“Nay, not despairing, Georgia! I am an old man, as you justly said—_quite_ an old man. I have not very long to live, and when I die, Georgia, you will still be a very young woman. Bethink you, you are scarce seventeen—in ten years more you will be but twenty-seven, and is it even likely that I shall live so long as that? No! And after my heart is cold, and my head is laid low, Georgia will be a beautiful young widow—ay, and with a rich jointure, too! I shall take care of that!” “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! _pathetic!_ I tell you, that if you were to die to-morrow, my life is not the less ruined—despairing!” bitterly exclaimed the young woman. “Nay, but that cannot be, Georgia. Ruined? Despairing? What! at seventeen years of age? Nonsense, my love! _Nothing_ but crime can make the youthful despair! Nonsense, my child! You are hysterical!” he said, moving towards her with outstretched arms. “Dotard! driveller!” she cried, turning fiercely upon him, with eyes blazing with scorn and malignity. “_Imbecile!_ Will you leave me to myself?” The old gentleman turned away, walked several times slowly up and down the floor, and finally saying— “Yes, I know I am a dotard! I know it, and I grow ashamed of dotage—” clapped his hat upon his head and walked out. Bitterly did the old man rue his folly, yet, alas! he knew but half the cause of that ingrate and wretched woman’s fierce outbreaks of temper. She followed his retreating form, with a glaring of mingled rage and fear, gnawing her white lips, while she muttered, in a low, fierce tone— “I could tear my heart out! I could bite my tongue off, for thus betraying me! Shall I ever have power to chain and guide the tiger in me? But _he_ with his doting, and _they_ with their dalliance, goad me to extremity? _But_,” she exclaimed, clenching her fist, setting her teeth, and glaring, while all her countenance darkened with rage and anguish—“_But_, before they shall MARRY under my very eyes, and live here, maddening my soul and senses, day and night, by the view of their love and joy, I will pull down ruin on the heads of all! Yes, although myself should be the first to fall!” She paused in silent thought some time, then rising, said, “_Down_, tiger heart! _Down!_ crouch! Be smooth, brow! Be smiling, lip! Be tender, eyes! Be soft, voice! And now to go and pacify the old man, before his vexation betrays me to the others. Ah! it is well _they_ have never witnessed my excitement! Come! in time I shall learn to curb wild impulses, and only spring upon my prey when time and place is fit!” Soft, smooth, fascinating, seductive, she glided from her chamber out into the upper piazza, where the old man’s slow and heavy footfall was heard—she glided after him, and with an air of sweet, familiar, childish freedom, she raised his arm, and putting her beautiful head under it, drew his hand around her neck and over her bosom, and looking up pleadingly, simply, into his benevolent face, murmured, merely—