anoeuvres of Mrs. Bluestone. At that moment of her existence
she was herself in doubt. In Wyndham Street and at Yoxham she had
almost more than doubted. The softness of the new Elysium had well
nigh unnerved her. When that young man had caught her from stone to
stone as she passed over the ford at Bolton, she was almost ready
to give herself to him. But then had come upon her the sense of
sickness, that faint, overdone flavour of sugared sweetness, which
arises when sweet things become too luscious to the eater. She had
struggled to be honest and strong, and had just not fallen into the
pot of treacle.

But, notwithstanding all this, they who saw her and knew the story,
were still sure that the lord must at last win the day. There was not
one who believed that such a girl could be true to such a troth as
she had made. Even the Solicitor-General, when he told the tale which
the amorous steward had remembered to his own encouragement, did not
think but what the girl and the girl's fortune would fall into the
hands of his client. Human nature demanded that it should be so.
That it should be as he wished it was so absolutely consonant with
all nature as he had known it, that he had preferred trusting to
this result, in his client's behalf, to leaving the case in a jury's
hands. At this moment he was sure he was right in his judgment. And
indeed he was right;--for no jury could have done anything for his
client.

It went on till at last the wise men decided that the girl only
wanted to be relieved by her old lover, that she might take a new
lover with his permission. The girl was no doubt peculiar; but, as
far as the wise ones could learn from her manner,--for with words
she would say nothing,--that was her state of mind. So the interview
was planned,--to the infinite disgust of the Countess, who, however,
believed that it might avail; and we know what was the result. Lady
Anna, who long had doubted,--who had at last almost begun to doubt
whether Daniel Thwaite was true to her,--had renewed her pledges,
strengthened her former promises, and was now more firmly betrothed
than ever to him whom the Countess hated as a very fiend upon earth.
But there certainly should be no marriage! Though she pistolled the
man at the altar, there should be no marriage.

And then there came upon her the infinite disgust arising from
the necessity of having to tell her sorrows to others,--who could
not sympathize with her, though their wishe