before he is here. Take off your bonnet."
Again Lady Anna silently did as she was bid. "It would have been
better,--very much better,--that you should have done as you were
desired without subjecting me to this indignity. But as you have
taken into your head an idea that you cannot be absolved from an
impossible engagement without his permission, I have submitted. Do
not let it be long, and let me hear then that all this nonsense is
over. He has got what he desires, as a very large sum of money has
been paid to him." Then there came a knock at the door from Sarah,
who just showed her face to say that Mr. Thwaite was in the room
below. "Now go down. In ten minutes I shall expect to see you here
again;--or, after that, I shall come down to you." Lady Anna took her
mother by the hand, looking up with beseeching eyes into her mother's
face. "Go, my dear, and let this be done as quickly as possible. I
believe that you have too great a sense of propriety to let him do
more than speak to you. Remember,--you are the daughter of an earl;
and remember also all that I have done to establish your right for
you."

"Mamma, I do not know what to do. I am afraid."

"Shall I go with you, Anna?"

"No, mamma;--it will be better without you. You do not know how good
he is."

"If he will abandon this madness he shall be my friend of friends."

"Oh, mamma, I am afraid. But I had better go." Then, trembling she
left the room and slowly descended the stairs. She had certainly
spoken the truth in saying that she was afraid. Up to this moment
she had not positively made up her mind whether she would or would
not yield to the entreaties of her friends. She had decided upon
nothing,--leaving in fact the arbitrament of her faith in the hands
of the man who had now come to see her. Throughout all that had been
said and done her sympathies had been with him, and had become the
stronger the more her friends had reviled him. She knew that they had
spoken evil of him, not because he was evil,--but with the unholy
view of making her believe what was false. She had seen through all
this, and had been aroused by it to a degree of firmness of which
her mother had not imagined her to be capable. Had they confined
themselves to the argument of present fitness, admitting the truth
and honesty of the man,--and admitting also that his love for her and
hers for him had been the natural growth of the familiar friendship
of their childhood and youth, their c