“Over!—the battle? The doubt over! No! no! no! no! I did not say that, either!” exclaimed Miss Seabright, her whole aspect changing. Suddenly rising, with flashing eyes and burning cheeks, and pacing the room with rapid steps: “Over! No! man! man! Is it a flower, a ring, an orange you ask me for, that I should give it up without a struggle—as a matter of course? Give up this estate! Why, I should be insane, frantic, frenzied! Nothing short of ranting mad! Why, Hugh, is there a man, woman, or child now living on this earth who would voluntarily yield up an estate which they might keep—an estate of two millions of dollars—for—what?—a point of conscience! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Come, answer me!” she exclaimed, throwing herself into a chair with a strange, unnatural air of audacity. “Say! is there a man, woman, or child living who would do this?” “Yes. Any child would do it. There is one man I know who would do it. There is one woman who will do it.” “Me?” “You!” “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Why, Dr. Hutton, anyone, if they were wealthy, might give up a thousand—ten thousand dollars, for conscience’ sake; but two millions! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Why, Dr. Hutton! I am a human being, subject to like passions and foibles with other people. I rather like wealth, handsome houses and furniture, and dress and jewels, and servants and equipages, and traveling, sight-seeing, and change of scene. And if there were nothing to be given up but these, how great would be the sacrifice. But then, I have magnificent plans of extensive philanthropy; glorious prospects of social distinction. And to renounce these! How tremendous the renunciation!” “Ah, Nettie! with your usual perfect openness you have revealed the very death-throes of your expiring selfishness. For your selfishness—will die! Conscience will conquer it. The cup of earthly prosperity is brimful, and at your lips, but you will put it, untasted, away. I know you will! I have perfect faith in you!” “Hugh, you kill me! You madden me! Have you no pity? I believe you think you will make me do it!” she exclaimed, starting up and pacing the floor rapidly. “I do believe you fancy that you will make me give up this estate by asserting confidently that I will do it.” “I think your true nobility of soul will constrain you to it.” Suddenly she stopped, threw both hands to her breast, and turned so ghastly pale that Dr. Hutton sprang to her side, exclaiming: “Garnet, you are ill! Is it possible that this struggle produces such an effect upon you?” She dropped her hands from her bosom, her color returned, and, smiling strangely, she said: