He had left only one daughter, Clarice Severn, afterward Lady Alden, whose tragical death filled the whole country with gloom. His widow, Mrs. Severn, had been a lady of great energy and activity; but her life had been a very arduous one. She had shared in all her husband’s political enterprises. She had shared his pains and his joys. She had labored with her whole soul; and now that he was dead she suffered from the reaction. Her only wish and desire was for quiet and repose; the whole life of her life was centered on her beautiful daughter. Clarice Severn was but sixteen when her father died. His estate was entailed, and at his widow’s death was to pass into possession of his heir-at-law. But the gifted statesman had not neglected his only child. He had saved a large fortune for her, and Clarice Severn was known as a wealthy heiress. She was also the belle and beauty _par excellence_ of the country. At all balls and _fêtes_ she was queen. Her brilliant face, lighted by smiles, her winning, haughty grace drawing all eyes, attracting all attention. Wherever she was she reigned paramount. Other women, even if more beautiful, paled into insignificance by her side. She was very generous, giving with open, lavish hands. Proud in so far as she had a very just appreciation of her own beauty, wealth and importance. She was at times haughty to her equals, but to her inferiors she was ever gentle and considerate, a quality which afterward, when she came to reign at Aldenmere, made her beloved and worshiped by all her servants. She had faults, but the nature of the woman was essentially noble. What those faults were and what they did for her will be seen during the course of our story. Mount Severn, even after the death of its accomplished master, was a favorite place of resort. Mrs. Severn did not enjoy much of the quiet she longed for. She would look at her daughter sometimes with a smile, and say: “It will always be the same until you are married, Clarice; then people will visit you instead of me.” So, little when she dreamed of the brilliant future awaiting that beautiful and beloved child, did she dream of the tragedy that was to cut that young life so terribly short. Leeholme Park was the family seat of the Earl of Lorriston, a quiet, easy, happy, prosperous gentleman, who had never known a trouble or shadow of care in his whole life. “People talk of trouble,” he was accustomed to say; “but I really think half of it is their own making; of course there must be sickness and death, but the world is a bright place in spite of that.”