“You’re a fool, Carolyn! A vain, jealous little fool, that’s all! Nay, now!—no airs with your old father! According to your own showing, it has been Archer that has been ‘contemned, despised, scorned, insulted, outraged, rejected!’ and the rest of it—and upon no just grounds, either! as I can easily prove to you. I am very much mortified—deeply humbled, indeed, to hear that my daughter, a highborn young maiden, should have forgotten her feminine pride and delicacy, and approached her lover with an intimacy with a mountain-girl—a race of women, with very few exceptions so low and wretched, that a young lady should ignore their very existence. Oh, my conscience, Carolyn! why do you not cover your face, and die with humiliation? I do not wonder a man of such high honor and delicate sensibility as Archer Clifton, should have been shocked and disgusted. Nay, my child!—no airs with me! No tossing of the head, and curling of the lip with me! I am your father. You must listen to me. You have done Archer the most outrageous injustice. And your jealousy is as ridiculous as it is indelicate. In the first place, this girl, though brought up on the mountain, comes of respectable, if humble parentage, and possesses, by all accounts, a higher toned moral and intellectual nature than most young _ladies_ are endowed with. She is as far removed from vice as my own Carolyn! In the second place, she is the protégé of _Mrs._ Clifton, as well as of Captain Clifton, and enjoys that excellent lady’s esteem and friendship, spending half of every day in her company, except when visitors are at the house. In the third and last place, she is not a beautiful woman, but an ugly child—being scarcely fourteen years of age, and having the ugliest face I ever saw in my life—at least _I_ think so, though Mrs. Clifton says it is a noble face. It has large features, and is full of strength and expression, like a boy’s. There, now, that’s all! Now! what do you think of yourself?” During this short explanation, Carolyn’s beautiful countenance had changed expression as rapidly and as variously as during the lay of the minstrel the harp changes and varies its notes. At its close she dropped down by the side of the old man, and throwing her arms and her head upon his knees, in utter weakness and dejection, sobbed— “Father! how shall I _ever_ be forgiven?” He raised her to his knee, and putting his arm around her waist, drew her head upon his bosom, and said— “It is an ugly lover’s quarrel, certainly, my love! And Archer Clifton is as proud as you are! But it must be made up! It must be made up! A very ugly quarrel, indeed. And on the eve of your marriage, too! But it must be made up! It must be made up! Ah, doubtless he will be over to-morrow night! He feels as bad as you do, I’ll warrant he does! I’ll warrant he does! _I_ should, I know, if I were he!” “Ah, father! no he does not! He was in the right! I was in the wrong!”