"Clara, it matters little now who guided you into this luckless marriage. You have vowed, at the altar, to obey the man you married, and your submission to Sir Foster is your duty and your vow." "I vow to detest him all the days of my life!" answered Clara, with scornful energy. "Then," said her father, rising, "farewell, Clara. I have no feelings to throw away upon a disobedient wife--I can be of no use." "Stay--stay," exclaimed Clara, rushing forward, and detaining him--"stay, my dear father, and hear me! _You_ never taught me to marry for this world's wealth--_you_ never taught me to barter happiness for a miserable title--for a low-minded, disgusting creature like that"--she pointed to Sir Foster with a shudder.--"_You_ were always good and gentle, so stay and hear me." "I beseech you, Clara, to command yourself, and do not use this intemperate language," replied her father, "or I cannot return: be calm, and be rational." "I will be so, papa; I should be very calm, if I did not see that man before me." "I will not listen to such improper, such wicked language, Clara: hear me!" "I do, papa." "I have learned the fearful news of your wretched and open quarrels, from common report; and public opinion is against you, Clara, as it ever will be against the daring and insolent wife." Clara's neck and face became suffused with crimson, but she was silent. "The world, Clara, saw your determination, when you eloped with Sir Foster; let it see your determination to remain constant and obedient, now that he is your husband." Clara burst into tears, and her head sank upon her clasped hands, as she stood before her father. She seemed struggling for composure. Sir John seated her, and spoke strongly and feelingly upon her situation. "Loved by none, and respected by none, how was an imperious wife to pass her remainder of existence, condemned to opprobrium and contempt? How could a woman presume to hope for happiness, when she was breaking down the proprieties of life, and offending her God by broken vows and unholy thoughts?" Clara cast her weeping eyes upon Sir Foster, as he sat buried in his easy chair, winking his eye, and appearing perfectly unconcerned at her distress. Her spirit rose again like the whirlwind at his sight--she started up. "Let the world talk on--let it upbraid me with every crime under heaven, I care not; but I will not live with _him_--I will not look upon _him_--my brain will not bear the constant misery of living in this place--this wretched place--the home of him who disgusts me so horribly! Oh, take me away for ever!" "Would you return to Wetheral, Clara?" "No, no, no, not to Wetheral; my mother is there. She only loves the wealthy and the high; and she drove me to all this! As I hope to meet with mercy, she drove me into this!" "Be still, Clara, and listen to me once more," said her father.