to avert some cruel deed. His servants had ever trembled before him. His very neighbors and associates had fallen into the habit of yielding to his inflexible will; and here was a little girl of seventeen years of age, with positively her own notions of right and wrong, of faith and infidelity, of honor and dishonor—and telling him, with a high, unblanching cheek, and a clear, unfaltering voice, that she meant to abide by right, and eschew wrong! He turned pale with suppressed rage; his eyes gleamed with their sinister light; he clenched his fist, and made one step towards her, but retreated again, and dropped his hand. The polished “gentleman” asserted its supremacy of habit over the angry “man.” It would not be _comme-il-faut_ for “General Garnet” to give “Miss Garnet” a good drubbing with his fists; besides, there was a look of calm, healthful moral strength about the mere child that forcibly impressed him. “Father, this thing came suddenly upon me, and surprised me out of my self-possession, and the respect that is due to you. I spoke hastily, and, I fear, irreverently. I earnestly repent it, and ask your pardon. Forgive me,” said Elsie; and she approached, and would have offered herself in his embrace; but General Garnet extended his hand, and waved her off. “Do I understand you to say, Miss Garnet, that you repent your foolish decision? If so, I am sincerely rejoiced to hear it.” “No, sir. Always, father, and in all else, I will be your submissive child. But for this, sir, you, yourself, laid on me this other duty, which I cannot shake off. Forgive me.” General Garnet looked at her steadily, while gleamed that red light from his dark eyes, and slowly shook his head, as communing with himself. Then, turning suddenly, and muttering something that sounded very much like a threat to “break her will or break her heart,” he left the room; and Elsie sank down in her chair, and leaning upon the windowsill, raised her eyes to heaven, “full of thought and prayer.” CHAPTER XIX. THE DEVOTION OF LOVE. Oh! sweeter far than wealth, than fame, than all, Is first and passionate love; it stands alone. _—Byron._