“Do you love Miss Whitmore?”

“You have taken me by surprise, Godfrey.  It is a question which, at this moment, I can scarcely answer.”

“If your feelings towards her are of such an indefinite character, it will require no great mental effort to resign her.  To me she is an object of passionate regard.  A marriage with Miss Whitmore would render me the happiest of men, and retrieve the fallen fortunes of my house.  Nor do I think, if you were absent, that she would long remain indifferent to my suit.  But if you continue to persevere in trying to win her affections you will drive me mad.”

Godfrey spoke with vehemence.  Anthony remained silent, lost in profound thought.  Godfrey went up to him and grasped him firmly by the hand.  “Prove your love and gratitude to my father, Anthony, by an act of friendship to his son.”

“God knows that I am painfully alive to the many obligations I owe to him, Godfrey; but you require of me a sacrifice I am unable to grant.”

“Have you made an offer to Miss Whitmore? and has she accepted you?”

“Neither the one nor the other.  Have you?”

“I spoke to her on the subject yesterday.”

“Well,” said Anthony, turning very pale.  “Did she reject your suit?”

“She did not.  She talked of her youth, and made some excuse to go to her father.  But she showed no indications of displeasure.  From her manner, I had all to hope, and little to fear.  Few women, especially a young girl of seventeen, can be won without a little wooing.  I have no doubt of ultimately winning her regard.”

“Can you really be in earnest?”

“Do you doubt my word?  Do you think the miser’s heir more likely to win the affections of the romantic child of genius than the last scion of a ruined man?”

“How have I suffered myself to be cheated and betrayed by my own vanity!” said Anthony, thoughtfully.  “Alas, for poor human nature, if this statement be true!”

“You still question my words, Anthony!  Upon my honor, what I have said is strictly true; nor would it be honorable in you, after what I have advanced, to press your suit upon the lady.”

“If you asked me to resign the wealth you prize so highly, Godfrey, I could do it.  Nay, even my life itself would be a far less sacrifice than the idea of giving up the only woman I ever loved.  Ask anything of me but that, for I cannot do it!”

“Then you will compel me to do this,” said Godfrey, taking from his breast a loaded pistol, and aiming it at his own head.

“Madman!” cried Anthony, striking the weapon from his hand; “what would you do?”

“Prove your gratitude to me and mine,” said Godfrey with a bitter laugh.  “Your father is rich, mine is poor, and has been made so by his generosity to others!”