“I do believe, Sophie, that it was your being brought up in that room papered with the martyrs, that has given this singular bias to your character—why, Sophie, the world knowing your history in connexion with my father, would consider _you_ the most insane of the two.” They were standing side by side at the window, looking out upon the bay—its rippling waves glittering in the morning sun, its dark green bosom relieved by the white sails of a packet moving up the river. They had not heard the entrance of Withers, who approached and stood behind them—his face pale, his livid lips compressed, his eyes drawn in and glowing in their deep sockets. “But, dear Sophie,” continued the youth, “we must think of some place for securing your safety.” In an instant the hands of Withers fell heavily upon his neck. “Perfidious son of a perfidious mother!” he exclaimed, shaking him violently, “her image in heart and mind, as well as in person—traitor and reprobate! would you wile the love of my bride away from me? would you teach her your vile mother’s sin?” The delicate youth was but as a reed in his grasp. Sophie sank pale and helpless into a chair. Now another figure appeared upon the scene—little Hagar stamping and screaming, upon the floor. “Let Raymond! let my brother alone! Let him go, I say! you old Satan, you. I—I’ll _kill_ you—I’ll scratch your eyes out,” and clambering upon a chair, and then upon a table, she sprang cat-like upon the back of his neck. Now he was obliged to drop his hold of Raymond a moment to shake off the little wild-cat—he seized her, and pulling her off, hurled her flying through the open window! With a cry of anguish, Raymond sprang from the spot—from the room, and hurried around into the yard. The fall was not deep—the turf was soft—and the lithe, agile child had lighted on her feet and hands. She sprang up as Raymond came, and running to meet him asked anxiously, “Are you hurt? did he hurt you, Raymond?” He lifted her in his arms, and hurrying around the back way, ran up stairs with her. “Oh, your poor neck—only see the marks of his wicked claws on your pretty white neck!” exclaimed the child, and she kissed and closely clasped him, and wept as if her heart were broken up and gushing through her tears. Then raising her head with eyes flashing through her tears, as the lightning gleams through the rain, she said, “Oh! the bad—bad—_bad_ man! I wonder what God lets him stay here for?” “Hush—you must not ask such sinful questions.” “But I _do_ wonder—I’m sure I wouldn’t let him stay here if I could help it.” “You must not think such wicked thoughts,” said the youth; but he himself was excited and anxious, and setting Hagar down on the foot of her little bed said, “Now, Hagar, you must stay here—you must not come near him again to-day—” “I’m not afraid of him,” interrupted the child. “No, you have the fire and courage of a young tigress; but you would not make him angry, and so endanger Sophie’s peace, would you?”