rt upon the prize, and he would allow
nothing to stand in his way.

And now the prize had come before his daughter had been two years
married, before the grandchild was born on whose head was to be
accumulated all these honours! There was no longer any doubt. The
Marquis was gone, and that false Popenjoy was gone; and his daughter
was the wife of the reigning Lord, and the child,--his grandchild,--was
about to be born. He was sure that the child would be a boy! But even
were a girl the eldest, there would be time enough for boys after that.
There surely would be a real Popenjoy before long.

And what was he to gain,--he himself? He often asked himself the
question, but could always answer it satisfactorily. He had risen above
his father's station by his own intellect and industry so high as to be
able to exalt his daughter among the highest in the land. He could
hardly have become a Marquis himself. That career could not have been
open to him; but a sufficiency of the sweets of the peerage would be
his own if he could see his daughter a Marchioness. And now that was
her rank. Fate could not take it away from her. Though Lord George were
to die to-morrow, she would still be a Marchioness, and the coming boy,
his grandson, would be the Marquis. He himself was young for his age.
He might yet live to hear his grandson make a speech in the House of
Commons as Lord Popenjoy.

He had been out about the city and received the telegram at three
o'clock. He felt at the moment intensely grateful to Lord George for
having sent it;--as he would have been full of wrath had none been sent
to him. There was no reference to "Poor Brotherton!" on his tongue; no
reference to "Poor Brotherton!" in his heart. The man had grossly
maligned his daughter to his own ears, had insulted him with bitter
malignity, and was his enemy. He did not pretend to himself that he
felt either sorrow or pity. The man had been a wretch and his enemy and
was now dead; and he was thoroughly glad that the wretch was out of his
way. "Marchioness of Brotherton!" he said to himself, as he rested for
a few minutes alone in his study. He stood with his hands in his
pockets, looking up at the ceiling, and realizing it all. Yes; all that
was quite true which had been said to himself more than once. He had
begun his life as a stable-boy. He could remember the time when his
father touched his hat to everybody that came into the yard.
Nevertheless he was Dean of Brotherto