Thus, at last, the nightmare that had clouded the young life of the
squireen's daughter was over, and she was free to plan her future as she
would. What this future was to be was soon placed beyond doubt. The
widowed Earl of Blessington had long been among the most ardent admirers
of the lovely Irishwoman; and before Farmer had been many months in his
prison-grave, he had won her consent to be his Countess. The "ugly
duckling" had reached a coronet through such trials and vicissitudes as
happily seldom fall to the lot of woman; and her future was to be as
radiant as her past had been ignoble and obscure.

Seldom has a woman cradled in comparative poverty made such a splendid
alliance. Lord Blessington was a veritable Croesus among Irish
landlords, with a rent-roll of £30,000 a year; allied, it is true, to an
extravagance more than commensurate with his revenue. He had a passion
for all things theatrical, and an almost barbaric taste in the gorgeous
furnishings with which he loved to surround himself; and this taste his
wife seems to have shared.

When the Earl took his bride to his ancestral home, Mountjoy Forest, she
revelled in her boudoir, with its hangings of "crimson Genoa
silk-velvet, trimmed with gold bullion fringe; and all the furniture of
equal richness." But she had had enough of Irish life in the days of her
childhood, and soon sighed to return to London and to a wider sphere for
her beauty and her social ambition; and before she had been a bride six
months we find her installed in St James's Square, drawing to her
_salon_ all the greatest and most famous in the land, and moving among
her courtiers with the dignity and graciousness of a Queen.

Royal Dukes kissed her hand; statesman basked in her smile; Moore sang
his sweetest songs for her delight; and all the arts and sciences