ting, overseeing his dozen slaves, and reading with his
intelligent companion the latest works of Richardson, Steele, Swift,
Addison, and Pope, sent over in big boxes from England.

The country about Hopkinton was then as to-day a wonder of hill and
valley, meadow and stream, while only a dozen miles or so from Frankland
Hall was the famous Wayside Inn. That Sir Harry's Arcady never came to
bore him was, perhaps, due to this last fact. Whenever guests were
desired the men from Boston could easily ride out to the inn and canter
over to the Hall, to enjoy the good wines and the bright talk the place
afforded. Then the village rector was always to be counted on for
companionship and breezy chat. It is significant that Sir Harry
carefully observed all the forms of his religion, and treated Agnes with
the respect due a wife, though he still continued to neglect the one
duty which would have made her really happy.

A lawsuit called the two to England in 1754. At Frankland's mother's
home, where the eager son hastened to bring his beloved one, Agnes was
once more subjected to martyrdom and social ostracism. As quickly as
they could get away, therefore, the young people journeyed to Lisbon, a
place conspicuous, even in that day of moral laxity, for its tolerance
of the _alliance libre_. Henry Fielding (who died in the town) has
photographically described for all times its gay, sensuous life. Into
this unwholesome atmosphere, quite new to her, though she was neither
maid nor wife, it was that the sweet Agnes was thrust by Frankland.
Very soon he was to perceive the mistake of this, as well as of several
other phases of his selfishness.

On All Saint's Day morning, 1755, when the whole populace, from beggar
to priest, courtier to lackey, was making its way to church, the town of
Lisbon was shaken to its foundations by an earthquake. The shock came
about ten o'clock, just as the Misericordia of the mass was being sung
in the crowded churches; and Frankland, who was riding with a lady on
his way to the religious ceremony, was immersed with his companion in
the ruins of some falling houses. The horses attached to their carriage
were instantly killed, and the lady, in her terror and pain, bit through
the sleeve of her escort's red broadcloth coat, tearing the flesh with
her teeth. Frankland had some awful moments for thought as he lay there
pinned down by the fallen stones, and tortured by the pain in his arm.

Meanwhile Agnes, wa