pressing to her his thoughts as
he did so,--he ignored the masterfulness of his own character. There
are men who exercise dominion, from the nature of their disposition,
and who do so from their youth upwards, without knowing, till
advanced life comes upon them, that any power of dominion belongs to
them. Men are persuasive, and imperious withal, who are unconscious
that they use burning words to others, whose words to them are never
even warm. So it was with this man when he spoke to himself in his
solitude of his purpose of resigning the titled heiress. To the
arguments, the entreaties, or the threats of others he would pay no
heed. The Countess might bluster about her rank, and he would heed
her not at all. He cared nothing for the whole tribe of Lovels. If
Lady Anna asked for release, she should be released. But not till she
had heard his words. How scalding these words might be, how powerful
to prevent the girl from really choosing her own fate, he did not
know himself.

Though he lived in the same house with her he seldom saw her,--unless
when he would knock at the door of an evening, and say a few words to
her mother rather than to her. Since Thomas Thwaite had left London
for the last time the Countess had become almost cold to the young
man. She would not have been so if she could have helped it; but she
had begun to fear him, and she could not bring herself to be cordial
to him either in word or manner. He perceived it at once, and became,
himself, cold and constrained.

Once, and once only, he met Lady Anna alone, after his father's
departure, and before her interview with Lord Lovel. Then he met
her on the stairs of the house while her mother was absent at the
lawyer's chambers.

"Are you here, Daniel, at this hour?" she asked, going back to the
sitting-room, whither he followed her.

"I wanted to see you, and I knew that your mother would be out. It is
not often that I do a thing in secret, even though it be to see the
girl that I love."

"No, indeed. I do not see you often now."

"Does that matter much to you, Lady Anna?"

"Lady Anna!"

"I have been instructed, you know, that I am to call you so."

"Not by me, Daniel."

"No;--not by you; not as yet. Your mother's manners are much altered
to me. Is it not so?"

"How can I tell? Mine are not."

"It is no question of manners, sweetheart, between you and me. It has
not come to that, I hope. Do you wish for any change,--as regards
me?"

"Oh,