“Hagar, I must go away now; I have some arrangements to make for old Cumbo before we go. But before I leave you, Hagar, let me say again, you love your husband, and he loves you; he can stifle his affection, you cannot yours; his will is strong and fixed, yours impulsive and erratic. Your tastes and habits are in some respects opposed, and he requires you to conform yours to his; and, Hagar, you will have to yield—to love now, or to force, without love, hereafter. Yield now, dear, yield. There is no degradation in making a sacrifice to love.” The high-spirited girl turned flashing around upon her—pride and scorn seemed sparkling, scintillating from face and figure, by glance and gesture. “Yes, there is degradation in sacrificing _freedom_ to love—freedom to _anything_ but God’s law!” Sophie paused, as if in doubt whether to go on, or to return and speak again. Finally she went out. * * * * * Rosalia returned that evening, accompanied by Gusty and the Buncombes. The family expected to leave Heath Hall the next morning, after an early breakfast. The Buncombes were to remain all night to see them off, and to shut up the house after their departure. Rosalia happened soon to perceive the cloud upon Hagar’s brow, and watching her attentively, saw that there was something wrong between her and Raymond; and the simple girl, remarking that _her_ brow was angry and _his_ serene, assumed immediately that he was the injured party, and so, through her benevolence, it happened quite naturally that her voice and smile softened into more than kindliness, into sisterly affection as she frequently addressed him. What a contrast to Hagar’s dark brow, curled lip, and bitter tones! It was morning and midnight, sunshine and storm, discord and harmony, fierceness and gentleness, scorn and reverence, hate and love—I had nearly said Heaven and Hell contrasted.