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cool, unshaken tone, “your father is right— you should not thus humble yourself. But oh,” he continued, lowering his voice, “ had you attended to my warning, this never could have happened.” Instantly Eliza sprang up, sternly erect as ever she had been; and, beautiful as she was, scorn and aversion could not be more powerfully expressed than by her features and mien they were. Her head swayed back; her pencilled brow knit ; her hands dashed the plentiful tears away; and her looks fixed upon the terrible man of power, with a sudden vigour which mastered him. He could stand unmoved the wrathful words and threatening frowns of her father and her husband ; but he shrank dismayed before the scornful anger of youthful beauty. “Ah!” she cried, “abased and despised man l—You do avow your motive —You dare, at the very moment of your aggression on the father and the husband, avow it to the daughter and the wife Degradation, indeed, it would be then, to request or take the slightest favour at your hands. We must not stoop ourselves to the despised,—ay, Sir, the despised–and the defied too !—for I feel I can defy you !—Father, fear not for me,” she added, turning her back upon Talbot, and taking Sir Thomas's hand, who met her with smiles of fond and proud triumph. “Fear not for me: think you I dread any thing that trembling wretch can attempt against me? Farewell, father | Farewell, husband Since I cannot accompany you, I will follow you; and you will find that the light-hearted Eliza has courage to brave even the worst for those she loves.” “Now, indeed, you are the child of my bosom,” said the parent, folding her to his breast. “And Sir William,” she continued, “confidently reckon on my safety, as I will reckon on yours; we shall crush this viper and leave him in the dust.” “Now we attend you, Sir,” said Sir Thomas, turning to the spot where Talbot had stood, but he was no longer there; and the yeomen intimated that he awaited his prisoners outside the house. Some little remnant of shame is left to him,” resumed Sir Thomas; “but, Eliza, we must attend him. God be with you ! If this be our last meeting on earth, you have the blessing of a parent, to whom, as infant, girl, and woman, you were and are a treasure. Almighty Father,” he continued, raising one arm upward, as with the other he supported her— “ thou who givest shelter and protection to the orphan, and a roof and a safeguard to innocence, to thy care I commit my darling; a charge worthy of that care, if goodness and meekness united were ever found worthy. Alicia,” turning to where the confounded and trembling old lady sat, “will you not advance to wish me adieu ?” “ Brother—I cannot, I am not able ! I have tried to rise from this chair, but I cannot.” “Then, my poor sister, I will go to you;” and as Sir William Judkin strained his beautiful bride in a last embrace, the brother and sister also exchanged farewells. The yeomen became impatient—the parting was over. Eliza saw her husband and father descend the stairs guarded. From the windows of the bridal apartment, she saw them ride off amid a troop of yeoman cavalry, headed by her early lover. She watched them down the avenue until they disappeared from her straining eyes; and then all her heroic resolutions giving
way, with one look at her bridal robe and bridal ornaments, she sank down beside her insensible aunt—a victim decked, indeed, for the sacrifice. But when restored to her senses by those who came in to attend her, Eliza spent no time in useless wailings or inaction. Proceeding to her dressing-room, she laid aside, in what feelings she might, her pearls, her bridal white wreath, and her bridal white robe, and assumed an attire fit to go abroad in.
VOL. I. I. K
Upon an eminence commanding the river Slaney, and also giving a bird's-eye view of the old town of Enniscorthy, partly lying in a hollow, partly climbing up steep ascents, stood an ancient castle, built of reddish stone, with flanking round towers at each angle; which, through scanty slit and loophole, admitted light and air to the winding stairs within.
In the year 1798, this feudal structure was ruinous, and, however interesting from the recollections or inquiries to which it gave birth, cheerless. Now it is tenanted ; comfortably, if not tastefully repaired, and its character of modern appropriation and care, singularly contrasts with its former state of lonely dilapidation, and even with the antique ruggedness that still clothes its walls. Large windows invite a broader flood of day into well-furnished