romised him, mamma, and have sworn that it should be
so." That was the answer which she now made from her bed;--the answer
which she had made a dozen times during the last three days.

"Is everybody belonging to you to be ruined because you once spoke a
foolish word?"

"Mamma, it was often spoken,--very often, and he does not wish that
anybody should be ruined. He told me that Lord Lovel might have the
money."

"Foolish, ungrateful girl! It is not for Lord Lovel that I am
pleading to you. It is for the name, and for your own honour. Do you
not constantly pray to God to keep you in that state of life to which
it has pleased Him to call you;--and are you not departing from it
wilfully and sinfully by such an act as this?" But still Lady Anna
continued to say that she was bound by the obligation which was upon
her.

On the following day the Countess was frightened, believing that the
girl was really ill. In truth she was ill,--so that the doctor who
visited her declared that she must be treated with great care. She
was harassed in spirit,--so the doctor said,--and must be taken away,
so that she might be amused. The Countess was frightened, but still
was resolute. She not only loved her daughter,--but loved no other
human being on the face of the earth. Her daughter was all that she
had to bind her to the world around her. But she declared to herself
again and again that it would be better that her daughter should
die than live and be married to the tailor. It was a case in which
persecution even to the very gate of the grave would be wise and
warrantable,--if by such persecution this odious, monstrous marriage
might be avoided. And she did believe that persecution would avail at
last. If she were only steady in her resolve, the girl would never
dare to demand the right to leave her mother's house and walk off to
the church to be married to Daniel Thwaite, without the countenance
of a single friend. The girl's strength was not of that nature. But
were she, the Countess, to yield an inch, then this evil might come
upon them. She had heard that young people can always beat their
parents if they be sufficiently obdurate. Parents are soft-hearted to
their children, and are prone to yield. And so would she have been
soft-hearted, if the interests concerned had been less important,
if the deviation from duty had been less startling, or the union
proposed less monstrous and disgraceful. But in this case it behoved
her to be