“I tear you from my heart! I give you up!” she cried. “Cold, hard man! you see me at your feet without pity! With my own eyes I have witnessed your faithlessness; but you make no effort at consolation; explain nothing!” “What can I explain, madam?” “Madam!” She arose slowly to her full height, and, pointing her finger at his astonished face, said, with solemn emphasis, “Mr. Savage, did I not see you kissing Georgiana Halstead’s hand?” Savage laughed, a little nervously, it must be confessed. “It is possible. Yes, I dare say you did.” “He owns it! He glories in his unfaithfulness!” she cried out, wringing her hands. “Was ever treason like this?” “Really, Miss Halstead, this scene is getting tedious,” said Savage, losing all patience. “I am not aware of ever having given you a right to address me in this way.” “Sir,” answered the lady, “I am aware of my rights, and will maintain them. To-morrow my brother shall call upon you to decide between his sister and his child.” “Miss Halstead, are you insane?” “If I am, Horace, who drove me to it? Oh! this will break your mother’s heart.” “Miss Halstead, sit down, and let me talk with you reasonably. You know as well as I that this idea of an engagement is an impossibility—that it never existed.” She had seated herself, and held that morsel of a handkerchief to her eyes. “If you have any thing to say in excuse for this cruel treachery, I will listen,” she said, with broken-hearted resignation. “Heaven knows my heart pleads for you.” “I have nothing to say, madam,” answered Savage, completely out of patience, “except that this farce is fortunate in having no other witnesses. The wisest thing that you or I can do, is to forget it as soon as possible.” Miss Eliza saw the quiet resolution in his face, and went gradually out of the little drama that she had acted so well. Her sobs were subdued; the morsel of a handkerchief fluttered less frequently to her eyes. She sat down, crest-fallen, with her two hands lying loosely in her lap. Her grand _coup d’etat_ had signally failed. Savage neither soothed, promised, or admitted any thing. All that was left to her was the most graceful retreat she could make. “Mr. Savage,” she said, holding out her hand, “let us be friends. If this artful girl has won you from me, let us be friends, eternal friends. This proud heart shall break in silence, if it must break. But there may be a future for us yet—something that the angels can look upon with pleasure. “‘Is there no other tie to bind The constant heart, the willing mind? Is love the only chain? Ah, yes! there is a tie as strong, That hinds as firm, and lasts as long— True friendship is its name.’ Mr. Savage, let us work out this beautiful idea. My soul turns toward it for consolation. Mr. Savage, are we friends?” Savage took the hand she held out, bowed over it, and went away.