"It is well, romantic girl, that you are of my own powerless sex; had it been otherwise, your rash-headed disobedience might have made me rue the day I became your father's wife." "Sex," returned Helen, mildly, "could not have altered my sense of duty.

Whether man or woman, I would obey you in all things consistent with my duty to a higher power; but when that commands, then by the ordinance of Heaven, we must 'leave father and mother, and cleave unto it.'" "And what, O foolish Helen, do you call a higher duty than that of a child to a parent, or a husband to his wife ?" "Duty of any kind," respectfully answered the young daughter of Mar, "cannot be transgressed with innocence.

Nor would it be any relinquishing of duty to you, should my father leave you to take up arms in the assertion of his country's rights.

Her rights are your safety; and therefore, in defending them, a husband or a son best shows his sense of domestic, as well as of public duty." "Who taught you this sophistry, Helen?
Not your heart, for it would start at the idea of your father's blood." Helen turned pale.

"Perhaps, madam, had not the preservation of my father's blood occasioned such malignity from the English, that nothing but an armed force can deliver his preserver, I, too, might be content to see Scotland in slavery.