ould go nowhere till
he should know what might be his fate with the Earl's daughter, who
at present was his destiny. His mind was absolutely divided. In one
hour he would say to himself that the poet was certainly right;--and
in the next he was sure that the poet must have been wrong. As
regarded money, nine thousand pounds was as good to him as any sum
that could be named. He could do with that all that he required that
money should do for him. Could he at this time have had his own way
absolutely, he would have left all the remainder of the wealth behind
him, to be shared as they pleased to share it between the Earl and
the Countess, and he would have gone at once, taking with him the
girl whom he loved. He would have revelled in the pride of thinking
that all of them should say that he had wanted and had won the girl
only,--and not the wealth of the Lovels; that he had taken only what
was his own, and that his wife would be dependent on him, not he on
her. But this was not possible. It was now months since he had heard
the girl's voice, or had received any assurance from her that she
was still true to him. But, in lieu of this, he had the assurance
that she was in possession of enormous wealth, and that she was the
recognised cousin of lords and ladies by the dozen.

When the evening came he saw one of his employers and told the man
that he wished that his place might be filled. Why was he going? Did
he expect to better himself? When was he going? Was he in earnest?
Daniel told the truth at once as far as the payment of the money was
concerned. He was to receive on the following day a sum of money
which had been due to his father, and, when that should have been
paid him, it would not suit him to work longer for weekly wages. The
tailor grumbled, but there was nothing else to be said. Thwaite might
leave them to-morrow if he wished. Thwaite took him at his word and
never returned to the shop in Wigmore Street after that night.

On reaching his lodgings he found another letter,--from Serjeant
Bluestone. The Countess had so far given way as to accede to the
proposition that there should be a meeting between her daughter and
the tailor, and then there had arisen the question as to the manner
in which this meeting should be arranged. The Countess would not
write herself, nor would she allow her daughter to do so. It was
desirable, she thought, that as few people should know of the meeting
as possible, and at last, most