say, Gov’, let me have my answer when I get back—do you hear.” And seizing up his riding-whip and cracking it against his boots, he went out. The old man boiled over—he clenched his teeth, and shook his fist—nay, shook his whole person, as he turned livid with rage; then his arms fell helplessly by his side—he sank into a chair—dropped his face upon his hands, and groaned aloud. He felt a pair of arms encircling his neck, and a sweet voice murmuring in his ear—and he raised his head to see Zuleime, and to hear her ask in loving tones— “Father, what is it?” He put his hand tenderly around her waist, and drew her gently to his knee, and said, while he gazed remorsefully into her face— “I am a villain, Zuleime! A hoary-headed villain!” Zuleime placed her hand upon his mouth to stop the dreadful words, and pressed her lips to his brow, with a look and manner of the profoundest love and veneration. “Yes, a hardened, persevering sinner, Zuleime! For I intend to persevere! I intend to give you to Charley Cabell, my child,” he said, gently removing her hand, and still gazing on her. He continued—“I love you so much, Zuleime! I love you so much! But, dear child. He’s coming! Dear child, tell me when you will marry Charley—Tuesday three weeks or four weeks? Don’t let it be longer than four weeks, my girl!” “Father! will you tell me _why_ you wish me to marry cousin Charles?” “I cannot! I cannot! _My child_, I cannot. It is for your good, I hope! Some day I will, perhaps. Tell me now, _that’s_ a good girl. What day will you give this little hand to cousin Charley?” “Father, I can’t possibly give an answer for a week yet, indeed, father, I cannot!” “Come, now, nonsense, my child; why can’t you? Here is Charley now! come!” “I cannot, father!”