inished hoard of old Thomas Thwaite.
Then the will had been set aside; and gradually the cause of the
Countess had grown to be in the ascendant. Was he to drop his love,
to confess himself unworthy, and to slink away out of her sight,
because the girl would become an heiress? Was he even to conceive so
badly of her as to think that she would drop her love because she
was an heiress? There was no such humility about him,--nor such
absence of self-esteem. But, as regarded her, he told himself at once
that she should have the chance of being base and noble,--all base,
and all noble as far as title and social standing could make her
so,--if such were her desire. He had come to her and offered her her
freedom;--had done so, indeed, with such hot language of indignant
protest against the gilded gingerbread of her interested suitor, as
would have frightened her from the acceptance of his offer had she
been minded to accept it;--but his words had been hot, not from
a premeditated purpose to thwart his own seeming liberality, but
because his nature was hot and his temper imperious. This lordling
was ready to wed his bride,--the girl he had known and succoured
throughout their joint lives,--simply because she was rich and the
lordling was a pauper. From the bottom of his heart he despised the
lordling. He had said to himself a score of times that he could be
well content to see the lord take the money, waste it among thieves
and prostitutes, and again become a pauper, while he had the girl to
sit with him at his board, and share with him the earnings of his
honest labour. Of course he had spoken out. But the girl should be at
liberty to do as she pleased.

He wrote no line to her before she went, or while she was at Yoxham,
nor did he speak a word concerning her during her absence. But as he
sat at his work, or walked to and fro between his home and the shop,
or lay sleepless in bed, all his thoughts were of her. Twice or
thrice a week he would knock at the door of the Countess's room, and
say a word or two, as was rendered natural by their long previous
intercourse. But there had been no real intercourse between them. The
Countess told him nothing of her plans; nor did he ever speak to her
of his. Each suspected the other; and each was grimly civil. Once or
twice the Countess expressed a hope that the money advanced by Thomas
Thwaite might soon be repaid to him with much interest. Daniel would
always treat the subject with a no