h was probably developed and
accelerated in its progress in no small measure by all the bitterness
and complicated difficulties of this disastrous double courtship.

Maria, the youngest, an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on
her death-bed exacted from her sister a promise that she would never
become Lawrence's wife; the promise was given, and she died, and had not
lain long in her untimely grave when her sister was laid in it beside
her. The death of these two lovely and amiable women broke off all
connection between Sir Thomas Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time
they never saw or had any intercourse with each other.

CHAPTER XII.

It was years after these events that Lawrence, meeting my father
accidentally in the street one day, stopped him and spoke with great
feeling of his sympathy for us all in my approaching trial, and begged
permission to come and see my mother and become acquainted with me,
which he accordingly did; and from that time till his death, which
occurred but a few months later, he was unwearied in acts of friendly
and affectionate kindness to me. He came repeatedly to consult with my
mother about the disputed point of my dress, and gave his sanction to
her decision upon it. The first dress of Belvidera, I remember, was a
point of nice discussion between them. Plain black velvet and a
lugubrious long vail were considered my only admissible wear, after my
husband's ruin; but before the sale of our furniture, it was conceded
that I might relieve the somber Venetian patrician's black dress with
white satin puffs and crimson linings and rich embroidery of gold and
pearl; moreover, before our bankruptcy, I was allowed (not, however,
without serious demur on the part of Lawrence) to cover my head with a
black hat and white feather, with which, of course, I was enamored,
having never worn anything but my hair on my head before, and feeling an
unspeakable accession of dignity in this piece of attire. I begged hard
to be allowed to wear it through the tragedy, but this, with some
laughter at my intense desire for it, was forbidden, and I was reduced
after the first scene of the play to my own unadorned locks, which I
think greatly strengthened my feeling of the abject misery into which I
had fallen.

When in town, Lawrence never omitted one of my performances, always
occupying the stage box, and invariably sending me the next morning a
letter, full of the most detailed and delicate