“Nothing could be better,” Mrs. Marston eagerly said, in reply. “This is just the opportunity that I desire. I feel sure that you will give my little one the kindest care, and I shall relinquish her to you most willingly. I shall expect you will do by her exactly as you would have done by your own; that you will give her your name, educate her, and give her such advantages as your means will allow. This must be your part in our contract, while mine will be to renounce all claim upon her, and make over to you the amount which I specified in my advertisement.” August Damon never once took his eyes from the face of that proud, beautiful woman while she was speaking. They burned with a strange fire, an indignant flush mantled his cheek, and an expression of contempt curled his fine lips. His wife viewed the apparently heartless mother with speechless wonder, her eyes fastened upon her in a sort of horrible fascination. Her sweet, delicate face was colorless as the snowy ruffle about her white neck, and she trembled visibly as she listened to her abrupt and apparently unfeeling disposal of a human soul. There was an awkward pause after Mrs. Marston concluded, and she seemed to become suddenly conscious of the very unpleasant impression which her strange words and proceedings had produced upon her visitors, and a rush of vivid color mantled her cheeks. She could not fail to realize that her guests were well-bred, even cultivated people; the stamp of true gentility was upon them, and it was extremely galling to her haughty spirit to feel that they had been weighing her in the balance of their own refined and noble natures, and had found her sadly wanting in all those gentler qualities and attributes which naturally belong to a woman, and especially to a mother. But she was impatient of all restraint and discomfort. She threw off the feeling with the usual shrug of her shapely shoulders, and raising her handsome head with a haughty air she continued, somewhat imperiously: “Do you accede to the conditions that I have mentioned; and you, madame?” turning her great dark eyes full upon the gentle but shocked wife. “Oh, how can you bear to part thus with your little one, the darling whose pulses are throbbing with your own life-blood?” exclaimed sweet Alice Damon, tears starting to her earnest, gray-blue eyes, her delicate lips trembling with emotion. “That is a question that I cannot allow myself to consider,” responded Mrs. Marston, with a peculiar gesture of her jeweled hands, which might have meant either pain or repugnance, “neither can I enter into any explanation upon that point; the fact remains, I must part with her, and it is my wish to make the best possible provision for her.” “We should be glad to see the child, madam,” Mr. Damon gravely remarked. “Of course. I will have her brought in immediately;” and Mrs. Marston arose to ring a bell.