blood and breed and fibre. There was little of the Twemlow stock about

her--for the Twemlows were mild and humorous--but plenty of the strength

and dash and wildness and contemptuous spirit of the ancient Carnes.

Carne a carne, as Mr. Twemlow said, when his wife was inclined to be

masterful--a derivation confirmed by the family motto, "Carne non

caret carne." In the case, however, of Mrs. Twemlow, age, affliction,

experience, affection, and perhaps above all her good husband's larger

benevolence and placidity, had wrought a great change for the better,

and made a nice old lady of her. She was tall and straight and slender

still; and knew how to make the most, by grave attire and graceful

attitude, of the bodily excellence entailed for ages on the lineage

of Carne. Of moral goodness there had not been an equally strict

settlement, at least in male heredity. So that Mrs. Twemlow's thoughts

about her kith and kindred were rather sad than proud, unless some

ignorance was shown about them.

"Poor as I am," said Mr. Twemlow, now consulting with her, "and poor as

every beneficed clergyman must be, if this war returns, I would rather

have lost a hundred pounds than have heard what you tell me, Maria."

"My dear, I cannot quite see that," his wife made thoughtful answer;

"if he only had money to keep up the place, and clear off those nasty

incumbrances, I should rejoice at his coming back to live where we have

been for centuries."

"My dear, you are too poetical, though the feeling is a fine one. Within

the old walls there can scarcely be a room that has a sound floor to

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