He had hardly arrived at this almost despairing conclusion, after several hours of rebellion against his doom, when his brother suddenly dashed into his presence, without even the formality of knocking for admittance, his brow gloomy, his face white from passion and pain. Dr. Winthrop regarded him with surprise and anxiety. “What is it, Norman?” he inquired. “Is there anything the matter at the chateau?” “No, everybody is well, if that is what you mean,” was the curt reply, as the young man recklessly threw himself into a chair. “But, Norman, it does not seem to be well with you—what has occurred to disturb you thus?” “I have simply come to have an understanding with you before we leave for Italy.” “An understanding?” repeated Dr. Winthrop. “Pray what is there that needs explanation between you and me?” “This—is it true that you are going to marry Sadie Rochester?” demanded Norman Winthrop, starting to his feet and facing his brother, while a dull red wave of passion flushed his brow. “Is it true that you are formally betrothed to her? My mother has told me so, and I have also heard it from another source.” Dr. Winthrop searched his brother’s face; he noticed his sullen, desperate air; the reckless tone in his voice, the look of pain on his face, which was now pale even to ghastliness, and he instantly surmised the meaning of it. His brother loved the girl who had but just pledged herself to marry him. “You have heard it from another source—from whom?” he inquired. “From that heartless flirt herself—Sadie Rochester,” was the fierce reply. “Has Miss Rochester told you that she is betrothed to me?” Dr. Winthrop gravely asked, thinking that the girl had been in rather unseemly haste to announce the engagement, since he had but just learned her decision himself. “Yes, she says she is pledged to marry you.” “Pledged to marry me! Does she appear at all averse to the bond?” “No—no!” responded Norman passionately; “and that is what cuts me so, for you are so indifferent; you do not act at all like a man who has been so fortunate as to win a beautiful woman like Sadie Rochester, and I want to know whether you are voluntarily betrothed to her, or whether you simply feel bound to comply with the conditions of that contract.” The young physician was deeply distressed by this new development, for he saw that his brother was desperately in love, and it seemed hard indeed if another life must be ruined by his own enforced engagement. “I am sorry, Norman, that this matter is a source of unhappiness to you,” he said earnestly, “but I suppose it is settled that I am to marry Miss Rochester.” Norman Winthrop began excitedly pacing the floor. “Heavens! you drive me mad!” he cried passionately. “You suppose it is settled that you are to marry her! Do you love the girl?” And he stopped short in his walk, and glared fiercely at his companion with flaming eyes.