"I will never marry him," cried the unhappy girl: "take me but back and I will tell them all, and it shall go no further. Take me but back, and I will forget all,--I will forgive all. Take me but back, and let me die." In this manner, her mind overcome by but one thought and one feeling, she murmured prayer after prayer, and adjuration after adjuration, until her entreaties became almost frenzied, and Hyland, alarmed and shocked, half repented the act which had brought her to such a pass. Her agitation was not diminished, when Oran, who rode at the other side, and had for a long time maintained a stern silence, and apparent disregard of what passed between them, at last uttered an interjection of impatience, and bade Hyland ride away, and leave her to him. "The folly but grows upon her in your presence," he said: "it must be checked." "Leave me not, Herman!" she cried, starting so wildly from the rude Oran, that, had he not arrested the effort, she would have leaped from the horse, in the effort to reach him whom she felt to be her truest protector: "leave me not, Herman, for the sake of the mother who bore you!--leave me not in the hands of any of these rude men!" "Fear not," said Hyland, and he conjured Oran himself to depart. "Let the girl come to her," he added; "perhaps Phoebe's appearance may relieve her." But even the presence of Phoebe, now quite content with captivity, (so successful had been the arguments of her wooer,) failed to banish her agitation; and at last, bewildered and in despair, incapable of devising any other means to give her comfort, Hyland checked his horse and hers, and assisted her to dismount. "Do with me what you will, Catherine Loring," he said--"I am a fool, a wretch, perhaps a villain." "Oh no, no!" said the maiden; "only take me back, and all will again be well--all will be forgotten." "Nothing again will be well with me," said the young man, "and nothing, I fear me, with you. Catherine, there is but a moment to decide. In snatching you from the altar, I did the only thing in my power to secure happiness to both,--or at least, to secure us from the misery that was falling on us like a mountain. You hated Henry Falconer"---- "I did--No, no! not _hate_; it was not hate," murmured the Captain's daughter. "You hated him, Catherine, and--why should I fear to speak it?--you loved another--you loved _me_, Catherine--By heaven, it is true! I felt it, and I knew it; else how could I have done this thing? It is true--and hide it not from yourself, since your own weal, as well as mine, depends upon your resolution this moment." "Speak not to me so, oh, for heaven's sake do not," cried Catherine, weeping--"I never gave you cause. Take me only to my father." "To wed with Henry Falconer, and pronounce a vow your heart forswears?"