like it any more than you do, nurse, but perhaps you don't
understand all about the property being concerned, and about its
having to pass away from my father, if I don't do this. I care nothing
about the property, but he left it to 'my generosity!' Arthur is dead;
and he left it to 'my generosity,' nurse. What could I do?"

"Well, miss, you're acting according to what you thinks right and due
to your father, which is more nor I does; and poor, dead Mr. Arthur up
in Heaven there will make a note of that, there ain't no manner of
doubt. And somehow it do seem that things can't be allowed to go wrong
with you, my dear, seeing how you're a-sacrificing of yourself and of
your wishes to benefit others."

This conversation did not tend to put Angela into better spirits, but
she felt that it was now too late to recede.

Whilst Angela was talking to Pigott, Sir John and Lady Bellamy were
paying a call at Isleworth. They found George lying on the sofa in the
dining-room, in which, though it was the first week in June, a fire
was burning on the hearth. He bore all the signs of a man in the last
stage of consumption. The hollow cough, the emaciation, and the hectic
hue upon his face, all spoke with no uncertain voice.

"Well, Caresfoot, you scarcely look like a bridegroom, I must say,"
said little Sir John, looking as pleased as though he had made an
eminently cheerful remark.

"No, but I am stronger than I look; marriage will cure me."

"Humph! will it? Then you will be signally fortunate."

"Don't croak, Bellamy. I am happy to-day--there is fire dancing along
my veins. Just think, this time to-morrow Angela will be my legal
wife!"

"Well, you appear to have given a good price for the privilege, if
what Anne tells me is correct. To sell the Isleworth estates for fifty
thousand, is to sell them for a hundred and fifty thousand less than
they are worth. Consequently, the girl costs you a hundred and fifty
thousand pounds--a long figure that for one girl."

"Bah! you are a cold-blooded fellow, Bellamy. Can't you understand
that there is a positive delight in ruining oneself for the woman one
loves? And then, think how she will love me, when she comes to
understand what she has cost me. I can see her now. She will come and
kiss me--mind you, kiss me of her own free will--and say, 'George, you
are a noble fellow; George, you are a lover that any woman may be
proud of; no price was too heavy for you.' Yes, that is what she w