“The father of Herbert and myself commenced life together, and for many years our united exertions were eminently successful. He decided to retire from the firm, when an elegant sufficiency had been acquired. He had but one child to provide for, and I made no objection; but as my family was larger, I thought it incumbent on me to continue my exertions. The half of Herbert’s gains was withdrawn from the firm, and invested in real estate secured to his son. The other moiety continued in my hands. At his death he bequeathed his claims on me to George, with a bequest to you of half the funds in my possession, on the condition that you shall become the wife of his son; if not, the whole amount is to be paid to George Herbert on the day he attains his twenty-fifth year. In two more weeks, if you do not accept Herbert, I shall be called on to pay a sum amounting to more than my whole fortune. As my son-in-law, he pledges himself to allow me to retain the use of this money until I can advantageously settle with him, and altogether waives his claim to the legacy left to you. My affairs are now in such a state that it will be ruinous to me to attempt a settlement; so you must even make the best of it, and give your hand to an honest man who will render you as happy as the most of your sex.” “And is this the _only_ alternative?” asked the pale girl. “Will not Mr. Herbert grant you a longer time without demanding so great a sacrifice on my part?” “The truth is, Julia, you have flirted with Herbert long enough, and he thinks you have not treated him quite well. If I make such an appeal to him, his cold temper will be roused, and he will be off altogether, which would be a misfortune of no common magnitude; for I must tell you that there is not the least chance that I shall ever be able to pay a fraction of this money; and only as the husband of my daughter can I prevent him from taking such steps as will ruin me at once. On one hand, it is a choice of poverty to all you love, and on the other, a good husband with plenty of money. You are too sensible to be romantic; and besides, as you have never yet fallen in love, you have no predilection to plead.” At his last words arose the appalling recollection of her clandestine attachment—and she cast herself at the feet of her father. “Pardon me, my father, and pity me! I have loved—I do love, with a depth and truth that death alone can destroy. Ask me not to wed this man, for I am plighted heart and soul to another.” “To whom?” was the stern question. “I know of no one who receives the encouragement of a lover, save Herbert.” “One far away—seeking distinction in a foreign land. Oh, blight not the promise of his young years by compelling me to falsehood and desertion.”