he
was regarded as the great lady, the acknowledged heiress, who was
to have, at some not very distant time, all Llanfeare in her own
hands. It was said of her, and said truly, that she was possessed
of many virtues. She was charitable, careful for others, in no
way self-indulgent, sedulous in every duty, and, above all things,
affectionately attentive to her uncle. But she had become imperious,
and inclined to domineer, if not in action, yet in spirit. She had
lived much among books, had delighted to sit gazing over the sea with
a volume of poetry in her hand, truly enjoying the intellectual gifts
which had been given her. But she had, perhaps, learnt too thoroughly
her own superiority, and was somewhat apt to look down upon the less
refined pleasure of other people. And now her altered position in
regard to wealth rather increased than diminished her foibles. Now,
in her abject poverty,--for she was determined that it should be
abject,--she would be forced to sustain her superiority solely by
her personal gifts. She determined that, should she find herself
compelled to live in her father's house, she would do her duty
thoroughly by her stepmother and her sisters. She would serve them as
far as it might be within her power; but she could not giggle with
the girls, nor could she talk little gossip with Mrs Brodrick. While
there was work to be done, she would do it, though it should be hard,
menial, and revolting; but when her work was done, there would be her
books.

It will be understood that, such being her mood and such her
character, she would hardly make herself happy in her father's
house,--or make others happy. And then, added to all this, there was
the terrible question of money! When last at Hereford, she had told
her father that, though her uncle had revoked his grand intention in
her favour, still there would be coming to her enough to prevent her
from being a burden on the resources of her family. Now that was all
changed. If her father should be unable or unwilling to support her,
she would undergo any hardship, any privation; but would certainly
not accept bounty from the hands of her cousin. Some deed had been
done, she felt assured,--some wicked deed, and Cousin Henry had been
the doer of it. She and she alone had heard the last words which her
uncle had spoken, and she had watched the man's face narrowly when
her uncle's will had been discussed in the presence of the tenants.
She was quite sure. Let h