The three scenes I am about to describe, took place very nearly as they are related. But first a few words of explanation. I feel that I have scarcely done justice to the character of Carolyn Clifton, in presenting her only by that cold and frosty crust of pride, which was but the superficial covering of a high-spirited, honorable nature. Her manners were cold and haughty—almost scornful and arrogant—it is but too true. And most people, her family included, supposed her to be destitute of sensibility. Perhaps she was lacking in warmth of affection for her immediate domestic circle. Her whole heart, with all its deep, profound, untold, unguessed devotion, was given to Archer Clifton. And while secretly bestowing upon him her entire, undivided love—she openly exacted a full, unshared return—an exclusive worship. In truth, in her proud, secret heart, she _was_ a little jealous of Clifton’s affection for his mother! _She_ did not love her _father_ so devotedly!—why should _Clifton_ worship his _mother_ so? To this jealousy she had never given breath, of course—indeed, to her own passionate love, she had never yet given word—preferring, in her high toned, maiden pride, to leave it to be inferred. She had never even _looked_ her jealousy, yet Mrs. Clifton, with the fine instinct of a woman and a mother, guessed it, and in her presence, skillfully eluded all demonstrations of affection from her son. And so well was the proud, exacting spirit of Miss Clifton known in her own family, that even the sprightly and mischievous outlaw, Zuleime, dared take no childish liberty with her sister’s betrothed. Thus it happened that Frank Fairfax’s unlucky jest had deeply offended the arrogant lady, the more especially as in that day, and in that neighborhood, the term “mountain-girl,” was too often the mildest name for an evil woman.—This fact, of course, Frank was not acquainted with. And, therefore it was, that he could not understand Carl Kavanagh’s excessive anxiety to send his young sister off the mountain; and could not in the least comprehend the intense indignation of Miss Clifton, and the difficulty Archer Clifton had in restoring her good humor. Even now, Carolyn Clifton had not forgotten the circumstance. And truth to tell, she was not well pleased at the continued interest displayed by Captain Clifton for his protégé, in bringing her and her family upon his mother’s plantation. But she was too proud again to allude to the subject. Carolyn Clifton had never known a care or a contradiction in her life. Her heart was a sound, strong, high, proud thing, and therefore, very like to break itself without fear, full tilt against the first impediment that opposed it. She was, besides, like all women of her fair complexion and fine tempered nerves—“a discerner of spirits.” And this quick, delicate, and sure perception never failed her, except when she was agitated and blinded by inward passion. Thus, perhaps, quite unconsciously, she read