"Oleah, believe me, let us keep the old love--I can give you no other. I can not give you what you want." Her voice died away. He saw the small, white fingers clasping and unclasping, and knew that she was resolutely keeping back her tears. "This is something I can not understand," said Oleah, and his face clouded, "unless my brother has been before me." Irene opened her white lips, but no words came. "I understand now," exclaimed Oleah; "you can not choose between us; you know not which of us you prefer, or perhaps you prefer him." His eyes shone like burning coals, and his voice was hoarse with passion. "It is true, he must oppose me in every thing? When our country, our South, his birthplace and mine, is assailed by foes, he joins them. Is not that enough to turn all a brother's love to gall and bitterness? And now he would win you from me--my love, my love!" "Oleah, do not so wrong your brother! I tell you truly that he does not know, he has no thought that he is opposing you," cried Irene, with an appealing look at the dark, angry face. "O, Oleah, for your mother's sake banish these evil thoughts. God made you brothers." "Yes, and the devil made us enemies. It is coming at last--it has come! I have fought against it for the sake of our happy childhood, our parents, and the brothers' blood that flows in our veins, but it is useless. The fates have determined that we should hate each other, and the hatred of brothers is the hatred of devils. Irene," his voice softening, "I believe you love me though you will not speak," and Oleah seized her passionately in his embrace and rained kisses on her fair, pale face. "I must go now," he said, releasing her, "but you shall yet be mine, I swear it. Neither brother, nor father, nor mother, no power on earth shall prevent it." Oleah went toward the house, and Irene stood motionless, where he had left her, till the trees hid him from her sight--her eyes widely strained, her face pale with terror, her lips white and bloodless. Those wild words Oleah had spoken in his passion, those fearful words, "_The hatred of brothers is the hatred of devils_," seemed burning into her brain. And this was her work! This mischief she had done! She trembled like one guilty, and the love she would not own, and she could not master, seemed to her shuddering soul a crime. So excited was her manner that it attracted the attention of others in the room. At this moment a negro boy entered the room, where Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins were sitting with Mr. Diggs, his face wearing a strangely puzzled look. He paused and looked around. Whether he was more frightened or puzzled it would have been difficult to tell. "Well, Job, what is it?" asked Mr. Tompkins, noticing the negro's awkward manner. "If you please, marster," he said, shaking his head, "Marster Abner--" "What of him?" asked Mr. Tompkins, for the boy had paused. "Why, he--he is comin'?"