“And I am to understand, that, if you can be made my son-in-law to-night, our friendship is renewed?” said Ellieslaw.

“Most infallibly, and most inviolably,” replied Sir Frederick.

“Then,” said Vere, “though what you ask is premature, indelicate, and unjust towards my character, yet, Sir Frederick, give me your hand—­my daughter shall be your wife.”

“This night?”

“This very night,” replied Ellieslaw, “before the clock strikes twelve.”

“With her own consent, I trust,” said Mareschal; “for I promise you both, gentlemen, I will not stand tamely by, and see any violence put on the will of my pretty kinswoman.”

“Another pest in this hot-headed fellow,” muttered Ellieslaw; and then aloud, “With her own consent?  For what do you take me, Mareschal, that you should suppose your interference necessary to protect my daughter against her father?  Depend upon it, she has no repugnance to Sir Frederick Langley.”

“Or rather to be called Lady Langley? faith, like enough—­there are many women might be of her mind; and I beg your pardon, but these sudden demands and concessions alarmed me a little on her account.”

“It is only the suddenness of the proposal that embarrasses me,” said Ellieslaw; “but perhaps if she is found intractable, Sir Frederick will consider—­”

“I will consider nothing, Mr. Vere—­your daughter’s hand to-night, or I depart, were it at midnight—­there is my ultimatum.”

“I embrace it,” said Ellieslaw; “and I will leave you to talk upon our military preparations, while I go to prepare my daughter for so sudden a change of condition.”

So saying, he left the company.

CHAPTER XIV.

     He brings Earl Osmond to receive my vows. 
     O dreadful change! for Tancred, haughty Osmond. 
     —­Tancred and SIGISMUNDA.

Mr. Vere, whom long practice of dissimulation had enabled to model his very gait and footsteps to aid the purposes of deception, walked along the stone passage, and up the first flight of steps towards Miss Vere’s apartment, with the alert, firm, and steady pace of one who is bound, indeed, upon important business, but who entertains no doubt he can terminate his affairs satisfactorily.  But when out of hearing of the gentlemen whom he had left, his step became so slow and irresolute, as to correspond with his doubts and his fears.  At length he paused in an antechamber to collect his ideas, and form his plan of argument, before approaching his daughter.

“In what more hopeless and inextricable dilemma was ever an unfortunate man involved!” Such was the tenor of his reflections.—­“If we now fall to pieces by disunion, there can be little doubt that the government will take my life as the prime agitator of the insurrection.  Or, grant I could stoop to save myself by a hasty submission, am I not, even in that case, utterly ruined?