ld be some such settlement as he had suggested. But it
was in vain. "I don't want my wife to have anything of her own before
marriage," said he; "but she certainly shall have nothing after
marriage,--independent of me." For a man with sound views of domestic
power and marital rights always choose a Radical! In this case there
was no staying him. The girl was all on his side, and Mr. Goffe, with
infinite grief, was obliged to content himself with binding up a
certain portion of the property to make an income for the widow,
should the tailor die before his wife. And thus the tailor's marriage
received the sanction of all the lawyers.

A day or two after this Daniel Thwaite called upon the Countess.
It was now arranged that they should be married early in July, and
questions had arisen as to the manner of the ceremony. Who should
give away the bride? Of what nature should the marriage be? Should
there be any festival? Should there be bridesmaids? Where should they
go when they were married? What dresses should be bought? After what
fashion should they be prepared to live? Those, and questions of a
like nature, required to be answered, and Lady Anna felt that these
matters should not be fixed without some reference to her mother.
It had been her most heartfelt desire to reconcile the Countess to
the marriage,--to obtain, at any rate, so much recognition as would
enable her mother to be present in the church. But the Countess had
altogether refused to speak on the subject, and had remained silent,
gloomy, and impenetrable. Then Daniel had himself proposed that he
would see her, and on a certain morning he called. He sent up his
name, with his compliments, and the Countess allowed him to be shown
into her room. Lady Anna had begged that it might be so, and she had
yielded,--yielded without positive assent, as she had now done in
all matters relating to this disastrous marriage. On that morning,
however, she had spoken a word. "If Mr. Thwaite chooses to see me, I
must be alone." And she was alone when the tailor was shown into the
room. Up to that day he had worn his arm in a sling,--and should then
have continued to do so; but, on this visit of peace to her who had
attempted to be his murderer, he put aside this outward sign of the
injury she had inflicted on him. He smiled as he entered the room,
and she rose to receive him. She was no longer a young woman;--and no
woman of her age or of any other had gone through rougher us