ame.

"Impossible," says the professor, simply, coldly.

"_No?_ Why?"

The professor looks at him (a penetrating glance), but says nothing.

"Oh! damn it all!" says his brother, his brow darkening. "You had
_better_, you know, if you want the old name kept above water much
longer."

"You mean----?" says the professor, turning a grave face to his.

"Nothing but what is honorable. I tell you I mean to turn over a new
leaf. 'Pon my soul, I mean _that_. I'm sick of all this old racket, it's
killing me. And my title is as good a one as she can find anywhere, and
if I'm dipped--rather--her money would pull me straight again, and----"

He pauses, struck by something in the professor's face.

"You mean----?" says the latter again, even more slowly. His eyes are
beginning to light.

"Exactly what I have said," sullenly. "You have heard me."

"Yes, I _have_ heard you," cries the professor, flinging aside all
restraints and giving way to sudden violent passion--the more violent,
coming from one so usually calm and indifferent. "You have come here
to-day to try and get possession, not only of the fortune of a young and
innocent girl, but of her body and _soul_ as well! And it is me, _me_
whom you ask to be a party to this shameful transaction. Her dead father
left her to my care, and I am to sell her to you, that her money may
redeem our name from the slough into which _you_ have flung it? Is
innocence to be sacrificed that vice may ride abroad again? Look here,"
says the professor, his face deadly white, "you have come to the wrong
man. I shall warn Miss Wynter against marriage with _you_, as long as
there is breath left in my body."

Sir Hastings has risen too; _his_ face is dark red; the crimson flood
has reached his forehead and dyed it almost black. Now, at this terrible
moment, the likeness between the two brothers, so different in spirit,
can be seen; the flashing-eyes, the scornful lips, the deadly hatred. It
is a shocking likeness, yet not to be denied.

"What do _you_ mean, damn you?" says Sir Hastings; he sways a little, as
if his passion is overpowering him, and clutches feebly at the edge of
the table.

"Exactly what _I_ have said," retorts the professor, fiercely.

"You refuse then to go with me in this matter?"

"_Finally._ Even if I would, I could not. I--have other views for her."

"Indeed! Perhaps those other views include yourself. Are you thinking of
reserving the prize for your own special be