ess-room, and
is buried deep in discussion how to secure to himself, at the expense
of his patron, the representation of Lansmere, and how to complete the
contract which shall reannex to his forlorn inheritance some fragments
of its ancient wealth.

Meanwhile, Chance fought on his side in the boudoir of May Fair. The
squire had found the marchesa at home, briefly introduced himself and
his business, told her she was mistaken if she had fancied she had
taken in a rich heir in his son; that, thank Heaven, he could leave his
estates to his ploughman, should he so please, but that he was willing
to do things liberally; and whatever she thought Frank was worth, he was
very ready to pay for.

At another time Beatrice would perhaps have laughed at this strange
address; or she might, in some prouder moment, have fired up with all
a patrician's resentment and a woman's pride; but now her spirit was
crushed, her nerves shattered: the sense of her degraded position, of
her dependence on her brother, combined with her supreme unhappiness at
the loss of those dreams with which Leonard had for a while charmed
her wearied waking life,--all came upon her. She listened; pale and
speechless; and the poor squire thought he was quietly advancing
towards a favourable result, when she suddenly burst into a passion
of hysterical tears; and just at that moment Frank himself entered the
room. At the sight of his father, of Beatrice's grief, his sense of
filial duty gave way. He was maddened by irritation, by the insult
offered to the woman he loved, which a few trembling words from her
explained to him,--maddened yet more by the fear that the insult had
lost her to him; warm words ensued between son and father, to close with
the peremptory command and vehement threat of the last.

"Come away this instant, sir! Come with me, or before the day is over, I
strike you out of my will!"

The son's answer was not to his father; he threw himself at Beatrice's
feet.

"Forgive him; forgive us both--"

"What! you prefer that stranger to me,--to the inheritance of
Hazeldean!" cried the squire, stamping his foot.

"Leave your estates to whom you will; all that I care for in life is
here!"

The squire stood still a moment or so, gazing on his son with a strange
bewildered marvel at the strength of that mystic passion, which none
not labouring under its fearful charm can comprehend, which creates the
sudden idol that no reason justifies, and sacrifi