"Walking together o’er the restless earth With faces set to the eternal hills." —REV. HORATIUS BONAR. Lawrence Madison had time given him to recover, for it was November before the funeral cortège left Usk for Wigmore. Earl Roger was found to have died intestate. It was no wonder, for how could he have anticipated that his life would end as or when it had done? This fact left all the details of his burial, usually so carefully provided for in the will of the deceased, to the decision of the survivors. The Countess, when appealed to, replied that her unspeakable affliction could not concern itself with matters of that kind; she would be obliged to Lord Bardolf to see that all was done properly, and to leave her alone with her life-long sorrow. Having said which, she called for a backgammon board, and was soon smilingly interested in a game with my Lord Powys. Lord Powys, however, perceived that notwithstanding the distraction of backgammon, something was really annoying the lady of his heart: and after a sufficient administration of flattery and coaxing, he succeeded in inducing her to confess what it was. She was seriously distressed at the discovery that her husband had left no will, for what that meant was that her only claim on his property was a third share in the estate. Had he attended properly to his conjugal duties, he ought to have made a much better provision for her. Now, when her eldest son came of age, and his wardship ceased, two-thirds of the estate would go to him, and she would be left in a position which it pleased her to regard as equivalent to destitution. Considering that this lamentable descent from affluence to poverty would leave her Ladyship with a small balance of about a hundred and fifty thousand pounds, according to the value of money at the present day, it may be supposed that there was a slight twinkle in the eyes of Lord Powys while he condoled in a grave voice with the calamitous widow. He thought her still quite sufficiently golden to be worth the trouble of wooing, and she knew it. He was moreover aware that a very large casket of jewels lay at her disposal, and that dexterous management might squeeze a further grant out of the Crown. Alianora was troubled by no fear of losing Lord Powys, and had she been so, would readily have comforted herself with anybody else who possessed good looks, gentlemanly manners, and a flattering tongue. But before this little arrangement with Lord Powys could come to pass, a licence was required from the Crown, and this in Alianora’s case would be an awkward and delicate business. The King might not approve—probably would not approve—of the widow of his heir presumptive throwing herself away on an obscure Welsh baron. And Alianora was determined to marry Lord Powys, who suited her taste much better than Roger had done. He was not a handsomer man, but he was good-looking, and he possessed a tongue of that silvery description which, to use the