s mooted to Mr. Barrett, he evinced his
repugnance to the idea. To him even the most foolish assertion of his
own was a sacred pledge. He called it "pride in his word": others
recognised it as the very arrogance of obstinacy. He refused to
countenance the marriage in any way, refused to have Browning's name
mentioned in his presence, and even when his daughter told him that she
had definitely made up her mind, he flatly declined to acknowledge as
even possible what was indeed very imminent.

Nor did he ever step down from his ridiculous pinnacle of wounded
self-love. Favourite daughter though she had been, Mr. Barrett never
forgave her, held no communication with her even when she became a
mother, and did not mention her in his will. It is needless to say
anything more upon this subject. What Mr. and Mrs. Browning were
invariably reticent upon can well be passed over with mere mention of
the facts.

At the last moment there had been great hurry and confusion. But
nevertheless, on the forenoon of the 12th of September 1846, Robert
Browning and Elizabeth Barrett had unceremoniously stepped into St.
Maryle-bone Church and there been married. So secret had the matter been
kept that even such old friends as Richard Hengist Horne and Mr. Kenyon
were in ignorance of the event for some time after it had actually
occurred.

Mrs. Jameson made all haste to the hotel where the Brownings were, and
ultimately persuaded them to leave the hotel for the quieter _pension_
in the Rue Ville d'Eveque, where she and Mrs. Macpherson were staying.
Thereafter it was agreed that, as soon as a fortnight had gone by, they
should journey to Italy together.

Truly enough, as Mrs. Macpherson says, the journey must have been
"enchanting, made in such companionship." Before departing from Paris,
Mrs. Jameson, in writing to a friend, alluded to her unexpected
companions, and added, "Both excellent: but God help them! for I know
not how the two poet heads and poet hearts will get on through this
prosaic world." This kindly friend was not the only person who
experienced similar doubts. One acquaintance, no other than the
Poet-Laureate, Wordsworth, added: "So, Robert Browning and Elizabeth
Barrett have gone off together! Well, I hope they may understand each
other--nobody else could!"

As a matter of fact they did, and to such good intent that they seem
never to have had one hour of dissatisfaction, never one jar in the
music of their lives.

What