In the meantime Captain Clifton had ridden away, not so angry as shocked, repulsed and alienated by the unprecedented behaviour of his lady-love. He disliked all demonstrations of emotion, and detested all exhibitions of evil passion in a woman. It was the high-bred delicacy and refinement—the queenly placidity—the cool reserve and stately dignity of Carolyn Clifton, that had attracted his first admiration. And though he sometimes gallantly complained of her cruelty, he would not have had her manner one degree warmer. But now this fair, cool, peerless queen o’er herself and her emotions, had yielded to passions that might govern a serving-maid—to suspicion, jealousy, and fierce anger—had descended to virulent, vituperative abuse! And, henceforth, she was discrowned, and degraded from her pride of place. He arrived at Hardbargain—gave his horse in charge of a servant, and entered the house. The candles were just lighted in the parlor, and Mrs. Clifton and her favorite Kate sat sewing by the work-stand. As he entered, Kate arose as usual with the intention of withdrawing, but he signed to her with his hand, and said in a tone of command— “No—stay, Catherine, and once for all give up that habit of retiring as soon as myself, or any other visitor enters.” The young girl returned to her seat and resumed her work. Then with a sort of spirit of persecution upon him, as one would think, he went to the maiden and inquired, impatiently— “_Why_ do you always do that? _Why_ do you always rise and leave as soon as any one enters the room?” She glanced up at him with those large, shy eyes, and instantly veiled them again, while the blush deepened on her cheek. Her heart—her disobedient, rebellious heart, that would not be calm when she bade it—was beating fast against her bosom, as it ever beat, when he looked at her, or spoke to her. To have saved her soul alive, she could not have put her motive into words, and told him that she ever feared her society, or even her presence, might not be as acceptable to Mrs. Clifton’s visitors as it was to that kind lady herself. She only bowed her head and blushed the deeper that she could not answer, and yet deeper still, that she felt him gazing on her. He _was_ gazing on her!—gazing down on that beautiful, dark auburn hair, rippling and glittering under the light of the lamp—on that broad monarchal forehead, on those even eyebrows and long eyelashes, dropping fine shadows on the glowing cheek—yes! gazing and thinking of Major Cabell’s enthusiastic admiration, and wondering why all the world did not agree with him in thinking that countenance grandly beautiful! Yet even while admiring her so much, he spoke angrily, and said—