“You do not deny it! You only echo and re-echo, ‘Hagar!’ ‘Hagar.’ Yes, _Hagar_! that is my name, my fit name—what strange prophetic inspiration was it that made them drop my proper name of Agatha and call me ‘Hagar?’ Alas! I might have known it, Raymond! Oh! did I not _beg_ you to defer our marriage? Alas! what forebodings were mine! Truly coming events cast their shadows before! Oh! Raymond, I might have known—Rosalia has won in succession every heart from me—first Sophie’s, then Mr. Withers’s, the servants’, the neighbors’, Mrs. May’s, and lately, think of it! I _was_ really glad of _that_, not knowing what an omen it was! lately, _Gusty’s_. A month ago Gusty was perfectly infatuated with my poor face, raved, talked of blowing his brains out. Well! two weeks ago he set out for Rosalia, met her again, brought her home, and now he raves more about Rosalia’s shoe or glove than he ever did about my whole being! And then! and then! oh! God, you, Raymond, _you_! If you could have seen yourself when I first pointed her out to you, as _I_ saw you, drunk with her beauty!” Her blood was kindling in her veins, while her bosom heaved and set with the motion of the hidden fire that blazed and died and blazed upon her cheeks, as you have seen a red flame in the night rise and fall waved by the wind—while her eyes scintillated sparks. “I wish,” she said, “that as I am so much smaller, I were soft and weak like other women! that I had more lymph, and so could easily melt! could weep! I can _not_—I am _hard_—my muscles are like tempered _steel_—they imprison a strong grief that rages, burns, and rends, finding no escape, no vent, no expression! I wish that I could weep! could die! like other women.” During all this rhapsody, Raymond had been looking down on her with the greatest calmness of attitude and expression—his head still supported by the arm that rested on the mantel-piece—his eyes quietly observing her. Now he took her hot and quivering hand and led her to the window—there were two chairs facing each other at this open window. He motioned her into one, dropping into the other himself—he took both of her hands into his own and gazed into her agonized countenance a minute, and then said: “Hagar! look me in the face, look me straight in the eyes, come!” and as she raised her eyes piercing with anguish to _his_ eyes, there was a sedative influence emanating from his manner that acted upon her nerves, reducing her to quiet, she knew not how or wherefore. He held her hands thus, looking straight into her fascinated eyes thus for a few moments, and then his flute-like tones gently stole on the silence as he said, “Hagar! I love peace, quietude, repose, benign repose. I love low tones, soft footsteps, gentle manners, sweet smiles, and complying tempers around me, and I must have them—look straight in my eyes and see if you do not feel that I _will_ have them? So, Hagar, no more of this tragic acting, if you please, my love.”