“It would less become me, sir, to listen to the history you would tell.” Then subsiding into a mood of contemptuous irony, she said, with a sneering smile—“Believe me, sir, I feel more disgusted at your bad taste than shocked at your sin, or wronged by your bad faith. _A mountain-girl!_ Truly, I am humiliated to think so base a rival should have moved me—even to contempt. I am dishonored, sir, in that. Had your wandering fancy fixed upon one of my cousins—one of the elegant Misses Cabell, I might have mourned your infidelity, but should have been saved this deep humiliation for myself, and this utter contempt for you—but _a mountain-girl_! A coarse, ignorant, ill-bred mountain-girl! _Oh-h-h!_ that you should have stooped, or I should have been moved, by so low a creature as that! I could bury my head with shame!” “Carolyn!” he said, sternly, “permit me to inform you—” “No, SIR!” she exclaimed, scorn writhing her lips, indignation flashing from her eyes—“No, SIR! You shall tell me NOTHING! It would ill-become my mother’s daughter to listen to the revolting history of—your base amour with the mountain-girl!” Yes, in the bitterness of her passion, she forgot her maiden delicacy, and spoke those shameful words to his astonished ears! “Miss Clifton!” he replied, severely, folding his arms and gazing sternly and steadily into her blushing face—for she was already blushing for her temerity—until she quailed before him—“Miss Clifton, you mistake my purpose—I have no intention, _now_, to explain anything—the man who would condescend to _deny_ so base a crime as you have charged upon _me_—is not too high or pure to commit it. Therefore, I deign to say nothing for myself. But for the admirable girl that you have slandered—I will say _this_: Had a _man_ dared to asperse the fair fame of Catherine Kavanagh—though that man had been my bosom friend—he should have expiated his falsehood with his life:—Had any other _woman_ breathed a breath of slander on her—her husband or her father should have atoned for the fault:—For yourself, Miss Clifton—you shall retract your words, before ever I shall call you wife!” This roused her passion to ungovernable fury. Turning ghastly white, while the light seemed to leap from her eyes, she exclaimed, in a low, deep, intense tone— “DEATH, sir! Do you threaten me? Insult me in my father’s house? Leave it! You are unworthy to stand upon this floor! BEGONE!” And reaching out her hand, she seized the bell cord, and rang a peal that presently brought a servant to the door. The advent of a third party, though that party was a menial, constrained the lady to remember herself. Miss Clifton was her cold, serene, dignified self again. Turning to the servant, she said, haughtily, “Show Captain Clifton to the front door, and bring round his horse, instantly. He returns to Hardbargain, to-night.” And she bowed to Clifton, and calmly and imperiously walked from the room.