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some thousands a year beyond the net rent-roll did not conduce to disembarass them.

The difficulties in raising money increased daily; even the accommodating banker, William Weston, began to get very chary of his hundreds and thousands. At last came the time when Lord Carrington was informed that no further advances could be made; his account, said the banker, was already overdrawn some thousands of pounds, and the estates were encumbered almost to their full value.

The ruined Earl hurried to town on learning the stern truth, and came in all haste to Lombard-street.

He was shown into the bank parlor, where the wealthy banker received him with the utmost urbanity and deference; but in answer to enquiries as to the possibility of raising more money - if only twenty thousand-the reply

was

"My lord, I assure you it is utterly impossible. No professional money-lender would lend you as much as we have on the fee simple of the estates by at least twenty thousand pounds. "What, then, is to be done?" asked the peer. Money I must have; here I have over three thousand to pay next week at Tattersall's over the Ascot settling."

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"Really, my lord, it is very embarrassing I may say extremely embarrassing. I hardly know what to advise or suggest to your lordship. To be sure, there is the Cambermere estate; it is mortgaged for seventy thousand pounds. I think I might venture to say I could find a purchaser at eighty thousand. That would leave your lordship a balance of ten thousand."

"The Cambermere estate," said the Earl, tittering, "which has been in our family since the Conquest. And you wish me to sell that; and who might the proposed purchaser be?"

"It is possible that I myself, my lord, might feel inclined to venture on it as a speculationmerely as a speculation, my lord. I am a business man and cannot afford the luxury of a plurality of country seats-merely as a speculation, I repeat, and to oblige your lordship."

Already to "oblige his lordship" William Weston had become the possessor of one large estate adjoining the ancestral one from which the Earl derived his title; now it seemed that another was about to be swallowed up, leaving the peer only Carrington Park and estates, these latter mortgaged to their full value.

"No; I will not sell, Weston," said the peer

decidedly. "I'd rather smash up at once- -go abroad and live on five hundred a year-the rents will pay the interest of the mortgages." "But, my lord," said the banker, with a sinister look, "supposing that the mortgagees are not satisfied with the rents-supposing they demand back their capital-supposing, in default, they chose to foreclose?"

Lord Carrington turned pale at the dreadful word "foreclose."

"But you are the mortgagee, Weston! Surely you would not do anything so shabby as foreclose?"

"My lord, money is very scarce just now. I fear a financial crisis is impending. We have immense sums out at interest. It may be that we shall have difficulty in meeting our engagements. In that case, I fear we should be compelled to foreclose. However, my lord, I will take the affair into my most serious consideration," he continued, observing carefully the effect his words produced. "I have an urgent appointment on the Exchange now, and cannot further prolong the discussion; but if your lordship will honor me by dining with me this evening, at seven, we can talk it over."

Carrington dared not have refused, had he felt so inclined. As it was, seeing a chance of coming to an arrangement, he accepted the invitation, not without a feeling of wounded pride and humiliation.

The party assembled at the banker's table consisted only of themselves and Julia Weston, the host's only daughter. Under other circumstances, Lord Carrington might have been attracted by the grace and beauty of the young lady. As it was, he only saw in her the daughter of a vulgar city banker-of the Shylock who held the bond, and who seemed inclined to claim his pound of flesh to the last ounce. He could not fail to be struck by her singular beauty, notwithstanding the all-absorbing topic which engrossed his mind. Tall and well formed, Julia was just budding into womanhood. Regular features, beautiful eyes, and a profusion of ringleted brown hair had Julia Weston. Her figure was grace itself, and though from her youth (not yet nineteen) slender, it yet gave promise, by its exquisite proportions, of its maturer beauties. After Julia had retired to the drawing-room, the peer and the banker entered into a long discussion, marked by calm reticence on the one part- by feverish and impetuous hastiness on the other. The banker

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would commit himself to nothing-not even another mortgage would he consent to. The utmost that could be wrung from him was an advance of five thousand pounds, to enable Carrington to meet his engagements at Tattersall's. This, however, was in a bill of exchange, at a month, which Weston distinctly stated he should pay away in the course of business, leaving the other to meet it, when due, or take the consequences.

Again and again Lord Carrington found himself seated at the banker's table, each time, however, coming away more and more dissatisfied at the prospect of the future.

Thus a month wore on, day by day. Weston put him off with promises to "see what could be done," which resulted in nothing.

Carrington, for about the tenth time, was seated at the banker's table. The bill for five thousand was due on the following day. When he received the five thousand pounds he had signed a warrant of attorney. It is true, as a peer of the realm, that his person was secure from arrest; not so, however, his property; and well he knew that within twenty-four hours of the dishonor of the bill, the bailiffs would be in possession of Carrington Park. On this occasion he drank deeply of wine, even before Miss Weston retired.

Grown desperate from the state of affairs, he yet endeavored to be in good spirits, and, for nearly the first time, paid great attention to the young lady. As the wine mounted in his head, his attentions became more marked, and were even somewhat bold, as though he considered her worthy of his passing notice, but not of his serious attention.

Julia received his flattery and fulsome speeches with calm composure, merely taking the trouble to acknowledge them. The banker looked on meanwhile, with a smile of triumph on his hard face, watching narrowly both Carrington and his daughter. Occasionally, as the peer, under the influence of the wine, would verge on the boundaries of impropriety in his language, Weston's brow would lower and his face pale. It was after one of these speeches of the latter that the banker signalled to his daughter to retire.

"A devilish pretty girl that daughter of yours, Weston!" said Carrington, insolently; "a pity she has not got blood as well as beauty. She'd be quite a belle at the West End. She would, 'pon my soul!"

Had he been observing enough to have seen the expression on the banker's face, he would have trembled for his estates.

"Yes," was the calm reply; "she is a very beautiful girl, and would be an ormament to any station. Any man, no matter what his rank, might be proud to call her his wife."

"Well, I don't know about that; 'you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,' as the proverb says. Of course, you know, Weston, it's not her fault, nor your fault, that she is not of gentle blood."

"Pass the wine, Lord Carrington - by the by, I hear, from my manager, that we have very heavy calls to meet next week. It is absolutely necessary that you redeem those mortgages of yours, to the extent, at least, of a hundred thousand. Absolutely necessary, my lord! ; and he slowly and deliberately filled his glass and passed the bottle.

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"But it's impossible!" said Carrington, turning very pale.

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I'm very sorry to hear it, my lord. The alternative is very painful, but it is absolutely necessary. The money must be had, or-a foreclosure. Pass the bottle again, if you please."

Carrington was now quite sobered. Ruin stared him in the face. - not at a remote time, but imminent-a few days would suffice to ruin him utterly-credit, position, all would go at one fell swoop.

"As you were pleased to observe, my lord," said the banker, after a long silence; "my daughter is an exceedingly beautiful young lady. It is unfortunate, as you say, that she has not 'gentle blood.' I'll trouble you for the filberts, if you please — thanks that, however, cannot be helped. I venture to repeat, however, notwithstanding that drawback, that she is calculated to adorn any station - even that of a peer of the realm."

Lord Carrington did not venture to contradict this time.

"In addition to her great personal advantages she will bring to the happy man, who shall be her husband, the treasures of a highly educated and richly stored mind—and last, though in in the estimation of most people not least, I shall give her on her marriage a dowry of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds. By-theby, my lord, I think that is exactly the amount to which Carrington Park is mortgaged — singular, very singular-quite a coincidence.

may observe. Then she has her mother's fortune settled on her, in itself a good income, so that, as far as worldly advantages are concerned, my daughter is in a very enviable position. I think, my lord, that few young ladies, even of gentle blood, could bring to their husbands at once greater beauty and fortune combined. Singular, very singular," he added, cracking a nut, "is it not, that her dowry should tally with the encumbrances on Carrington Park?”

The ruined Earl saw it all now, and wondered at his own former obtuseness.

The price of the banker's forbearance was to be a coronet for his daughter.

Proud as Lucifer-looking down on the middle and commercial classes with the utmost

contempt, and hating what he was pleased to term in conversation with a friend, "moneygrubbing bankers," particularly, he yet made up his mind at once to accept the proffered

terms.

"You are quite right, my dear sir,” he said, "your daughter would indeed grace any station. Now, did I think I had the slightest chance of success, I need scarcely say how proud I should be to offer my hand and title. You must have observed lately the admiration with which she has inspired me."

Weston had observed nothing of the kind. "If you think I have the least chance of favorably impressing the young lady, Mr.

Weston ?"

"I really cannot answer your question, Lord Carrington; I must leave that to my daughter herself. I think, however, it is extremely probable that with my sanction she might entertain your proposal favorably."

And thus did this man dispose of his daughter, as if she were a bale of merchandise.

"I think you said you hal an engagement at your club at ten," said Weston, looking at his watch; it is now half-past nine; you will come up to the drawing-room?"

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"Manner, my dear girl-merely manner I assure you he thinks most highly of you."

Then ensued a long and painful scene. The father was stern and determined; he used all his arguments, all his paternal authority, to gain his point. Julia was alone and unfriended. Ever accustomed to yield implicit obedience to her father, it is not wonderful that she should at last give way so far as to declare that if Lord Carrington should persist in his suit, after she had acquainted him with one fact, that she would no longer object.

"And what is that fact?" asked her father. "That I do not love him, that I never can love him, and that I love another.”

Weston's brow grew dark at these words, but after considering for a moment, he said calmly

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Then, if I understand you aright, you will accept Lord Carrington, if he does not think the fact of your not loving him at present an obstacle."

"Neither at present nor at any future time, will I ever feel for him anything but distaste and aversion."

"Why so? Is he not noble, good-looking, and in the prime of life? Surely, apart from any such folly as love, the title, the position, might well deserve your consideration. The Countess of Carrington -surely you are not insensible to the rank and position the title will bestow-you will mix with the highest and noblest in the land. Your beauty will command admiration, your rank envy, your wealth every luxury you can desire. Say no more Lord Carrington will call on you to-morrow see that you receive him in a proper spirit."

--

There the conversation dropped. Weston seeing no obstacle to the marriage in Julia's girlish scruples - she, seeing in the fact of her loving another, a means of escape.

Knowing nothing of the worldly nature of the bargain on both sides, she thought, poor

No, I thank you, not now; shall you be at girl, that she merely would have to candidly home to-morrow?" own to her noble suitor that her heart was en

"I shall be at the bank; my daughter, how-gaged, for him at once to withdraw his suit. ever, will be at home. I will see that your bill Determined to tell him all, she had little fear for five thousand is duly met. Good night, of the result, as she could not conceive a man Lord Carrington." noble, and, as she supposed, wealthy, acting so base a part, as to force an unwilling girl to be

heart.

"Julia, my dear," said Weston; "Lord Car-stow her hand where she could not bestow her rington will make you a proposal to-morrow." "Lord Carrington! why he scarcely treats me with the respect due to a lady!"

On the following morning Lord Carrington called as her father had said. His manner was

respectful and almost deferential, but, had she no other reason, the cool manner in which he at once came to business and offered the banker's daughter his hand and title, would at once have offended her pride.

In spite of his deferential manner and the air of diffidence which he assumed, Julia could discern the fact that he had not the least idea of such an absurdity as a refusal. But what was her dismay when, having heard him out, and stated the fact of her indifference to him and love for another, he coolly declared that he was extremely sorry that any girlish fancy should prejudice him in her eyes that he was not so happy as to possess her heart; and ended by hoping that as Countess of Carrington she would speedily forget any little affair du cœur of the past, and reflect new lustre by her beauty and accomplishments on his ancestral coronet.

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Surely, my lord," she exclaimed in terror, as she saw the probability of her hopes being dashed to the ground, "surely you would not accept my hand when I have no heart to give -surely you would not be so cruel, so unkind, as to force me into an union which is distasteful, nay, hateful to me?"

"Force you, Miss Weston," he said. "I have not the power even if I had the will-I can only respectfully press my suit, and trust that your feelings may undergo a change."

"But it is forcing me; it is nothing else," she cried passionately. "I told my father that I would tell you all, and that then, if you pressed your suit, I would not refuse. But then," she said bitterly, "I thought you were an honorable man as well as a peer, and would scorn to use your rank to influence me through my father." "I can only plead my great love and devotion as an extenuation of my fault in still seeking your hand, Miss Weston. Pray, remember, if it is a fault that it is yourself who are responsible for it. What man can gaze on so much grace, so much beauty, such great attraction as you possess, and yet be wise, Miss Weston ?" Julia's answer was a flood of tears. She saw she was in the coils and could discover no chance to escape, for now she had little hope of Lord Carrington relenting.

That evening the Earl dined with them again. Julia was present― pale, sad, with traces of tears on her face, and a wild, frightened look in her beautiful eyes.

"My lord," said the banker, with bland pomposity, when the cloth was removed, filling his

| glass; let us drink to the health of the future Countess of Carrington." The toast was drunk ; the banker nodded and said, "Julia, my dear." The lord merely bowed towards her and in a month's time Julia Weston became the Countess of Carrington.

All this I heard afterwards, as, not liking the man, although an old schoolfellow, I never called on the Westons except professionally, and of late my services had not been required. Some months previously, however, I had constantly attended Miss Weston, whose health was

none of the best. Pain and sickness have a

wonderfully softening effect on the mind, especially of women; they long for some one to confide in -some one to talk to about the inmost feelings of their heart. I soon felt convinced that my fair patient had some secret cause, if not for sorrowing, for anxiety. It was no feeling of idle curiosity which prompted me to discover what this care might be. I am one of those who believe that, in order successfully to treat the body the physician must ascertain if there be not "a mind diseased," and endeavor, if possible, to soothe the spirit before attempting to deal with physical ailments. First exacting a promise of secresy, which I smilingly gave, my patient proceeded to initiate me into a little love affair which had been proceeding for some time.

In the immediate neighborhood of the estate which her father had purchased from the Earl of Carrington, and which he had determined to retain as his country seat, was an old country squire with an only son. Arthur Fanshawe, for so the young gentleman was called, was young, handsome, agreeable, and with boundless audacity. It is not, therefore, surprising that he should have made the acquaintance of his beautiful neighbor, the banker's daughter, during the four months of their stay in the country. Julia thought him everything that was brave, noble, and lovable. Unknown to her father she rode, walked, and went on fishing excursions with him, till all this ended one fine day in the young couple vowing everlasting love and fidelity to each other. Now all this, though very delightful to them, did not meet the stern father's approval, for, in the first place, the gross income of the squire was only about fifteen hundred a year, while the son had absolutely nothing during the father's life, not even a profession, unless a commission in the County Militia

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could be called one. Besides, old Weston had "Indeed I was not aware of it; allow me to set his heart on marrying his daughter to a peer, congratulate you. Has your father, then, reand a peer he was determined to get for her.lented in favor of your late lover? — and have Thus it happened that, getting an inkling of I the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Fanshawe?” what was going on, he suddenly removed his daughter to town, thinking thus effectually to put a stop to this folly. Vain hope!

At first the young lady moped and fell ill then I was called in and discovered the cause of the mysterious ailment. Scarcely had I done so, then I remarked a wonderful improvement in my patient's health and spirits. At the time I could not quite account for the sudden change, and did her the injustice to think that time had healed the wound. Subsequently, however, I learned that, once or twice a week, the same morning express which was wont, during their stay in the country, to whirl the banker up to town to business, now brought the faithful lover. Julia, in London, enjoyed perfect liberty. Her father was engaged at the bank during the day, and having no female friends or relatives staying in the house, of course she went occasionally for a walk alone. I need scarcely say that Arthur Fanshawe met her by appointment, and it was this was the cause of the favorable change, which all my medicaments could not effect.

But now Julia was Countess of Carrington, and her day dream of love and happiness was over. The marriage was a private one, so that I heard nothing of it until some time afterwards.

It was in the box lobby of her Majesty's theatre that I next saw the banker's daughter. I had some nieces from the country staying with me and, having promised to take them to the opera, had taken advantage of a box ticket placed at my disposal by a patient, to redeem my word. At the very commencement of the performance I was sent for by a patient in St. James's square. Fortunately it was a false alarm, and as there was nothing serious the matter I hastened back to the opera. In the box lobby I met my beautiful young patient, William Weston's daughter. Not knowing anything of her marriage, I was surprised at the magnificence of the jewels she wore. I thought, in her evening dress, with the emerald tiara in her dark hair, that she looked exquisitely beautiful. I shook hands with her, and addressed her as Miss Weston.

"Good heavens, doctor!" she exclaimed, "do you not, then, know that I am married ?"

"Mrs. Fanshawe! Good heavens, no! Would to God I were so-even Julia Weston again. Come with me, doctor, there is no one in my box, and I wish to speak to you."

Not without some astonishment I followed her. Strange, I thought, that I should not have heard of her marriage. Who could it be? I entered the box with her, and, seating myself, prepared to listen to what she had to say. The box, which was on the grand tier, next to that of royalty, commanded a view of the flies. The ballet was about to commence, and we could see groups of girls assembled in readiness to come on. Occasionally, too, the forms of aristocratic-looking men in evening dress might be perceived, proving that a favored few, other than professionals, were admitted behind the scenes.

"There! do you see that gentleman talking to the girl dressed as a fairy?" exclaimed my companion suddenly.

"Yes!" I said in some surprise; "that is Lord Carrington; I believe, from report, that he is a constant worshipper of these beautiful nymphs.”

"You are quite right, doctor," she said, while an angry flush mounted to her cheek; "and now I must inform you that I am the Countess of Carrington."

I was apologizing for my unintentional offence in speaking thus of her husband, when she stopped me.

"There don't apologize," she said; "it is needless-I am not jealous-I do not love him-never can love him and, of course, where there is no love there can be no jealousy."

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Then she told me all that the reader already knows.

"Do you know, doctor," she said, when she had concluded her narrative, "that if I had waited for one week only, all would have been well. I had not the courage to tell poor Arthur that I was about to be married, so I avoided him and did not answer his letters. Well, a letter arrived for me at my father's on the very day on which I became Countess of Carrington. It was forwarded, and I received it five days afterwards. It contained news which would have made me refuse to be that man's wife, even at

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