The next morning she appeared at the breakfast table with a face so pale and stern as almost to awe the good Miss Joe from making an inquiry as to her health. And when at last the old lady asked her if she were not well, she replied curtly: “An ill night’s rest!” and the questioning ceased. When she had retired to the drawing room Dr. Hutton followed her thither. He found her standing on the rug and resting her forehead against the mantelpiece. Her long ringlets, hanging low, concealed her face from his view, until she turned around and said, in a very low voice: “Dr. Hutton, you are not going away this morning, are you?” “No, Miss Seabright!—no, Garnet. I did not rouse a war in your soul to leave you until peace should be restored.” “I do not know why you should say there is a war,” said Garnet, in a deep voice. “I can see it. That fiery blood that has left your brow and cheeks and very lips of a gray paleness has mustered somewhere. Besides, I know you, Garnet. You were always very transparent to me. I know that in your soul the powers of good and evil are drawn out in battle array against each other.” With an adjuring gesture she left her position, and, crossing the room, threw herself into a chair. He watched her some few minutes where she sat, with her pale brow resting on one hand and the other hanging listlessly down, and then he slowly crossed the room, and, dropping upon one knee by her side, raised her hand to his bosom, and said, in a voice deep with passion: “Miss Seabright!—Nettie, my dear sister!—my wife, if you will bless me so!—I wish—I do wish I had a kingdom to offer you to replace this Mount Calm. As it is, I have only myself, and an affection, an affection, Nettie, that—oh, I cannot tell you in a few words, a few seconds, that love which it will take all the years we live together to express, to live out!” “Oh, Hugh!” she said, in broken accents, “if you knew where this rack screws and strains my heart-strings most. To think that one whom I always loved and honored with a passionate enthusiasm as the very first in human excellence—but no more of that! Not my lips shall breathe one word of blame, though all earth and heaven cry shame on his memory!” said Garnet, as her dark eyes smoldered and flashed and sank again, as she breathed, in heart-broken tones: “No more of that! Oh, God, that I could say to my thoughts, as to my tongue, ‘No more of that’!” And, scarcely heeding her lover, she arose, threw back her falling hair, pressed both hands upon her bosom, and passed out of the room. It was late in the evening before he saw her again. He went into the library after the lamps were lighted and found her sitting at one of the reading tables, with her head bowed down upon her folded hands. He went and sat by her, saying: “Garnet, dearest, do not keep your thoughts and troubles all to yourself; let me share them. Come, come,” he continued, caressing her, “this is unkind! I have had a very solitary day.”