"Europe!" he echoed, "And must we go to Europe, in order to be permitted to live? No, Esther, no! I am an American, yes,"--and his voice, low and deep, echoed proudly through the stillness of the dimly-lighted room,--"yes, I am a Carolinian, ay, a South Carolinian; South Carolina is my home; while I live, I will not cease to assert my right to a place, ay, and no dishonorable place--on my native soil." He passed his sister's arm through his own, and led her gently over the carpet, which, soft as down, returned no echo to their tread. The lofty ceiling stretched above them, in the vague twilight; and on either hand were the walls adorned with paintings and statues. The mirror, which but dimly reflected their forms, flashed gently through the gloom. "And Esther, there is one reason why I will not become an exile, which I have never spoken to mortal ears--not even to yours, my sister. It was communicated to me by my father, before I left for Europe: he placed _proofs_ in my possession which do not admit of denial. Sister, my epistle!--Here, in the dimly-lighted room, to which we have been guided by an unknown friend,--here, surrounded by mystery, and with the marks of wealth all about us,--here, as the crisis of our fate draws near, let me breathe the secret in your ears." He paused in the center of the room. His sister felt his arm tremble as he drew her to his side. His voice betrayed, in its earnest yet faltering tones, an unfathomable emotion. And Esther clinging to his side, and looking up into his face--which she could scarcely discern through the gloom--felt her bosom swell, and her breath come painfully in gasps, as she was made, involuntarily, a sharer of her brother's agitation. "Randolph," she said, "what can be the secret, which you have kept ever from me, your sister?" "I will not leave this country, in the first place, because I am of its soil," he answered, "and because, first and last, it is no common right, which binds me to my native land. Come, Esther, to the window, where the light will help my words; you shall know all--" He led her to the window, and drew from beneath his vest, a miniature, which he held toward the fading light. "Do you trace the features?" he whispered. "I do. It is beautifully painted, and the likeness resembles a thousand others, that I have seen of the same man. But what has this portrait in miniature to do with us?" "What has it to do with us? Regard it again, and closely, my sister. Do you not trace a resemblance?" "Resemblance to whom?" Esther echoed. "Why it is the portrait of ---- ----." She repeated a name familiar to the civilized world. "It is _his_ portrait. No one can deny it. But Esther, again I ask you,--" his voice sunk low and lower.--"Do you not trace a resemblance?" "Resemblance to whom?" she answered, her tone indicating bewildered amazement. "To the picture of OUR MOTHER, which you have seen at Hill Royal," was Randolph's answer.