_Scud._ Hold on now! things have got so jammed in on top of us, we ain't got time to put kid gloves on to handle them. He loves Zoe, and has found out that she loves him. [_Sighing._] Well, that's all right; but as he can't marry her, and as Miss Dora would jump at him-- _Mrs. P._ Why didn't you mention this before? _Scud._ Why, because I love Zoe, too, and I couldn't take that young feller from her; and she's jist living on the sight of him, as I saw her do; and they so happy in spite of this yer misery around them, and they reproachin' themselves with not feeling as they ought. I've seen it, I tell you; and darn it, ma'am, can't you see that's what's been a hollowing me out so--I beg your pardon. _Mrs. P._ O, George,--my son, let me call you,--I do not speak for my own sake, nor for the loss of the estate, but for the poor people here; they will be sold, divided, and taken away--they have been born here. Heaven has denied me children; so all the strings of my heart have grown around and amongst them, like the fibres and roots of an old tree in its native earth. O, let all go, but save them! With them around us, if we have not wealth, we shall at least have the home that they alone can make-- _George._ My dear mother--Mr. Scudder--you teach me what I ought to do; if Miss Sunnyside will accept me as I am, Terrebonne shall be saved; I will sell myself, but the slaves shall be protected. _Mrs. P._ _Sell_ yourself, George! Is not Dora worth any man's-- _Scud._ Don't say that, ma'am; don't say that to a man that loves another gal. He's going to do an heroic act; don't spile it. _Mrs. P._ But Zoe is only an Octoroon. _Scud._ She's won this race agin the white, anyhow; it's too late now to start her pedigree. _Enter_ Dora, L. U. E. _Scud._ [Seeing Dora.] Come, Mrs. Peyton, take my arm. Hush! here's the other one; she's a little too thoroughbred--too much of the greyhound; but the heart's there, I believe. [_Exit_ Scudder _and_ Mrs. Peyton, R. U. E. _Dora._ Poor Mrs. Peyton. _George._ Miss Sunnyside, permit me a word; a feeling of delicacy has suspended upon my lips an avowal, which-- _Dora._ [_Aside._] O, dear, has he suddenly come to his senses? _Enter_ Zoe, L. U. E., _she stops at back._ _George._ In a word, I have seen and admired you! _Dora._ [_Aside._] He has a strange way of showing it. European, I suppose. _George._ If you would pardon the abruptness of the question, I would ask you, Do you think the sincere devotion of my life to make yours happy would succeed? _Dora._ [_Aside._] Well, he has the oddest way of making love. _George._ You are silent?