daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain. There lay
before him a fair and useful life. His wife was an elegant,
accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways--who had,
from her earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and
best society. Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she
would have made an excellent embassadress--her manners were so
bland and gracious; she had the rare gift of appearing interested
in every one and in everything.

With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle
hoped for great things. He looked to a prosperous career as a
statesman; no honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too
great. But a hard fate lay before him. He made one brilliant
and successful speech in Parliament--a speech never forgotten by
those who heard it, for its astonishing eloquence, its keen wit,
its bitter satire. Never again did his voice rouse alike friend
and foe. He was seized with a sudden and dangerous illness which
brought him to the brink of the grave. After a long and
desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly recovered,
but all hope of public life was over for him. The doctors said
he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions;
he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again
of politics.

To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death. His
wife tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some
years he lived only to repine at his lot. Lady Helena devoted
herself to him. Earlescourt became the center and home of famous
hospitality; men of letters, artists, and men of note visited
there, and in time Lord Earle became reconciled to his fate. All