tragedy ever written, no
story of horrors ever told, can have exceeded in description the
things which I endured in that one year of my married life." Then
she went on at length, not telling the details of that terrible year,
but speaking generally of the hardships of her life. "I have never
wondered, Lord Lovel, that you and your nearest relations should have
questioned my position. A bad man had surrounded me with such art in
his wickedness, that it has been almost beyond my strength to rid
myself of his toils." All this she had planned beforehand, having
resolved that she would rush into the midst of things at once, and if
possible enlist his sympathies on her side.

"I hope it may be over now," he said.

"Yes," she replied, rising slowly from her seat, "I hope it may be
over now." The moment had come in which she had to play the most
difficult stroke of her whole game, and much might depend on the way
in which she played it. She could not leave them together, walking
abruptly out of the room, without giving some excuse for so unusual
a proceeding. "Indeed, I hope it may be over now, both for us and
for you, Lord Lovel. That wicked man, in leaving behind such cause
of quarrel, has injured you almost as deeply as us. I pray God that
you and that dear girl there may so look into each other's hearts
and trust each other's purposes, that you may be able to set right
the ill which your predecessor did. If so, the family of Lovel for
centuries to come may be able to bless your names." Then with slow
steps she left the room.

Lady Anna had spoken one word, and that was all. It certainly was not
for her now to speak. She sat leaning on the table, with her eyes
fixed upon the ground, not daring to look at the man who had been
brought to her as her future husband. A single glance she had taken
as he entered the room, and she had seen at once that he was fair
and handsome, that he still had that sweet winsome boyishness of
face which makes a girl feel that she need not fear a man,--that the
man has something of her own weakness, and need not be treated as
one who is wise, grand, or heroic. And she saw too in one glance
how different he was from Daniel Thwaite, the man to whom she had
absolutely given herself;--and she understood at the moment something
of the charm of luxurious softness and aristocratic luxury. Daniel
Thwaite was swarthy, hard-handed, blackbearded,--with a noble fire
in his eyes, but with an innate coarsen