widower without children or near relatives, and who, dying, bequeathed to him the whole of his considerable property. “I do not fully realize this event, dear Mark,” he wrote; “I cannot realize my personal interest in it. All I _do_ feel—but that is much, that is everything—is that now I may go to Ashley Hall, and lay myself and my fortune at the feet of my fair friend, the beautiful widow, Mrs. Vivian.” Mark took a long, deep breath. “What do you want, sir?” he said, looking up, and for the first time seeing Colonel Ashley’s servant standing in the room. The man delivered his message, and Mark promised to attend Colonel Ashley soon, and dismissed the messenger. He resumed his letter. There was little more to be read, but that little was full of fate. “It matters not to me, now, dear Mark, what quarter of the country I live in. That shall be decided by the will of my fair queen, Valeria. One thing is certain—this ‘law shop’ and this village must be given up. My evacuation of the premises will leave a fair opening for any enterprising young gentleman who may choose to fill it. What say you? If you are still ‘seriously inclined’ to the ingenious profession of the law, let me know. If you are disposed to step into my shoes, you will find them not much worn, with not even the gloss off, only the creak and harshness taken out of them a little. Think this over, so as to be able to give an answer, by the time I see you. You may expect me soon.” Full of thought, Mark Sutherland folded up his letter, and went to the study of Colonel Ashley. The old gentleman received him with a degree of kindness almost paternal. He arose and took his hand, and requested him to be seated. Then, after some delicate hesitation, he said— “I was not, until this morning, made aware of the very interesting relations which you once sustained towards a young lady—your cousin—now the wife of my son. You were once engaged to be married to Miss Sutherland, I hear?” “Yes, sir,” replied the young man, seating himself, in a calm, unembarrassed manner; while the old gentleman scrutinized the expression of his countenance, without finding anything there to displease him. “Will you object to informing me of the cause of the disruption of that engagement?” “Certainly not, sir: we differed upon the subject of slavery. She took sides with her friends, and—we parted; that is all.” “You mean, my honoured young friend, that when called to do so, you made a stupendous, an unprecedented sacrifice of fortune, family affection, and love, for the sake of principle—mistaken principle, perhaps, yet still principle. Was it not so?” Mark Sutherland bowed. “My dear young friend, _we differ in opinion_; but I highly respect you. I earnestly pray that you may be set right,” said the old gentleman, warmly, as he held out his hand to Mark, who grasped it, pressed it, and let it fall.