ve abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous
pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the
wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he
assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart
and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on
earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna.

It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as
playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her
behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even
though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of
his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so
called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young,
and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As
a boy he had ever been at the cottage of the Countess, and he had
sworn to Lady Anna a thousand times that he would do and die in her
service. Now he was a strong man, and was more devoted to her than
ever. It was the great romance of his life. How could it be brought
to pass that the acknowledged daughter of an Earl, dowered with
enormous wealth, should become the wife of a tailor? And yet such
was his ambition and such his purpose. It was not that he cared for
her dower. It was not, at any rate, the hope of her dower that had
induced him to love her. His passion had grown and his purpose had
been formed before the old Earl had returned for the last time to
Lovel Grange,--when nothing was known of the manner in which his
wealth might be distributed. That her prospect of riches now joined
itself to his aspirations it would be an affectation to deny. The man
who is insensible to the power which money brings with it must be a
dolt; and Daniel Thwaite was not a dolt, and was fond of power. But
he was proud of heart, and he said to himself over and over again
that should it ever come to pass that the possession of the girl was
to depend on the abandonment of the wealth, the wealth should be
abandoned without a further thought.

It may be imagined that with such a man the words which his father
would speak to him about the Lady Anna, suggesting the respectful
distance with which she should be approached by a tailor's foreman,
would be very bitter. They were bitter to the speaker and very bitter
to him who heard them. "Daniel," said the father, "this is a queer
life you are leading with t