“What do you mean, sir?” and Lord Dunforth got quite red in the face at this answer. “I mean, my lord, that I meant just what I said several days ago. I told you that the happiness of two lives was at stake, and that I should marry the lady I love. Sir, I found that she was being shamefully abused and insulted in her situation, and I made her my wife yesterday.” “And you dare come hither and tell me of it!” thundered the angry lord, starting to his feet. “I could not endure to be at variance with you, sir, and I know you would honor me for the course I have taken if you would but consider the circumstances.” “Never!” he interrupted, white with passion; “you have braved my displeasure, and now—begone! That a Dunforth should have stolen forth like that to marry a beggar!” and he groaned aloud. “But, grandfather, listen——” “I will not, I tell you, and I command you to begone; you are of age, and can henceforth manage your own concerns; but not one shilling of my property shall revert to you more than I can help, and I would keep the title and estate from you if I could. Go to your beggar-bride, and be happy, if you can. You have ruined my life. Oh, God! I thought I had suffered enough at the beginning without this last blow to crush me,” and he turned away from him, with a gesture of despair. The young man’s heart bled for him, and he longed to comfort him, but he saw that his presence only excited him, and he withdrew, sad indeed, but without a single regret for the step which he had taken. He knew he had done right. He was puzzled to know what his lordship had meant by saying he thought he had suffered enough in the beginning. He had never heard the story of his early disappointment, so he could not know to what he referred. He sought his grandmother, and related his adventures and their termination to her. He found her very kind and willing to listen to him, and he told her all about Brownie from the time of his first meeting with her; but she, too, deemed it a _mésalliance_, and was deeply distressed on account of it, as well as the rupture between him and his lordship. But Adrian was her idol—the deed was done, and could not now be undone—and he was so high in his praises of his bride that she was half won over to his side before he left her, and she promised to visit them, if she could do so without incurring the displeasure of her husband. Three days later the happy husband and wife might have been seen sitting in their luxurious drawing-room in the Langham Hotel, where everything which love could suggest or money procure had been lavished upon the lovely bride. Adrian had insisted immediately following their marriage upon her procuring an extensive and elaborate wardrobe, “befitting a lady of rank,” as he laughingly said, although what that rank was he had not yet seen fit to tell her, and she was too happy, as well as too delicate, to question him upon such minor points.