Her husband's sudden energy was wholly unexpected, its effect was powerful; her ladyship sank into the seat he had just quitted. "Really, Sir John, your violence kills my poor nerves. I am not equal to contend against such dreadful exhibitions of temper. My poor constitution requires perfect tranquillity, almost amounting to total silence, and these explosions of passion do me a great deal of harm. Indeed, Sir John, you have overpowered a poor nervous creature." His lady's hands trembled as she spoke, her voice faltered, and the tears coursed down her cheeks. Did Sir John Wetheral ever resist his lady's pleading when it took the form of suffering, and spoke in the silent eloquence of grief? When did he ever create a sorrow, or cause a heartfelt reproach, without enduring far greater disquietude, from the knowledge of having given pain! He took his lady's hand, and bent kindly over her. "Gertrude, this is sad work, and the consequences of my weak indulgence will be sadder still. I have given way to you in every wish of your heart, and submitted my better judgment to your tears, till my authority has passed away, and I am a cipher in all affairs connected with my children. In this particular, however, I will be heard and obeyed. I will not allow of a distant allusion to Clara's marriage with Sir Foster; and the instant I believe, or have reason to _suspect_, any private attempt to draw Clara into such a hateful connection, that instant I will remove my family from Wetheral, and reside in Scotland." "My head! my poor head, Sir John! Send Thompson to me, my love, for my brain seems on fire! I declare men are so brutal, women's hearts should be cut out of wood. I am quite unfit for company to-day." Sir John did not ring for Thompson: he had much to say, now that the indolence of his nature was roused into effort, and his mind dwelt with anger upon the meditated sacrifice of Clara. "Never mind company, my dear Gertrude; I wish all company had been spared this week. The few days which intervene between the present hour and my poor girl's wedding-day should have passed in domestic privacy and reflection on their parts." Lady Wetheral's distress and emotion allowed _herself_ no moment for reflection. She hastily exclaimed:-- "The less they think about it, poor things, the better!" "This is a fearful idea, Gertrude. If you conceive matrimony to be a leap which only the ignorant should take, you condemn yourself in your own plans. A husband-hunting parent, who draws a veil before the victim's eyes, and leads it blindfold to the altar, is a creature to be feared and hated." Lady Wetheral's astonishment at this remark, pronounced with energy by her husband, produced total forgetfulness of hysterical assistance. Her anxiety to remove blame from her measures, gave seriousness to her manner, but dispelled for the moment all idea of having recourse to fictitious aids. Her lips quivered, but not a tear flowed.