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. 9, 1862.]

was a terrible blow; there was no doubt of that: very terrible to Lionel Verner, so proud and sensitive. Do not take the word, proud, in its wrong meaning. He did not set himself up for being better than others, or think everybody else dirt beneath his feet: but he was proud of his independence, of his unstained name—he was proud to own that fine place, Verner’s Pride. And now Verner’s Pride was dashed from him, and his independence seemed to have gone out with the blow, and a slight seemed to have fallen upon him, if not upon his name.

He had surely counted upon Verner’s Pride. He had believed himself as indisputably its heir, as though he had been Stephen Verner’s eldest son, and the estate entailed. Never for a moment had a doubt that he would succeed entered his own mind, or been imparted to it from any quarter. In the week that intervened between Mr. Verner’s death and burial, he had acted as entire master. It was he who issued orders—from himself now, not from any other—it was he who was appealed to. People, of their own accord, began to call him Mr. Verner. Very peremptory indeed had been a certain interview of his with Roy the bailiff. Not, as formerly, had he said, “Roy, my uncle desires me to say so and so;” or “Roy, you must not act in that way, it would displease Mr. Verner;” but he issued his own clear and unmistakable orders, as the sole master of Verner’s Pride. He and Roy all but came to loggerheads that day; and they would have come quite to it, but that Roy remembered in time that he, before whom he stood, was his head and master—his master to keep him on, or to discharge him