Julia endeavoured to soothe Anna Maria into calmness, but all efforts were unavailing; her impetuous nature was roused, and it must take its own course: resistance could only increase its fury. "Leave me to myself, Julia--leave me. I shall be calm enough to-morrow, but now my very heart bursts at the thought of all that has passed. Do not try to calm me! I will not be calm. If I grow calm, it will be from madness, and I shall be maddened by opposition. I tell you, Julia, to leave me, and don't let Thompson come into my room. There, go, in mercy." Julia became alarmed, but she turned to withdraw. "Shake hands, Anna Maria, and wish me good night." "I have no heart for any thing," replied Anna Maria, irritated. "I will not shake hands, or wish good to any one, for it is all nonsense; only leave me now." Julia retired in silence, for it was vain to persevere in calming her sister's irritated feelings. Anna Maria's nature was composed of fiery particles; and her very composed, general manner concealed a heart full of keen and powerful emotions. It was the intensity of these emotions which required the greatest watchfulness in subduing external appearance of inward suffering: and to the public eye Anna Maria appeared gentle and calm to insensibility. Perhaps only Julia was aware of the real state of her heart; for who could discover a powerful attachment under such cold and calm exterior? Had Lady Wetheral sacrificed her anxiety for establishment to the domestic happiness of her family, all this misery had been spared; neither perhaps had Isabella been given to a man five-and-thirty years her senior. But at Wetheral Castle all parental feeling was engrossed in calculating possibilities and probabilities of high alliances, on Lady Wetheral's part; and Sir John had too long sacrificed his better judgment to his lady's whims, to recover again the tone of his authority. Since then the ties of affection were so loosely bound together, and youthful hearts were taught to bend their nobler natures to the selfish dictates of ambition, what hope was there of bright and joyous hours, free to sport in innocence? What hope was there of that lovely confidence and peace which gilds the first years of the young, when parental care--a mother's care--guards the heart from sorrow, and leads it to love all that is good, and to pray against the evil passions? What hope is there for natures tutored into worldly sacrifices, ambitious only of the world's respect? Alas! none. CHAPTER IV.