“I do not understand how his colossal fortune could have so sunken.” “Ah, well! now I’ll tell you his fortune was not so colossal after all. To be sure, he owned several thousand acres of land; but reflect that nine-tenths of that was pine barrens and cypress swamps, producing nothing and costing considerable in taxes; and he owned several hundred negroes; but remember that one-third of them were old people, and one-third of them children, who had to be supported out of the labour of the others; and he owned this very magnificent seat of Cashmere; but consider how much of his capital was invested in the building, laying out and adorning of this house and grounds, and how much in debt it left him, and you will come to a fairer conclusion in your estimate of your uncle’s fortune. And then this great commercial crash, that has ruined so many people, has affected him deeply. He lost one hundred thousand dollars by the villany of Claxton & Co., manufacturers, and nearly as much more by the failure of Fleece and Brother, importers, Liverpool. And what was worse than all, he made a desperate attempt to retrieve his fortunes by speculation, and failed, with a stupendous loss. It was like a gambler’s last stake, and he lost it—and now he is ready to blow his own brains out! Lord grant that your wife’s fortune may be safe, Mark, which I doubt.” “Oh! certainly; I have not the slightest misgiving of it. It was real estate, and could not have been staked in any way, you know.” Mr. Bolling shook his head. Unheedful of that wise gesture, Mr. Sutherland asked, “And how does my cousin India bear this?” “I don’t know—I don’t think she cares about it. Mark, perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you, but I don’t think she cares for _anything_, or has ever cared for anything, since you and she broke off, nearly seven years ago. She never cared a cent for the man she married”— “Hush! you must not say that!” “But I _will_ say it, because it’s the solemn truth. She never cared a sous, cent, marquee, for him, though he loved the very ground she walked on. If ever you saw a man infatuated with a woman, St. Gerald was with India; his eyes followed her fondly wherever she moved. Yes, a year after they were married, I saw him slily take up a glove of hers, and pet it, and talk to it, and kiss it, and put it in his bosom, as if it had been a live thing—the consummate idiot! And the same day I saw him strike her down before him with a blow!” Mark Sutherland started to his feet, and gazed wildly at the speaker, who reiterated— “_Yes_, I _did_; I saw that with my eyes!” “And stood by, and permitted a man to strike a woman!”