“You know,” she added, as the tears suffused her large, dark eyes, “I am like the unjust steward of the parable, ‘I cannot work—to beg I am ashamed.’” “Except instead of being unjust, you suffer from the injustice of others,” said Archer Clifton, very gently. He said that he considered the entail, which cut off the widow from any share in the landed estate of her deceased husband, very unjust and cruel. He knew that his uncle had deeply regretted it, and would have left all his personal property to her, had it not been swallowed up by debt. He said that he _himself_ deplored the circumstance, and if it were legally in his power, he would divide the land with her, but that he only held it in entail, and as entire as it came to him it must be held for his heirs. He added, that he considered it his duty to compensate his uncle’s widow for the injustice of the law to her, and that the case being so, she would find thirty thousand dollars placed to her account in the Bank of Richmond. Mrs. Georgia was overcome with emotion at this generosity on the part of Major Clifton. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and arose hurriedly, with every mark of extreme agitation, exclaiming— “No, no—this is too much! too good! only lend me the shelter of this roof—once my home—until I look about me and consider what to do.” He took her hand, with every demonstration of the tenderest affection and respect, and pressed it to his lips, and begged her to consider herself as heretofore, mistress of the establishment for as long as she wished—for her whole life, if she pleased—and himself only as her sometime guest—adding, that it was impossible he should ever bring another lady there. She withdrew her handkerchief from her eyes, and glancing at him with a countenance eloquent with gratitude, respect, and affection, exclaimed— “_I_ take a large portion of your personal property, and _I_ turn you from your home! Oh! no, no, no, thou thrice noble and generous man, no! Not one dollar of that money will I touch, so help me Heaven! And not one hour will I stay under this roof, if the master of the house is to be only my ‘sometime guest!’ No! I—I—I must go back to the city, and give lessons in drawing and painting, as befits the artist’s daughter.”