life took place. This was the death of her father at Avignon. No
endearments passed between them even on that occasion. She was
sitting opposite to him at the fireside one evening, reading aloud,
when he suddenly said, "My heart has stopped, Lydia. Good-bye!" and
immediately died. She had some difficulty in quelling the tumult
that arose when the bell was answered. The whole household felt
bound to be overwhelmed, and took it rather ill that she seemed
neither grateful to them nor disposed to imitate their behavior.

Carew's relatives agreed that he had made a most unbecoming will. It
was a brief document, dated five years before his death, and was to
the effect that he bequeathed to his dear daughter Lydia all he
possessed. He had, however, left her certain private instructions.
One of these, which excited great indignation in his family, was
that his body should be conveyed to Milan, and there cremated.
Having disposed of her father's remains as he had directed, she came
to set her affairs in order in England, where she inspired much
hopeless passion in the toilers in Lincoln's Inn Fields and Chancery
Lane, and agreeably surprised her solicitors by evincing a capacity
for business, and a patience with the law's delay, that seemed
incompatible with her age and sex. When all was arranged, and she
was once more able to enjoy perfect tranquillity, she returned to
Avignon, and there discharged her last duty to her father. This was
to open a letter she had found in his desk, inscribed by his hand:
"For Lydia. To be read by her at leisure when I and my affairs shall
be finally disposed of." The letter ran thus:

"MY DEAR LYDIA,--I belong to the great company of disappointed men.
But for you, I should now write myself down a failure like the rest.
It is only a few years since it first struck me that although I had