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THE CLAVERINGS

by

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

1866

Contents

 I. Julia Brabazon II. Harry Clavering Chooses His Profession III. Lord Ongar IV. Florence Burton V. Lady Ongar's Return VI. The Rev. Samuel Saul VII. Some Scenes in the Life of a Countess VIII. The House in Onslow Crescent IX. Too Prudent By Half X. Florence Burton at the Rectory XI. Sir Hugh and His Brother Archie XII. Lady Ongar Takes Possession XIII. A Visitor Calls At Ongar Park XIV. Count Pateroff XV. Madame Gordeloup XVI. An Evening In Bolton Street XVII. The Rivals XVIII. "Judge Not That Ye Be Not Judged" XIX. Let Her Know That You're There XX. Captain Clavering Makes His First Attempt XXI. The Blue Posts XXII. Desolation XXIII. Sir Hugh's Return XXIV. Yes; Wrong--Certainly Wrong XXV. The Day of the Funeral XXVI. Too Many, And Too Few XXVII. Cumberly Lane Without The Mud XXVIII. The Russian Spy XXIX. What Would Men Say To You? XXX. The Man Who Dusted His Boots With His Handkerchief XXXI. Freshwater Gate XXXII. What Cecilia Burton Did For Her Sister-In-Law XXXIII. How Damon Parted From Pythias XXXIV. Vain Repentance XXXV. Doodles In Mount Street XXXVI. Harry Clavering's Confession XXXVII. Florence Burton's ReturnXXXVIII. Florence Burton Makes Up A Packet XXXIX. Showing Why Harry Clavering Was Wanted At The Rectory XL. Mr. Saul's Abode XLI. Going To Norway XLII. Parting XLIII. Captain Clavering Makes His Last Attempt XLIV. What Lady Ongar Thought About It XLV. How To Dispose Of A Wife XLVI. Showing How Mrs. Burton Fought Her Battle XLVII. The Sheep Returns To The Fold XLVIII. Lady Ongar's Revenge XLIX. Showing What Happened Off Heligoland L. Madam Gordeloup Retires From British Diplomacy LI. Showing How Things Settled Themselves At The Rectory LII. Conclusion

Chapter I

Julia Brabazon

The gardens of Clavering Park were removed some three hundred yards fromthe large, square, sombre-looking stone mansion which was thecountry-house of Sir Hugh Clavering, the eleventh baronet of that name;and in these gardens, which had but little of beauty to recommend them, I will introduce my readers to two of the personages with whom I wish tomake them acquainted in the following story. It was now the end ofAugust, and the parterres, beds, and bits of lawn were dry, disfigured, and almost ugly, from the effects of a long drought. In gardens to whichcare and labor are given abundantly, flower-beds will be pretty, andgrass will be green, let the weather be what it may; but care and laborwere but scantily bestowed on the Clavering Gardens, and everything wasyellow, adust, harsh, and dry. Over the burnt turf toward a gate thatled to the house, a lady was walking, and by her side there walked agentleman. 

"You are going in, then, Miss Brabazon, " said the gentleman, and it wasvery manifest from his tone that he intended to convey some deepreproach in his words. 

"Of course I am going in, " said the lady. "You asked me to walk withyou, and I refused. You have now waylaid me, and therefore I shallescape--unless I am prevented by violence. " As she spoke she stood stillfor a moment, and looked into his face with a smile which seemed toindicate that if such violence were used, within rational bounds, shewould not feel herself driven to great danger. 

But though she might be inclined to be playful, he was by no means inthat mood. "And why did you refuse me when I asked you?" said he. 

"For two reasons, partly because I thought it better to avoid anyconversation with you. "

"That is civil to an old friend. "

"But chiefly"--and now as she spoke she drew herself up, and dismissedthe smile from her face, and allowed her eyes to fall upon theground--"but chiefly because I thought that Lord Ongar would prefer thatI should not roam alone about Clavering Park with any young gentlemanwhile I am down here; and that he might specially object to my roamingwith you, were he to know that you and I were--old acquaintances. Now Ihave been very frank, Mr. Clavering, and I think that that ought to beenough. "

"You are afraid of him already, then?"

"I am afraid of offending any one whom I love, and especially any one towhom I owe any duty. "

"Enough! Indeed it is not. From what you know of me, do you think itlikely that that will be enough?" He was now standing in front of her, between her and the gate, and she made no effort to leave him. 

"And what is it you want? I suppose you do not mean to fight Lord Ongar, and that if you did you would not come to me. "

"Fight him! No; I have no quarrel with him. Fighting him would do nogood. "

"None in the least; and he would not fight if you were to ask him; andyou could not ask without being false to me. "

"I should have had an example for that, at any rate. "

"That's nonsense, Mr. Clavering. My falsehood, if you should choose tocall me false, is of a very different nature, and is pardonable by alllaws known to the world. "

"You are a jilt! that is all. "

"Come, Harry, don't use hard words. "--and she put her hand kindly uponhis arm. "Look at me, such as I am, and at yourself, and then saywhether anything but misery could come of a match between you and me. Our ages by the register are the same, but I am ten years older than youby the world. I have two hundred a year, and I owe at this moment sixhundred pounds. You have, perhaps, double as much, and would lose halfof that if you married. You are an usher at school. "

"No, madam, I am not an usher at a school. "

"Well, well, you know I don't mean to make you angry. "

"At the present moment, I am a schoolmaster, and if I remain so, I mightfairly look forward to a liberal income. But I am going to give thatup. "

"You will not be more fit for matrimony because you are going to give upyour profession. Now, Lord Ongar has--heaven knows what--perhaps sixtythousand a year. "

"In all my life I never heard such effrontery--such baldfaced, shamelessworldliness!"

"Why should I not love a man with a large income?"

"He is old enough to be your father. "

"He is thirty-six, and I am twenty-four. "

"Thirty-six!"

"There is the Peerage for you to look at. But, my dear Harry, do you notknow that you are perplexing me and yourself too, for nothing? I wasfool enough when I came here from Nice, after papa's death to let youtalk nonsense to me for a month or two. "

"Did you or did you not swear that you loved me?"

"Oh, Mr. Clavering, I did not imagine that your strength would havecondescended to take such advantage over the weakness of a woman. Iremember no oaths of any kind, and what foolish assertions I may havemade, I am not going to repeat. It must have become manifest to youduring these two years that all that was a romance. If it be a pleasureto you to look back to it, of that pleasure I cannot deprive you. Perhaps I also may sometimes look back. But I shall never speak of thattime again; and you, if you are as noble as I take you to be, will notspeak of it either. I know you would not wish to injure me. "

"I would wish to save you from the misery you are bringing on yourself. "

"In that you must allow me to look after myself. Lord Ongar certainlywants a wife, and I intend to be true to him, and useful. "

"How about love?"

"And to love him, sir. Do you think that no man can win a woman's love, unless he is filled to the brim with poetry, and has a neck like LordByron, and is handsome like your worship? You are very handsome, Harry, and you, too, should go into the market and make the best of yourself. Why should you not learn to love some nice girl that has money to assistyou?"

"Julia. "

"No, sir; I will not be called Julia. If you do, I will be insulted, andleave you instantly. I may call you Harry, as being so muchyounger--though we were born in the same month--and as a sort of cousin. But I shall never do that after to-day. "

"You have courage enough, then, to tell me that you have not ill-usedme?"

"Certainly I have. Why, what a fool you would have me be! Look at me, and tell me whether I am fit to be the wife of such a one as you. By thetime you are entering the world, I shall be an old woman, and shall havelived my life. Even if I were fit to be your mate when we were livinghere together, am I fit, after what I have done and seen during the lasttwo years? Do you think it would really do any good to any one if I wereto jilt, as you call it, Lord Ongar, and tell them all--your cousin, SirHugh, and my sister, and your father--that I was going to keep myselfup, and marry you when you were ready for me?"

"You mean to say that the evil is done. "

"No, indeed. At the present moment I owe six hundred pounds, and I don'tknow where to turn for it, so that my husband may not be dunned for mydebts as soon as he has married me. What a wife I should have been foryou--should I not?"

"I could pay the six hundred pounds for you with money that I haveearned myself--though you do call me an usher--and perhaps would askfewer questions about it than Lord Ongar will do with all histhousands. "

"Dear Harry, I beg your pardon about the usher. Of course, I know thatyou are a fellow of your college, and that St. Cuthbert's, where youteach the boys, is one of the grandest schools in England; and I hopeyou'll be a bishop; nay--I think you will, if you make up your mind totry for it. "

"I have given up all idea of going into the church. "

"Then you'll be a judge. I know you'll be great and distinguished, andthat you'll do it all yourself. You are distinguished already. If youcould only know how infinitely I should prefer your lot to mine! Oh, Harry, I envy you! I do envy you! You have got the ball at your feet, and the world before you, and can win everything for yourself. "

"But nothing is anything without your love. "

"Pshaw! Love, indeed. What could it do for you but ruin you? You know itas well as I do; but you are selfish enough to wish to continue aromance which would be absolutely destructive to me, though for a whileit might afford a pleasant relaxation to your graver studies. Harry, youcan choose in the world. You have divinity, and law, and literature, andart. And if debarred from love now by the exigencies of labor, you willbe as fit for love in ten years' time as you are at present. "

"But I do love now. "

"Be a man, then, and keep it to yourself. Love is not to be our master. You can choose, as I say; but I have had no choice--no choice but to bemarried well, or to go out like a snuff of a candle. I don't like thesnuff of a candle, and, therefore, I am going to be married well. "

"And that suffices?"

"It must suffice. And why should it not suffice? You are very uncivil, cousin, and very unlike the rest of the world. Everybody compliments meon my marriage. Lord Ongar is not only rich, but he is a man of fashion, and a man of talent. "

"Are you fond of race-horses yourself?"

"Very fond of them. "

"And of that kind of life?"

"Very fond of it. I mean to be fond of everything that Lord Ongar likes. I know that I can't change him, and, therefore, I shall not try. "

"You are right there, Miss Brabazon. "

"You mean to be impertinent, sir; but I will not take it so. This is tobe our last meeting in private, and I won't acknowledge that I aminsulted. But it must be over now, Harry; and here I have been pacinground and round the garden with you, in spite of my refusal just now. Itmust not be repeated, or things will be said which I do not mean to haveever said of me. Good-by, Harry. "

"Good-by, Julia. "

"Well, for that once let it pass. And remember this: I have told you allmy hopes, and my one trouble. I have been thus open with you because Ithought it might serve to make you look at things in a right light. Itrust to your honor as a gentleman to repeat nothing that I have said toyou. "

I am not given to repeat such things as those. "

"I'm sure you are not. And I hope you will not misunderstand the spiritin which they have been spoken. I shall never regret what I have toldyou now, if it tends to make you perceive that we must both regard ourpast acquaintance as a romance, which must, from the stern necessity ofthings, be treated as a dream which we have dreamt, or a poem which wehave read. "

"You can treat it as you please. "

"God bless you, Harry; and I will always hope for your welfare, and hearof your success with joy. Will you come up and shoot with them onThursday?"

"What, with Hugh? No; Hugh and I do not hit it off together. If I shotat Clavering I should have to do it as a sort of head-keeper. It's ahigher position, I know, than that of an usher, but it doesn't suit me. "

"Oh, Harry! that is so cruel! But you will come up to the house. LordOngar will be there on the thirty-first; the day after to-morrow, youknow. "

"I must decline even that temptation. I never go into the house whenHugh is there, except about twice a year on solemn invitation--just toprevent there being a family quarrel. "

"Good-by, then, " and she offered him her hand. 

"Good-by, if it must be so. "

"I don't know whether you mean to grace my marriage?"

"Certainly not. I shall be away from Clavering, so that the marriagebells may not wound my ears. For the matter of that, I shall be at theschool. "

"I suppose we shall meet some day in town. "

"Most probably not. My ways and Lord Ongar's will be altogetherdifferent, even if I should succeed in getting up to London. If you evercome to see Hermione here, I may chance to meet you in the house. Butyou will not do that often, the place is so dull and unattractive. "

"It is the dearest old park. "

"You won't care much for old parks as Lady Ongar. "

"You don't know what I may care about as Lady Ongar; but as JuliaBrabazon I will now say good-by for the last time. " Then they parted, and the lady returned to the great house, while Harry Clavering made hisway across the park toward the rectory. 

Three years before this scene in the gardens at Clavering Park, LordBrabazon had died at Nice, leaving one unmarried daughter, the lady towhom the reader has just been introduced. One other daughter he had, whowas then already married to Sir Hugh Clavering, and Lady Clavering wasthe Hermione of whom mention has already been made. Lord Brabazon, whosepeerage had descended to him in a direct line from the time of thePlantagenets, was one of those unfortunate nobles of whom England isburdened with but few, who have no means equal to their rank. He hadmarried late in life, and had died without a male heir. The title whichhad come from the Plantagenets was now lapsed; and when the last lorddied about four hundred a year was divided between his two daughters. The elder had already made an excellent match, as regarded fortune, inmarrying Sir Hugh Clavering; and the younger was now about to make amuch more splendid match in her alliance with Lord Ongar. Of them I donot know that it is necessary to say much more at present. 

And of Harry Clavering it perhaps may not be necessary to say much inthe way of description. The attentive reader will have already gatherednearly all that should be known of him before he makes himself known byhis own deeds. He was the only son of the Reverend Henry Clavering, rector of Clavering, uncle of the present Sir Hugh Clavering, andbrother of the last Sir Hugh. The Reverend Henry Clavering and Mrs. Clavering his wife, and his two daughters, Mary and Fanny Clavering, lived always at Clavering Rectory, on the outskirts of Clavering Park, at a full mile's distance from the house. The church stood in the park, about midway between the two residences. When I have named one moreClavering, Captain Clavering, Captain Archibald Clavering, Sir Hugh'sbrother, all when I shall have said also that both Sir Hugh and CaptainClavering were men fond of pleasure and fond of money, I shall have saidall that I need now say about the Clavering family at large. 

Julia Brabazon had indulged in some reminiscence of the romance of herpast poetic life when she talked of cousinship between her and HarryClavering. Her sister was the wife of Harry Clavering's first cousin, but between her and Harry there was no relationship whatever. When oldLord Brabazon had died at Nice she had come to Clavering Park, and hadcreated some astonishment among those who knew Sir Hugh by making goodher footing in his establishment. He was not the man to take up a wife'ssister, and make his house her home, out of charity or from domesticlove. Lady Clavering, who had been a handsome woman and fashionablewithal, no doubt may have had some influence; but Sir Hugh was a manmuch prone to follow his own courses. It must be presumed that JuliaBrabazon had made herself agreeable in the house, and also probablyuseful. She had been taken to London through two seasons, and had thereheld up her head among the bravest. And she had been taken abroad--forSir Hugh did not love Clavering Park, except during six weeks ofpartridge shooting; and she had been at Newmarket with them, and at thehouse of a certain fast hunting duke with whom Sir Hugh was intimate;and at Brighton with her sister, when it suited Sir Hugh to remain aloneat the duke's; and then again up in London, where she finally arrangedmatters with Lord Ongar. It was acknowledged by all the friends of thetwo families, and indeed I may say of the three families now--among theBrabazon people, and the Clavering people, and the Courton people--LordOngar's family name was Courton--that Julia Brabazon had been veryclever. Of her and Harry Clavering together no one had ever said a word. If any words had been spoken between her and Hermione on the subject, the two sisters had been discreet enough to manage that they should gono further. 

In those short months of Julia's romance Sir Hugh had been away fromClavering, and Hermione had been much occupied in giving birth to anheir. Julia had now lived past her one short spell of poetry, hadwritten her one sonnet, and was prepared for the business of the world. 

Chapter II

Harry Clavering Chooses His Profession

Harry Clavering might not be an usher, but, nevertheless, he was homefor the holidays. And who can say where the usher ends and theschool-master begins? He, perhaps, may properly be called an usher, whois hired by a private schoolmaster to assist himself in his privateoccupation, whereas Harry Clavering had been selected by a public bodyout of a hundred candidates, with much real or pretended reference tocertificates of qualification. He was certainly not an usher, as he waspaid three hundred a year for his work--which is quite beyond the markof ushers. So much was certain; but yet the word stuck in his throat andmade him uncomfortable. He did not like to reflect that he was home forthe holidays. 

But he had determined that he would never come home for the holidaysagain. At Christmas he would leave the school at which he had won hisappointment with so much trouble, and go into an open profession. Indeedhe had chosen his profession, and his mode of entering it. He wouldbecome a civil engineer, and perhaps a land surveyor, and with this viewhe would enter himself as a pupil in the great house of Beilby & Burton. The terms even had been settled. He was to pay a premium of five hundredpounds and join Mr. Burton, who was settled in the town of Stratton, fortwelve months before he placed himself in Mr. Beilby's office in London. Stratton was less than twenty miles from Clavering. It was a comfort tohim to think that he could pay this five hundred pounds out of his ownearnings, without troubling his father. It was a comfort, even though hehad earned that money by "ushering" for the last two years. 

When he left Julia Brabazon in the garden, Harry Clavering did not go atonce home to the rectory, but sauntered out all alone into the park, intending to indulge in reminiscences of his past romance. It was allover, that idea of having Julia Brabazon for his love; and now he had toask himself whether he intended to be made permanently miserable by herwordly falseness, or whether he would borrow something of her wordlywisdom, and agree with himself to look back on what was past as apleasurable excitement in his boyhood. Of course we all know that reallypermanent misery was in truth out of the question. Nature had not madehim physically or mentally so poor a creature as to be incapable of acure. But on this occasion he decided on permanent misery. There wasabout his heart--about his actual anatomical heart, with its internalarrangement of valves and blood-vessels--a heavy dragging feeling thatalmost amounted to corporeal pain, and which he described to himself asagony. Why should this rich, debauched, disreputable lord have the powerof taking the cup from his lip, the one morsel of bread which he covetedfrom his mouth, his one ingot of treasure out of his coffer? Fight him!No, he knew he could not fight Lord Ongar. The world was against such anarrangement. And in truth Harry Clavering had so much contempt for LordOngar, that he had no wish to fight so poor a creature. The man had haddelirium tremens, and was a worn-out miserable object. So at least HarryClavering was only too ready to believe. He did not care much for LordOngar in the matter. His anger was against her; that she should havedeserted him for a miserable creature, who had nothing to back him butwealth and rank!

There was wretchedness in every view of the matter. He loved her sowell, and yet he could do nothing! He could take no step toward savingher or assisting himself. The marriage bells would ring within a monthfrom the present time, and his own father would go to the church andmarry them. Unless Lord Ongar were to die before then by God's hand, there could be no escape--and of such escape Harry Clavering had nothought. He felt a weary, dragging soreness at his heart, and toldhimself that he must be miserable for-ever--not so miserable but what hewould work, but so wretched that the world could have for him nosatisfaction. 

What could he do? What thing could he achieve so that she should knowthat he did not let her go from him without more thought than his poorwords had expressed? He was perfectly aware that in their conversationshe had had the best of the argument--that he had talked almost like aboy, while she had talked quite like a woman. She had treated him dehaut en bas with all that superiority which youth and beauty give to ayoung woman over a very young man. What could he do? Before he returnedto the rectory, he had made up his mind what he would do, and on thefollowing morning Julia Brabazon received by the hands of her maid thefollowing note: "I think I understood all that you said to me yesterday. At any rate, I understand that you have one trouble left, and that Ihave the means of curing it. " In the first draft of his letter he saidsomething about ushering, but that he omitted afterwards. "You may beassured that the inclosed is all my own, and that it is entirely at myown disposal. You may also be quite sure of good faith on the part ofthe lender. --H. C. " And in this letter he inclosed a check for sixhundred pounds. It was the money which he had saved since he took hisdegree, and had been intended for Messrs. Beilby & Burton. But he wouldwait another two years--continuing to do his ushering for her sake. Whatdid it matter to a man who must, under any circumstances, be permanentlymiserable?

Sir Hugh was not yet at Clavering. He was to come with Lord Ongar on theeve of the partridge-shooting. The two sisters, therefore, had the houseall to themselves. At about twelve they sat down to breakfast togetherin a little upstairs chamber adjoining Lady Clavering's own room, JuliaBrabazon at that time having her lover's generous letter in her pocket. She knew that it was as improper as it was generous, and that, moreover, it was very dangerous. There was no knowing what might be the result ofsuch a letter should Lord Ongar even know that she had received it. Shewas not absolutely angry with Harry, but had, to herself, twenty timescalled him a foolish, indiscreet, dear, generous boy. But what was sheto do with the check? As to that, she had hardly as yet made up her mindwhen she joined her sister on the morning in question. Even to Hermioneshe did not dare to tell the fact that such a letter had been receivedby her. 

But in truth her debts were a great torment to her; and yet how triflingthey were when compared with the wealth of the man who was to become herhusband in six weeks! Let her marry him, and not pay them, and heprobably would never be the wiser. They would get themselves paid almostwithout his knowledge, perhaps altogether without his hearing of them. But yet she feared him, knowing him to be greedy about money; and, togive her such merit as was due to her, she felt the meanness of going toher husband with debts on her shoulder. She had five thousand pounds ofher own; but the very settlement which gave her a noble dower, and whichmade the marriage so brilliant, made over this small sum in its entiretyto her lord. She had been wrong not to tell the lawyer of her troublewhen he had brought the paper for her to sign; but she had not told him. If Sir Hugh Clavering had been her own brother there would have been nodifficulty, but he was only her brother-in-law, and she feared to speakto him. Her sister, however, knew that there were debts, and on thatsubject she was not afraid to speak to Hermione. 

"Hermy, " said she, "what am I to do about this money that I owe? I got abill from Colclugh's this morning. "

"Just because he knows you're going to be married; that's all. "

"But how am I to pay him?"

"Take no notice of it till next spring. I don't know what else you cando. You'll be sure to have money when you come back from the Continent. "

"You couldn't lend it me; could you?"

"Who? I? Did you ever know me have any money in hand since I wasmarried? I have the name of an allowance, but it is always spent beforeit comes to me, and I am always in debt. "

"Would Hugh--let me have it?"

"What, give it you?"

"Well, it wouldn't be so very much for him. I never asked him for apound yet. "

"I think he would say something you wouldn't like if you were to askhim; but of course, you can try it if you please. "

"Then what am I to do?"

"Lord Ongar should have let you keep your own fortune. It would havebeen nothing to him. "

"Hugh didn't let you keep your own fortune. "

"But the money which will be nothing to Lord Ongar was a good deal toHugh. You're going to have sixty thousand a year, while we have to dowith seven or eight. Besides, I hadn't been out in London, and it wasn'tlikely I should owe much in Nice. He did ask me, and there wassomething. "

"What am I to do, Hermy?"

"Write and ask Lord Ongar to let you have what you want out of your ownmoney. Write to-day, so that he may get your letter before he comes. "

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! I never wrote a word to him yet, and to begin withasking him for money!"

"I don't think he can be angry with you for that. "

"I shouldn't know what to say. Would you write for me, and let me seehow it looks?"

This Lady Clavering did; and had she refused to do it, I think that poorHarry Clavering's check would have been used. As it was, Lady Claveringwrote the letter to "My dear Lord Ongar, " and it was copied and signedby "Yours most affectionately, Julia Brabazon. " The effect of this wasthe receipt of a check for a thousand pounds in a very pretty note fromLord Ongar, which the lord brought with him to Clavering, and sent up toJulia as he was dressing for dinner. It was an extremely comfortablearrangement, and Julia was very glad of the money--feeling it to be aportion of that which was her own. And Harry's check had been returnedto him on the day of its receipt. "Of course I cannot take it, and ofcourse you should not have sent it. " These words were written on themorsel of paper in which the money was returned. But Miss Brabazon hadtorn the signature off the check, so that it might be safe, whereasHarry Clavering had taken no precaution with it whatever. But then HarryClavering had not lived two years in London. 

During the hours that the check was away from him, Harry had told hisfather that perhaps, even yet, he might change his purpose as to goingto Messrs. Beilby & Burton. He did not know, he said, but he was stillin doubt. This had sprung from some chance question which his father hadasked, and which had seemed to demand an answer. Mr. Clavering greatlydisliked the scheme of life which his son had made, Harry's lifehitherto had been prosperous and very creditable. He had gone early toCambridge, and at twenty-two had become a fellow of his college. Thisfellowship he could hold for five or six years without going intoorders. It would then lead to a living, and would in the meantime afforda livelihood. But, beyond this, Harry, with an energy which he certainlyhad not inherited from his father, had become a schoolmaster, and wasalready a rich man. He had done more than well, and there was a greatprobability that between them they might be able to buy the nextpresentation to Clavering, when the time should come in which Sir Hughshould determine on selling it. That Sir Hugh should give the familyliving to his cousin was never thought probable by any of the family atthe rectory; but he might perhaps part with it under such circumstanceson favorable terms. For all these reasons the father was very anxiousthat his son should follow out the course for which he had beenintended; but that he, being unenergetic and having hitherto done littlefor his son, should dictate to a young man who had been energetic, andwho had done much for himself, was out of the question. Harry, therefore, was to be the arbiter of his own fate. But when Harryreceived back the check from Julia Brabazon, then he again returned tohis resolution respecting Messrs. Beilby & Burton, and took the firstopportunity of telling his father that such was the case. 

After breakfast he followed his father into his study, and there, sitting in two easy chairs opposite to each other, they lit each acigar. Such was the reverend gentleman's custom in the afternoon, andsuch also in the morning. I do not know whether the smoking of four orfive cigars daily by the parson of a parish may now-a-day be consideredas a vice in him, but if so, it was the only vice with which Mr. Clavering could be charged. He was a kind, soft-hearted, gracious man, tender to his wife, whom he ever regarded as the angel of his house, indulgent to his daughters, whom he idolized, ever patient with hisparishioners, and awake--though not widely awake--to theresponsibilities of his calling. The world had been too comfortable forhim, and also too narrow; so that he had sunk into idleness. The worldhad given him much to eat and drink, but it had given him little to do, and thus he had gradually fallen away from his early purposes, till hisenergy hardly sufficed for the doing of that little. His living gave himeight hundred a year; his wife's fortune nearly doubled that. He hadmarried early, and had got his living early, and had been veryprosperous. But he was not a happy man. He knew that he had put off theday of action till the power of action had passed away from him. Hislibrary was well furnished, but he rarely read much else than novels andpoetry; and of late years the reading even of poetry had given way tothe reading of novels. Till within ten years of the hour of which Ispeak, he had been a hunting parson--not hunting loudly, but followinghis sport as it is followed by moderate sportsmen. Then there had come anew bishop, and the new bishop had sent for him--nay, finally had cometo him, and had lectured him with blatant authority. "My lord, " said theparson of Clavering, plucking up something of his past energy, as thecolor rose to his face, "I think you are wrong in this. I think you areespecially wrong to interfere with me in this way on your first comingamong us. You feel it to be your duty no doubt; but to me it seems thatyou mistake your duty. But as the matter is simply one of my ownpleasure, I shall give it up. " After that Mr. Clavering hunted no more, and never spoke a good word to any one of the bishop of his diocese. Formyself, I think it as well that clergymen should not hunt; but had Ibeen the parson of Clavering, I should, under those circumstances, havehunted double. 

Mr. Clavering hunted no more, and probably smoked a greater number ofcigars in consequence. He had an increased amount of time at hisdisposal, but did not, therefore, give more time to his duties. Alas!What time did he give to his duties? He kept a most energetic curate, whom he allowed to do almost what he would with the parish. Every-dayservices he did prohibit, declaring that he would not have the parishchurch made ridiculous; but in other respects his curate was the pastor. Once every Sunday he read the service, and once every Sunday hepreached, and he resided in his parsonage ten months every year. Hiswife and daughters went among the poor--and he smoked cigars in hislibrary. Though not yet fifty, he was becoming fat and idle--unwillingto walk, and not caring much even for such riding as the bishop had leftto him. And to make matters worse--far worse, he knew all this ofhimself, and understood it thoroughly. "I see a better path, and knowhow good it is, but I follow ever the worse. " He was saying that tohimself daily, and was saying it always without hope. 

And his wife had given him up. She had given him up, not with disdainfulrejection, nor with contempt in her eye, or censure in her voice, notwith diminution of love or of outward respect. She had given him up as aman abandons his attempts to make his favorite dog take the water. Hewould fain that the dog he loves should dash into the stream as otherdogs will do. It is, to his thinking, a noble instinct in a dog. But hisdog dreads the water. As, however, he has learned to love the beast, heputs up with this mischance, and never dreams of banishing poor Pontofrom his hearth because of this failure. And so it was with Mrs. Clavering and her husband at the rectory. He understood it all. He knewthat he was so far rejected; and he acknowledged to himself thenecessity for such rejection. 

"It is a very serious thing to decide upon, " he said, when his son hadspoken to him. 

"Yes; it is serious--about as serious a thing as a man can think of; buta man cannot put it off on that account. If I mean to make such a changein my plans, the sooner I do it the better. "

"But yesterday you were in another mind. "

"No, father, not in another mind. I did not tell you then, nor can Itell you all now. I had thought that I should want my money for anotherpurpose for a year or two; but that I have abandoned. "

"Is the purpose a secret, Harry?"

"It is a secret, because it concerns another person. "

"You were going to lend your money to some one?"

"I must keep it a secret, though you know I seldom have any secrets fromyou. That idea, however, is abandoned, and I mean to go over to Strattonto-morrow, and tell Mr. Burton that I shall be there after Christmas. Imust be at St. Cuthbert's on Tuesday. "

Then they both sat silent for a while, silently blowing out their cloudsof smoke. The son had said all that he cared to say, and would havewished that there might then be an end of it; but he knew that hisfather had much on his mind, and would fain express, if he could expressit without too much trouble, or without too evident a need ofself-reproach, his own thoughts on the subject. "You have made up yourmind, then, altogether that you do not like the church as a profession, "he said at last. 

"I think I have, father. "

"And on what grounds? The grounds which recommend it to you are verystrong. Your education has adapted you for it. Your success in it isalready insured by your fellowship. In a great degree you have enteredit as a profession already by taking a fellowship. What you are doing isnot choosing a line in life, but changing one already chosen. You aremaking of yourself a rolling stone. "

"A stone should roll till it has come to the spot that suits it. "

"Why not give up the school if it irks you?"

"And become a Cambridge Don, and practice deportment among theundergraduates. "

"I don't see that you need do that. You need not even live at Cambridge. Take a church in London. You would be sure to get one by holding up yourhand. If that, with your fellowship, is not sufficient, I will give youwhat more you want. "

"No, father--no. By God's blessing I will never ask you for a pound. Ican hold my fellowship for four years longer without orders, and in fouryears' time I think I can earn my bread. "

"I don't doubt that, Harry. "

"Then why should I not follow my wishes in this matter? The truth is, Ido not feel myself qualified to be a good clergyman. "

"It is not that you have doubts, is it?"

"I might have them if I came to think much about it--as I must do if Itook orders. And I do not wish to be crippled in doing what I thinklawful by conventional rules. A rebellious clergyman is, I think, asorry abject. It seems to me that he is a bird fouling his own nest. Now, I know I should be a rebellious clergyman. "

"In our church the life of a clergyman is as the life of any othergentleman--within very broad limits. "

"Then why did Bishop Proudie interfere with your hunting?"

"Limits may be very broad, Harry, and yet exclude hunting. BishopProudie was vulgar and intrusive, such being the nature of his wife, whoinstructs him; but if you were in orders I should be very sorry to seeyou take to hunting. "

"It seems to me that a clergyman has nothing to do in life unless he isalways preaching and teaching. Look at Saul"--Mr. Saul was the curate ofClavering--"he is always preaching and teaching. He is doing the best hecan; and what a life of it he has. He has literally thrown off allworldly cares--and, consequently, everybody laughs at him, and nobodyloves him. I don't believe a better man breathes, but I shouldn't likehis life. "

At this point there was another pause, which lasted till the cigars hadcome to an end. Then, as he threw the stump into the fire, Mr. Claveringspoke again. "The truth is, Harry, that you have had, all your life, abad example before you. "

"No, father. "

"Yes, my son; let me speak on to the end, and then you can say what youplease. In me you have had a bad example on one side, and now, in poorSaul, you have a bad example on the other side. Can you fancy no lifebetween the two, which would fit your physical nature, which is largerthan his, and your mental wants, which are higher than mine? Yes, theyare, Harry. It is my duty to say this, but it would be unseemly thatthere should be any controversy between us on the subject. "

"If you choose to stop me in that way--"

"I do choose to stop you in that way. As for Saul, it is impossible thatyou should become such a man as he. It is not that he mortifies hisflesh, but that he has no flesh to mortify. He is unconscious of theflavor of venison, or the scent of roses, or the beauty of women. He isan exceptional specimen of a man, and you need no more fear, than youshould venture to hope, that you could become such as he is. "

At this point they were interrupted by the entrance of Fanny Clavering, who came to say that Mr. Saul was in the drawing room. "What does hewant, Fanny?"

This question Mr. Clavering asked half in a whisper, but with somethingof comic humor in his face, as though partly afraid that Mr. Saul shouldhear it, and partly intending to convey a wish that he might escape Mr. Saul, if it were possible. 

"It's about the iron church, papa. He says it is come--or part of ithas, come--and he wants you to go out to Cumberly Green about the site. "

"I thought that was all settled. "

"He says not. "

"What does it matter where it is? He can put it anywhere he likes on theGreen. However, I had better go to him. " So Mr. Clavering went. CumberlyGreen was a hamlet in the parish of Clavering, three miles distant fromthe church, the people of which had got into a wicked habit of going toa dissenting chapel near to them. By Mr. Saul's energy, but chiefly outof Mr. Clavering's purse, an iron chapel had been purchased for ahundred and fifty pounds, and Mr. Saul proposed to add to his own dutiesthe pleasing occupation of walking to Cumberly Green every Sundaymorning before breakfast, and every Wednesday evening after dinner, toperform a service and bring back to the true flock as many of the erringsheep of Cumberly Green as he might be able to catch. Towards thepurchase of this iron church Mr. Clavering had at first given a hundredpounds. Sir Hugh, in answer to the fifth application, had veryungraciously, through his steward, bestowed ten pounds. Among thefarmers one pound nine and eightpence had been collected. Mr. Saul hadgiven two pounds; Mrs. Clavering gave five pounds; the girls gave tenshillings each; Henry Clavering gave five pounds--and then the parsonmade up the remainder. But Mr. Saul had journeyed thrice painfully toBristol, making the bargain for the church, going and coming each timeby third-class, and he had written all the letters; but Mrs. Claveringhad paid the postage, and she and the girls between them were making thecovering for the little altar. 

"Is it all settled, Harry?" said Fanny, stopping with her brother, andhanging over his chair. She was a pretty, gay-spirited girl, with brighteyes and dark brown hair, which fell in two curls behind her ears. 

"He has said nothing to unsettle it. "

"I know it makes him very unhappy. "

"No, Fanny, not very unhappy. He would rather that I should go into thechurch, but that is about all. "

"I think you are quite right. "

"And Mary thinks I am quite wrong. "

"Mary thinks so, of course. So should I, too, perhaps, if I were engagedto a clergyman. That's the old story of the fox who had lost his tail. "

"And your tail isn't gone yet?"

"No, my tail isn't gone yet. Mary thinks that no life is like aclergyman's life. But, Harry, though mamma hasn't said so, I'm sure shethinks you are right. She won't say so as long as it may seem tointerfere with anything papa may choose to say; but I'm sure she's gladin her heart. "

"And I am glad in my heart, Fanny. And as I'm the person most concernedI suppose that's the most material thing. " Then they followed theirfather into the drawing room. 

"Couldn't you drive Mrs. Clavering over in the pony chair, and settle itbetween you, " said Mr. Clavering to his curate. Mr. Saul lookeddisappointed. In the first place, he hated driving the pony, which was arapid-footed little beast, that had a will of his own; and in the nextplace, he thought the rector ought to visit the spot on such anoccasion. "Or Mrs. Clavering will drive you, " said the rector, remembering Mr. Saul's objection to the pony. Still Mr. Saul lookedunhappy. Mr. Saul was very tall and very thin, with a tall thin head, and weak eyes, and a sharp, well-cut nose, and, so to say, no lips, andvery white teeth, with no beard, and a well-cut chin. His face was sothin that his cheek bones obtruded themselves unpleasantly. He wore along rusty black coat, and a high rusty black waistcoat, and trousersthat were brown with dirty roads and general ill-usage. Nevertheless, itnever occurred to any one that Mr. Saul did not look like a gentleman, not even to himself to whom no ideas whatever on that subject everpresented themselves. But that he was a gentleman I think he knew wellenough, and was able to carry himself before Sir Hugh and his wife withquite as much ease as he could do in the rectory. Once or twice he haddined at the great house; but Lady Clavering had declared him to be abore, and Sir Hugh had called him "that most offensive of all animals, aclerical prig. " It had therefore been decided that he was not to beasked to the great house any more. It may be as well to state here, aselsewhere, that Mr. Clavering very rarely went to his nephew's table. Oncertain occasions he did do so, so that there might be no recognizedquarrel between him and Sir Hugh; but such visits were few and farbetween. 

After a few more words from Mr. Saul, and a glance from his wife's eye, Mr. Clavering consented to go to Cumberly Green, though there wasnothing he liked so little as a morning spent with his curate. When hehad started, Harry told his mother also of his final decision. "I shallgo to Stratton to-morrow and settle it all. "

"And what does papa say?" asked the mother. 

"Just what he has said before. It is not so much that he wishes me to bea clergyman, as that he does not wish me to have lost all my time up tothis. "

"It is more than that, I think, Harry, " said his elder sister, a tallgirl, less pretty than her sister, apparently less careful of herprettiness, very quiet, or, as some said, demure, but known to be goodas gold by all who knew her well. 

"I doubt it, " said Harry, stoutly. "But, however that may be, a man mustchoose for himself. "

"We all thought you had chosen, " said Mary. 

"If it is settled, " said the mother, "I suppose we shall do no good byopposing it. "

"Would you wish to oppose it, mamma?" said Harry. 

"No, my dear. I think you should judge for yourself. "

"You see I could have no scope in the church for that sort of ambitionwhich would satisfy me. Look at such men as Locke, and Stephenson, andBrassey. They are the men who seem to me to do most in the world. Theywere all self-educated, but surely a man can't have a worse chancebecause he has learned something. Look at old Beilby with a seat inParliament, and a property worth two or three hundred thousand pounds!When he was my age he had nothing but his weekly wages. "

"I don't know whether Mr. Beilby is a very happy man or a very goodman, " said Mary. 

"I don't know, either, " said Harry; "but I do know that he has thrown asingle arch over a wider span of water than ever was done before, andthat ought to make him happy. " After saying this in a tone of highauthority, befitting his dignity as a fellow of his college, HarryClavering went out, leaving his mother and sisters to discuss thesubject, which to two of them was all-important. As to Mary, she hadhopes of her own, vested in the clerical concerns of a neighboringparish. 

Chapter III

Lord Ongar

On the next morning Harry Clavering rode over to Stratton, thinking muchof his misery as he went. It was all very well for him, in the presenceof his own family to talk of his profession as the one subject which wasto him of any importance; but he knew very well himself that he was onlybeguiling them in doing so. This question of a profession was, afterall, but dead leaves to him--to him who had a canker at his heart, aperpetual thorn in his bosom, a misery within him which no professioncould mitigate! Those dear ones at home guessed nothing of this, and hewould take care that they should guess nothing. Why should they have thepain of knowing that he had been made wretched forever by blightedhopes? His mother, indeed, had suspected something in those sweet daysof his roaming with Julia through the park. She had once or twice said aword to warn him. But of the very truth of his deep love--so he toldhimself--she had been happily ignorant. Let her be ignorant. Why shouldhe make his mother unhappy? As these thoughts passed through his mind, Ithink that he revelled in his wretchedness, and made much to himself ofhis misery. He sucked in his sorrow greedily, and was somewhat proud tohave had occasion to break his heart. But not the less, because he wasthus early blighted, would he struggle for success in the world. Hewould show her that, as his wife, she might have had a worthier positionthan Lord Ongar could give her. He, too, might probably rise the quickerin the world, as now he would have no impediment of wife or family. Then, as he rode along, he composed a sonnet, fitting to his case, thestrength and rhythm of which seemed to him, as he sat on horseback, tobe almost perfect. Unfortunately, when he was back at Clavering, and satin his room with the pen in his hand, the turn of the words had escapedhim. 

He found Mr. Burton at home, and was not long in concluding hisbusiness. Messrs. Beilby & Burton were not only civil engineers, butwere land surveyors also, and land valuers on a great scale. They wereemployed much by Government upon public buildings, and if not architectsthemselves, were supposed to know all that architects should do andshould not do. In the purchase of great properties Mr. Burton's opinionwas supposed to be, or to have been, as good as any in the kingdom, andtherefore there was very much to be learned in the office at Stratton. But Mr. Burton was not a rich man like his partner, Mr. Beilby, nor anambitious man. He had never soared Parliamentwards, had neverspeculated, had never invented, and never been great. He had been thefather of a very large family, all of whom were doing as well in theworld, and some of them perhaps better, than their father. Indeed, therewere many who said that Mr. Burton would have been a richer man if hehad not joined himself in partnership with Mr. Beilby. Mr. Beilby hadthe reputation of swallowing more than his share wherever he went. 

When the business part of the arrangement was finished Mr. Burton talkedto his future pupil about lodgings, and went out with him into the townto look for rooms. The old man found that Harry Clavering was rathernice in this respect, and in his own mind formed an idea that this newbeginner might have been a more auspicious pupil, had he not alreadybecome a fellow of a college. Indeed, Harry talked to him quite asthough they two were on an equality together; and, before they hadparted, Mr. Burton was not sure that Harry did not patronize him. Heasked the young man, however, to join them at their early dinner, andthen introduced him to Mrs. Burton, and to their youngest daughter, theonly child who was still living with them. "All my other girls aremarried, Mr. Clavering; and all of them married to men connected with myown profession. " The color came slightly to Florence Burton's cheeks asshe heard her father's words, and Harry asked himself whether the oldman expected that he should go through the same ordeal; but Mr. Burtonhimself was quite unaware that he had said anything wrong, and then wenton to speak of the successes of his sons. "But they began early, Mr. Clavering; and worked hard--very hard indeed. " He was a good, kindly, garrulous old man; but Harry began to doubt whether he would learn muchat Stratton. It was, however, too late to think of that now, andeverything was fixed. 

Harry, when he looked at Florence Burton, at once declared to himselfthat she was plain. Anything more unlike Julia Brabazon never appearedin the guise of a young lady. Julia was tall, with a high brow, aglorious complexion, a nose as finely modelled as though a Greciansculptor had cut it, a small mouth, but lovely in its curves; and a chinthat finished and made perfect the symmetry of her face. Her neck waslong, but graceful as a swan's, her bust was full, and her whole figurelike that of a goddess. Added to this, when he had first known her, shehad all the charm of youth. When she had returned to Clavering the otherday, the affianced bride of Lord Ongar, he had hardly known whether toadmire or to deplore the settled air of established womanhood which shehad assumed. Her large eyes had always lacked something of rapid, glancing, sparkling brightness. They had been glorious eyes to him, andin those early days he had not known that they lacked aught; but he hadperceived, or perhaps fancied, that now, in her present condition, theywere often cold, and sometimes almost cruel. Nevertheless, he was readyto swear that she was perfect in her beauty. 

Poor Florence Burton was short of stature, was brown, meagre, andpoor-looking. So said Harry Clavering to himself. Her small band, thoughsoft, lacked that wondrous charm of touch which Julia's possessed. Herface was short, and her forehead, though it was broad and open, had noneof that feminine command which Julia's look conveyed. That Florence'seyes were very bright--bright and soft as well, he allowed; and her darkbrown hair was very glossy; but she was, on the whole, a mean-lookinglittle thing. He could not, as he said to himself on his return home, avoid the comparison, as she was the first girl he had seen since he hadparted from Julia Brabazon. 

"I hope you'll find yourself comfortable at Stratton, sir, " said old Mrs. Burton. 

"Thank you, " said Harry, "but I want very little myself in that way. Anything does for me. "

"One young gentleman we had took a bedroom at Mrs. Pott's, and did verynicely without any second room at all. Don't you remember, Mr. B. ? itwas young Granger. "

"Young Granger had a very short allowance, " said Mr. Burton. "He livedupon fifty pounds a year all the time he was here. "

"And I don't think Scarness had more when he began, " said Mrs. Burton. "Mr. Scarness married one of my girls, Mr. Clavering, when he startedhimself at Liverpool. He has pretty nigh all the Liverpool docks underhim now. I have heard him say that butcher's meat did not cost him fourshillings a week all the time he was here. I've always thought Strattonone of the reasonablest places anywhere for a young man to do forhimself in. "

"I don't know, my dear, " said the husband, "that Mr: Clavering will carevery much for that. "

"Perhaps not, Mr. B. ; but I do like to see young men careful about theirspendings. What's the use of spending a shilling when sixpence will doas well; and sixpence saved when a man has nothing but himself, becomespounds and pounds by the time he has a family about him. "

During all this time Miss Burton said little or nothing, and HarryClavering himself did not say much. He could not express any intentionof rivalling Mr. Scarness's economy in the article of butcher's meat, nor could he promise to content himself with Granger's solitary bedroom. But as he rode home he almost began to fear that he had made a mistake. He was not wedded to the joys of his college hall, or the college commonroom. He did not like the narrowness of college life. But he doubtedwhether the change from that to the oft-repeated hospitalities of Mrs. Burton might not be too much for hire. Scarness's four shillings'-worthof butcher's meat had already made him half sick of his new profession, and though Stratton might be the "reasonablest place anywhere for ayoung man, " he could not look forward to living there for a year withmuch delight. As for Miss Burton, it might be quite as well that she wasplain, as he wished for none of the delights which beauty affords toyoung men. 

On his return home, however, he made no complaint of Stratton. He wastoo strong-willed to own that he had been in any way wrong, and whenearly in the following week he started for St. Cuthbert's, he was ableto speak with cheerful hope of his new prospects. If ultimately heshould find life in Stratton to be unendurable, he would cut that partof his career short, and contrive to get up to London at an earlier timethan he had intended. 

On the 31st of August Lord Ongar and Sir Hugh Clavering reachedClavering Park, and, as has been already told, a pretty little note wasat once sent up to Miss Brabazon in her bedroom. When she met Lord Ongarin the drawing-room, about an hour afterwards, she had instructedherself that it would be best to say nothing of the note; but she couldnot refrain from a word. "I am much obliged, my lord, by your kindnessand generosity, " she said, as she gave him her hand. He merely bowed andsmiled, and muttered something as to his hoping that he might alwaysfind it as easy to gratify her. He was a little man, on whose behalf itcertainly appeared that the Peerage must have told a falsehood; itseemed so at least to those who judged of his years from his appearance. The Peerage said that he was thirty-six, and that, no doubt, was intruth his age, but any one would have declared him to be ten yearsolder. This look was produced chiefly by the effect of an elaboratelydressed jet black wig which he wore. What misfortune had made him baldso early--if to be bald early in life be a misfortune--I cannot say; buthe had lost the hair from the crown of his head, and had preferredwiggery to baldness. No doubt an effort was made to hide the wiggishnessof his wigs, but what effect in that direction was ever madesuccessfully? He was, moreover, weak, thin, and physically poor, andhad, no doubt, increased this weakness and poorness by hard living. Though others thought him old, time had gone swiftly with him, and hestill thought himself a young man. He hunted, though he could not ride. He shot, though he could not walk. And, unfortunately, he drank, thoughhe had no capacity for drinking! His friends at last had taught him tobelieve that his only chance of saving himself lay in marriage, andtherefore he had engaged himself to Julia Brabazon, purchasing her atthe price of a brilliant settlement. If Lord Ongar should die beforeher, Ongar Park was to be hers for life, with thousands a year tomaintain it. Courton Castle, the great family seat, would of course goto the heir; but Ongar Park was supposed to be the most delightful smallcountry-seat anywhere within thirty miles of London. It lay among theSurrey hills, and all the world had heard of the charms of Ongar Park. If Julia were to survive her lord, Ongar Park was to be hers; and theywho saw them both together had but little doubt that she would come tothe enjoyment of this clause in her settlement. Lady Clavering had beenclever in arranging the match; and Sir Hugh, though he might have beenunwilling to give his sister-in-law money out of his own pocket hadperformed his duty as a brother-in-law in looking to her future welfare. Julia Brabazon had no doubt that she was doing well. Poor HarryClavering! She had loved him in the days of her romance. She, too, hadwritten her sonnets. But she had grown old earlier in life than he haddone, and had taught herself that romance could not be allowed to awoman in her position. She was highly born, the daughter of a peer, without money, and even without a home to which she had any claim. Ofcourse she had accepted Lord Ongar, but she had not put out her hand totake all these good things without resolving that she would do her dutyto her future lord. The duty would be doubtless disagreeable, but shewould do it with all the more diligence on that account. 

September passed by, hecatombs of partridges were slaughtered, and theday of the wedding drew nigh. It was pretty to see Lord Ongar and theself-satisfaction which he enjoyed at this time. The world was becomingyoung with him again, and he thought that he rather liked therespectability of his present mode of life. He gave himself but scantyallowances of wine, and no allowance of anything stronger than wine, anddid not dislike his temperance. There was about him at all hours an airwhich seemed to say, "There; I told you all that I could do it as soonas there was any necessity. " And in these halcyon days he could shootfor an hour without his pony, and he liked the gentle, courteousbadinage which was bestowed upon his courtship, and he liked alsoJulia's beauty. Her conduct to him was perfect. She was never pert, never exigeant, never romantic, and never humble. She never bored him, and yet was always ready to be with him when he wished it. She was neverexalted; and yet she bore her high place as became a woman nobly bornand acknowledged to be beautiful. 

"I declare you have quite made a lover of him, " said Lady Clavering toher sister. When a thought of the match had first arisen in Sir Hugh'sLondon house, Lady Clavering had been eager in praise of Lord Ongar, oreager in praise rather of the position which the future Lady Ongar mighthold; but since the prize had been secured, since it had become plainthat Julia was to be the greater woman of the two, she had harpedsometimes on the other string. As a sister she had striven for asister's welfare, but as a woman she could not keep herself fromcomparisons which might tend to show that after all, well as Julia wasdoing, she was not doing better than her elder sister had done. Hermionehad married simply a baronet, and not the richest or the most amiableamong baronets; but she had married a man suitable in age and wealth, with whom any girl might have been in love. She had not sold herself tobe the nurse, or not to be the nurse, as it might turn out, of aworn-out debauche. She would have hinted nothing of this, perhaps havethought nothing of this, had not Julia and Lord Ongar walked togetherthrough the Clavering groves as though they were two young people. Sheowed it as a duty to her sister to point out that Lord Ongar could notbe a romantic young person, and ought not to be encouraged to play thatpart. 

"I don't know that I have made anything of him, " answered Julia. "Isuppose he's much like other men when they're going to be married. "Julia quite understood the ideas that were passing through her sister'smind, and did not feel them to be unnatural. 

"What I mean is, that he has come out so strong in the Romeo line, whichwe hardly expected, you know. We shall have him under your bedroomwindow with a guitar, like Don Giovanni. "

"I hope not, because it's so cold. I don't think it likely, as he seemsfond of going to bed early. "

"And it's the best thing for him, " said Lady Clavering, becoming seriousand carefully benevolent. "It's quite a wonder what good hours and quietliving have done for him in so short a time. I was observing him as hewalked yesterday, and he put his feet to the ground as firmly almost asHugh does. "

"Did he indeed? I hope he won't have the habit of putting his hand downfirmly as Hugh does sometimes. "

"As for that, " said Lady Clavering, with a little tremor, "I don't thinkthere's much difference between them. They all say that when Lord Ongarmeans a thing he does mean it. "

"I think a man ought to have a way of his own. "

"And a woman also, don't you, my dear? But, as I was saying, if LordOngar will continue to take care of himself he may become quite adifferent man. Hugh says that he drinks next to nothing now, and thoughhe sometimes lights a cigar in the smoking room at night, he hardly eversmokes it. You must do what you can to keep him from tobacco. I happento know that Sir Charles Poddy said that so many cigars were worse forhim even than brandy. "

All this Julia bore with an even temper. She was determined to beareverything till her time should come. Indeed she had made herselfunderstand that the hearing of such things as these was a part of theprice which she was to be called upon to pay. It was not pleasant forher to hear what Sir Charles Poddy had said about the tobacco and brandyof the man she was just going to marry. She would sooner have heard ofhis riding sixty miles a day, or dancing all night, as she might haveheard had she been contented to take Harry Clavering. But she had madeher selection with her eyes open, and was not disposed to quarrel withher bargain, because that which she had bought was no better than thearticle which she had known it to be when she was making her purchase. Nor was she even angry with her sister. "I will do the best I can, Hermy; you may be sure of that. But there are some things which it isuseless to talk about. "

"But it was as well you should know what Sir Charles said. "

"I know quite enough of what he says, Hermy--quite as much, I dare say, as you do. But, never mind. If Lord Ongar has given up smoking, I quiteagree with you that it's a good thing. I wish they'd all give it up, forI hate the smell of it. Hugh has got worse and worse. He never caresabout changing his clothes now. "

"I'll tell you what it is, " said Sir Hugh to his wife that night; "sixtythousand a year is a very fine income, but Julia will find she hascaught a tartar. "

"I suppose he'll hardly live long; will he?"

"I don't know or care when he lives or when he dies; but, by heaven, heis the most overbearing fellow I ever had in the house with me. Iwouldn't stand him here for another fortnight--not even to make her allsafe. "

"It will soon be over. They'll be gone on Thursday. "

"What do you think of his having the impudence to tellCunliffe"--Cunliffe was the head keeper--"before my face, that he didn'tknow anything about pheasants! 'Well, my lord, I think we've got a fewabout the place, ' said Cunliffe. 'Very few, ' said Ongar, with a sneer. Now, if I haven't a better head of game here than he has at Courton, I'll eat him. But the impudence of his saying that before me!"

"Did you make him any answer?"

"'There's about enough to suit me, ' I said. Then he skulked away, knocked off his pins. I shouldn't like to be his wife; I can tell Juliathat. "

"Julia is very clever, " said the sister. 

The day of the marriage came, and everything at Clavering was done withmuch splendor. Four bridesmaids came down from London on the precedingday; two were already staying in the house, and the two cousins came astwo more from the rectory. Julia Brabazon had never been really intimatewith Mary and Fanny Clavering, but she had known them well enough tomake it odd if she did not ask them to come to her wedding and to take apart in the ceremony. And, moreover, she had thought of Harry and herlittle romance of other days. Harry, perhaps, might be glad to know thatshe had shown this courtesy to his sisters. Harry, she knew, would beaway at his school. Though she had asked him whether he meant to come toher wedding, she had been better pleased that he should be absent. Shehad not many regrets herself but it pleased her to think that he shouldhave them. So Mary and Fanny Clavering were asked to attend her at thealtar. Mary and Fanny would both have preferred to decline, but theirmother had told them that they could not do so. "It would makeill-feeling, " said Mrs. Clavering; "and that is what your papaparticularly wishes to avoid. "

"When you say papa particularly wishes anything, mamma, you always meanthat you wish it particularly yourself, " said Fanny. "But if it must bedone, it must; and then I shall know how to behave when Mary's timecomes. "

The bells were rung lustily all the morning, and all the parish wasthere, round about the church, to see. There was no record of a lordever having been married in Clavering church before; and now this lordwas going to marry my lady's sister. It was all one as though she were aClavering herself. But there was no ecstatic joy in the parish. Therewere to be no bonfires, and no eating and drinking at Sir Hugh'sexpense--no comforts provided for any of the poor by Lady Clavering onthat special occasion. Indeed, there was never much of such kindnessesbetween the lord of the soil and his dependants. A certain stipulateddole was given at Christmas for coals and blankets; but even for thatthere was generally some wrangle between the rector and the steward. "Ifthere's to be all this row about it, " the rector had said to thesteward, "I'll never ask for it again. " "I wish my uncle would only beas good as his word, " Sir Hugh had said, when the rector's speech wasrepeated to him. Therefore, there was not much of real rejoicing in theparish on this occasion, though the bells were rung loudly, and thoughthe people, young and old, did cluster round the churchyard to see thelord lead his bride out of the church. "A puir feckless thing, totteringalong like-not half the makings of a man. A stout lass like she coulda'most blow him away wi' a puff of her mouth. " That was the verdictwhich an old farmer's wife passed upon him, and that verdict was madegood by the general opinion of the parish. 

But though the lord might be only half a man, Julia Brabazon walked outfrom the church every inch a countess. Whatever price she might havepaid, she had at any rate got the thing which she had intended to buy. And as she stepped into the chariot which carried her away to therailway station on her way to Dover, she told herself that she had doneright. She had chosen her profession, as Harry Clavering had chosen his;and having so far succeeded, she would do her best to make her successperfect. Mercenary! Of course she had been mercenary. Were not all menand women mercenary upon whom devolved the necessity of earning theirbread?

There was a great breakfast at the park--for the quality--and the rectoron this occasion submitted himself to become the guest of the nephewwhom he thoroughly disliked. 

Chapter IV

Florence Burton

It was now Christmas time at Stratton, or rather Christmas time was nearat hand; not the Christmas next after the autumn of Lord Ongar'smarriage, but the following Christmas, and Harry Clavering had finishedhis studies in Mr. Burton's office. He flattered himself that he had notbeen idle while he was there, and was now about to commence his moreadvanced stage of pupilage, under the great Mr. Beilby, in London, withhopes which were still good, if they were not so magnificent as theyonce had been. 

When he first saw Mr. Burton in his office, and beheld the dustypigeonholes with dusty papers, and caught the first glimpse of things asthey really were in the workshop of that man of business, he had, to saythe truth, been disgusted. And Mrs. Burton's early dinner, and FlorenceBurton's "plain face" and plain ways, had disconcerted him. On that dayhe had repented of his intention with regard to Stratton; but he hadcarried out his purpose like a man, and now he rejoiced greatly that hehad done so. He rejoiced greatly, though his hopes were somewhatsobered, and his views of life less grand than they had been. He was tostart for Clavering early on the following morning, intending to spendhis Christmas at home, and we will see him and listen to him as he badefarewell to one of the members of Mr. Burton's family. 

He was sitting in a small hack parlor in Mr. Burton's house, and on thetable of the room there was burning a single candle. It was a dull, dingy, brown room, furnished with horsehair-covered chairs, an oldhorsehair sofa and heavy, rusty curtains. I don't know that there was inthe room any attempt at ornament, as certainly there was no evidence ofwealth. It was now about seven o'clock in the evening, and tea was overin Mrs. Burton's establishment. Harry Clavering had had his tea, and hadeaten his hot muffin, at the further side from the fire of the familytable, while Florence had poured out the tea, and Mrs. Burton had sat bythe fire on one side with a handkerchief over her lap, and Mr. Burtonhad been comfortable with his arm-chair and his slippers on the otherside. When tea was over, Harry had made his parting speech to Mrs. Burton, and that lady had kissed him, and bade God bless him. "I'll seeyou for a moment before you go, in my office, Harry, " Mr. Burton hadsaid. Then Harry had gone down stairs, and some one else had gone boldlywith him, and they two were sitting together in the dingy brown room. After that I need hardly tell my reader what had become of HarryClavering's perpetual, life-enduring heart's misery. 

He and Florence were sitting on the old horsehair sofa and Florence'shand was in his. "My darling, " he said, "how am I to live for the nexttwo years?"

"You mean five years, Harry. "

"No; I mean two--that is, two, unless I can make the time less. Ibelieve you'd be better pleased to think it was ten. "

"Much better pleased to think it was ten than to have no such hope atall. Of course we shall see each other. It's not as though you weregoing to New Zealand. "

"I almost wish I were. One would agree then as to the necessity of thiscursed delay. "

"Harry, Harry!"

"It is accursed. The prudence of the World in these latter days seems tome to be more abominable than all its other iniquities. "

"But, Harry, we should have no income. "

"Income is a word that I hate. "

"Now you are getting on to your high horse, and you know I always go outof the way when you begin to prance on that beast. As for me, I don'twant to leave papa's house where I'm sure of my bread and butter, tillI'm sure of it in another. "

"You say that, Florence, on purpose to torment me. "

"Dear Harry, do you think I want to torment you on your last night? Thetruth is, I love you so well that I can afford to be patient for you. "

"I hate patience, and always did. Patience is one of the worst vices Iknow. It's almost as bad as humility. You'll tell me you're 'umble next. If you'll only add that you're contented, you'll describe yourself asone of the lowest of God's creatures. "

"I don't know about being 'umble, but I am contented. Are not youcontented with me, sir?"

"No--because you're not in a hurry to be married. "

"What a goose you are. Do you know I'm not sure that if you really lovea person, and are quite confident about him--as I am of you--that havingto look forward to being married is not the best part of it all. Isuppose you'll like to get my letters now, but I don't know that you'llcare for them much when we've been man and wife for ten years. "

"But one can't live upon letters. "

"I shall expect you to live upon mine, and to grow fat on them. There; Iheard papa's step on the stairs. He said you were to go to him. Good-by, Harry--dearest Harry! What a blessed wind it was that blew you here. "

"Stop a moment; about your getting to Clavering. I shall come for you onEaster eve. "

"Oh, no; why should you have so much trouble and expense?"

"I tell you I shall come for you--unless, indeed, you decline to travelwith me. "

"It will be so nice! And then I shall be sure to have you with me thefirst moment I see them. I shall think it very awful when I first meetyour father. "

"He's the most good-natured man, I should say, in England. "

"But he'll think me so plain. You did at first, you know. But he won'tbe uncivil enough to tell me so, as you did. And Mary is to be marriedin Easter week? Oh, dear, oh, dear; I shall be so shy among them all. "

"You shy! I never saw you shy in my life. I don't suppose you were everreally put out yet. "

"But I must really put you out, because papa is waiting for you. Dear, dear, dearest Harry. Though I am so patient I shall count the hours tillyou come for me. Dearest Harry!" Then she bore with him, as he pressedher close to his bosom, and kissed her lips, and her forehead, and herglossy hair. When he was gone, she sat down alone for a few minutes onthe old sofa, and hugged herself in her happiness. What a happy windthat had been which had blown such a lover as that for her to Stratton!

"I think he's a good young man, " said Mrs. Burton, as soon as she wasleft with her old husband up stairs. 

"Yes, he's a good young man. He means very well. "

"But he is not idle; is he?"

"No--no: he's not idle. And he's very clever--too clever, I'm afraid. But I think he'll do well, though it may take him some time to settle. "

"It seems so natural, his taking to Flo; doesn't it? They've all takenone when they went away, and they've all done very well. Deary me; howsad the house will be when Flo has gone. "

"Yes--it'll make a difference that way. But what then? I wouldn't wishto keep one of 'em at home for that reason. "

"No, indeed. I think I'd feel ashamed of myself to have a daughter notmarried, or not in the way to be married afore she's thirty. I couldn'tbear to think that no young man should take a fancy to a girl of mine. But Flo's not twenty yet, and Carry, who was the oldest to go, wasn'tfour-and-twenty when Scarness took her. " Thereupon the old lady put herhandkerchief to the corner of her eyes, and wept gently. 

"Flo isn't gone yet, " said Mr. Burton. 

"But I hope, B. , it's not to be a long engagement. I don't like longengagements. It ain't good--not for the girl; it ain't, indeed. "

"We were engaged for seven years. "

"People weren't so much in a hurry then at anything; but I ain't sure itwas very good for me. And though we weren't just married, we were livingnext door and saw each other. What'll come to Flo if she's to be hereand he's to be up in London, pleasuring himself?"

"Flo must bear it as other girls do, " said the father, as he got up fromhis chair. 

"I think he's a good young man; I think he is, " said the mother. "Butdon't stand out for too much for 'em to begin upon. What matters? Sure, if they were to be a little short you could help 'em. " To such asuggestion as this Mr. Burton thought it as well to make no answer, butwith ponderous steps descended to his office. 

"Well, Harry, " said Mr. Burton, "so you're to be off in the morning?"

"Yes, sir; I shall breakfast at home to-morrow. "

"Ah--when I was your age, I always used to make an early start. Threehours before breakfast never does any hurt. But it shouldn't be morethan that. The wind gets into the stomach. " Harry had no remark to makeon this, and waited, therefore, till Mr. Burton went on. "And you'll beup in London by the 10th of next month?"

"Yes, sir; I intend to be at Mr. Beilby's office on the 11th. "

"That's right. Never lose a day. In losing a day now, you don't losewhat you might earn now in a day, but what you might be earning whenyou're at your best. A young man should always remember that. You can'tdispense with a round in the ladder going up. You only make your time atthe top so much the shorter. "

"I hope you'll find that I'm all right, sir. I don't mean to be idle. "

"Pray don't. Of course, you know, I speak to you very differently fromwhat I should do if you were simply going away from my office. What Ishall have to give Florence will be very little--that is, comparativelylittle. She shall have a hundred a year, when she marries, till I die;and after my death and her mother's she will share with the others. Buta hundred a year will be nothing to you. "

"Won't it, sir? I think a very great deal of a hundred a year. I'm tohave a hundred and fifty from the office; and I should be ready to marryon that to-morrow. "

"You couldn't live on such an income--unless you were to alter yourhabits very much. "

"But I will alter them. "

"We shall see. You are so placed, that by marrying you would lose aconsiderable income; and I would advise you to put off thinking of itfor the next two years. "

"My belief is, that settling down would be the best thing in the worldto make me work. "

"We'll try what a year will do. So Florence is to go to your father'shouse at Easter?"

"Yes, sir; she has been good enough to promise to come, if you have noobjection. "

"It is quite as well that they should know her early. I only hope theywill like her, as well as we like you. Now I'll say good-night--andgood-by. " Then Harry went, and walking up and down the High Street ofStratton, thought of all that he had done during the past year. 

On his arrival at Stratton, that idea of perpetual misery arising fromblighted affection was still strong within his breast. He had given allhis heart to a false woman who had betrayed him. He had risked all hisfortune on one cast of the die, and, gambler-like, had lost everything. On the day of Julia's marriage he had shut himself up at theschool--luckily it was a holiday--and had flattered himself that he hadgone through some hours of intense agony. No doubt he did suffersomewhat, for in truth he had loved the woman; but such sufferings areseldom perpetual, and with him they had been as easy of cure as withmost others. A little more than a year had passed, and now he wasalready engaged to another woman. As he thought of this he did not byany means accuse himself of inconstancy or of weakness of heart. Itappeared to him now the most natural thing in the world that he shouldlove Florence Burton. In those old days he had never seen Florence, andhad hardly thought seriously of what qualities a man really wants in awife. As he walked up and down the hill of Stratton Street, with thekiss of the dear, modest, affectionate girl still warm upon his lips, hetold himself that a marriage with such a one as Julia Brabazon wouldhave been altogether fatal to his chance of happiness. 

And things had occurred and rumors had reached him which assisted himmuch in adopting this view of the subject. It was known to all theClaverings--and even to all others who cared about such things--thatLord and Lady Ongar were not happy together, and it had been alreadysaid that Lady Ongar had misconducted herself. There was a certain countwhose name had come to be mingled with hers in a way that was, to saythe least of it, very unfortunate. Sir Hugh Clavering had declared, inMrs. Clavering's hearing, though but little disposed in general to makeany revelations to any of the family at the rectory, "that he did notintend to take his sister-in-law's part. She had made her own bed, andshe must lie upon it. She had known what Lord Ongar was before she hadmarried him, and the fault was her own. " So much Sir Hugh had said, and, in saying it, had done all that in him lay to damn his sister-in-law'sfair fame. Harry Clavering, little as he had lived in the world duringthe last twelve months, still knew that some people told a differentstory. The earl, too, and his wife had not been in England since theirmarriage; so that these rumors had been filtered to them at home througha foreign medium. During most of their time they had been in Italy, andnow, as Harry knew, they were at Florence. He had heard that Lord Ongarhad declared his intention of suing for a divorce; but that he supposedto be erroneous, as the two were still living under the same roof. Thenhe heard that Lord Ongar was ill; and whispers were spread abroad darklyand doubtingly, as though great misfortunes were apprehended. 

Harry could not fail to tell himself that had Julia become his wife, asshe had once promised, these whispers and this darkness would hardlyhave come to pass. But not on that account did he now regret that herearly vows had not been kept. Living at Stratton, he had taught himselfto think much of the quiet domesticities of life, and to believe thatFlorence Burton was fitter to be his wife than Julia Brabazon. He toldhimself that he had done well to find this out, and that he had beenwise to act upon it. His wisdom had in truth consisted in his capacityto feel that Florence was a nice girl, clever, well-minded, high-principled, and full of spirit--and in falling in love with her asa consequence. All his regard for the quiet domesticities had come fromhis love, and had had no share in producing it. Florence wasbright-eyed. No eyes were over brighter, either in tears or in laughter. And when he came to look at her well, he found that he had been an idiotto think her plain. 

"There are things that grow to beauty as you look at them--to exquisitebeauty; and you are one of them, " he had said to her. "And there aremen, " she had answered, "who grow to flattery as you listen to them--toimpudent flattery; and you are one of them. " "I thought you plain thefirst day I saw you. That's not flattery. " "Yes, sir, it is; and youmean it for flattery. But after all, Harry, it comes only to this, thatyou want to tell me that you have learned to love me. " He repeated allthis to himself as he walked up and down Stratton, and declared tohimself that she was very lovely. It had been given to him to ascertainthis, and he was rather proud of himself. But he was a little diffidentabout his father. He thought that, perhaps, his father might seeFlorence as he himself had first seen her, and might not havediscernment enough to ascertain his mistake, as he had done. ButFlorence was not going to Clavering at once, and he would be able togive beforehand his own account of her. He had not been home since hisengagement had been a thing settled; but his position with regard toFlorence had been declared by letter, and his mother had written to theyoung, lady asking her to come to Clavering. 

When Harry got home, all the family received him with congratulations. "I am so glad to think that you should marry early, " his mother said tohim in a whisper. 

"But I am not married yet, mother, " he answered. 

"Do show me a lock of her hair, " said Fanny, laughing. 

"It's twice prettier hair than yours, though she doesn't think half somuch about it as you do, " said her brother, pinching Fanny's arm. 

"But you'll show me a lock, wont you?" said Fanny. 

"I'm so glad she's to be here at my marriage, " said Mary; "because thenEdward will know her. I'm so glad that he will see her. "

"Edward will have other fish to fry, and won't care much about her, "said Harry. 

"It seems you're going to do the regular thing, " said his father, "likeall the good apprentices. Marry your master's daughter, and then becomeLord Mayor of London. "

This was not the view in which it had pleased Harry to regard hisengagement. All the other "young men" that had gone to Mr. Burton's hadmarried Mr. Burton's daughters--or, at least, enough had done so tojustify the Stratton assertion that all had fallen into the same trap. The Burtons, with their five girls, were supposed in Stratton to havemanaged their affairs very well, and something of these hints hadreached Harry's ears. He would have preferred that the thing should nothave been made so common, but he was not fool enough to make himselfreally unhappy on that head. 

"I don't know much about becoming Lord Mayor, " he replied. "Thatpromotion doesn't lie exactly in our line. "

"But marrying your master's daughter does, it seems, " said the Rector. Harry thought that this, as coming from his father, was almostill-natured, and therefore dropped the conversation. 

"I'm sure we shall like her, " said Fanny. 

"I think that I shall like Harry's choice, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"I do hope Edward will like her, " said Mary. 

"Mary, " said her sister, "I do wish you were once married. When you are, you'll begin to have a self of your own again. Now you're no better thanan unconscious echo. "

"Wait for your own turn, my dear, " said the mother. 

Harry had reached home on a Saturday, and the following Monday wasChristmas-day. Lady Clavering, he was told, was at home at the park, andSir Hugh had been there lately. No one from the house except theservants were seen at church, either on the Sunday or on Christmas-day. "But that shows nothing, " said the Rector, speaking in anger. "He veryrarely does come, and when he does, it would be better that he should beaway. I think that he likes to insult me by misconducting himself. Theysay that she is not well, and I can easily believe that all this abouther sister makes her unhappy. If I were you, I would go up and call. Your mother was there the other day, but did not see them. I thinkyou'll find that he's away, hunting somewhere. I saw the groom going offwith three horses on Sunday afternoon. He always sends them by thechurch gate just as we're coming out. "

So Harry went up to the house, and found Lady Clavering at home. She waslooking old and careworn, but she was glad to see him. Harry was theonly one of the rectory family who had been liked at the great housesince Sir Hugh's marriage, and he, had he cared to do so, would havebeen made welcome there. But, as he had once said to Sir Hugh'ssister-in-law, if he shot the Clavering game, he would be expected to doso in the guise of a head gamekeeper, and he did not choose to play thatpart. It would not suit him to drink Sir Hugh's claret, and be bidden toring the bell, and to be asked to step into the stable for this or that. He was a fellow of his college, and quite as big a man, he thought, asSir Hugh. He would not be a hanger-on at the park, and, to tell thetruth, he disliked his cousin quite as much as his father did. But therehad even been a sort of friendship--nay, occasionally almost aconfidence, between him and Lady Clavering, and he believed that by herhe was really liked. 

Lady Clavering had heard of his engagement, and, of course, congratulated him. "Who told you?" he asked--"was it my mother?"

"No; I have not seen your mother I don't know when. I think it was mymaid told me. Though we somehow don't see much of you all at therectory, our servants are no doubt more gracious with the rectoryservants. I'm sure she must be nice, Harry, or you would not have chosenher. I hope she has got some money. "

"Yes, I think she is nice. She is coming here at Easter. "

"Ah, we shall be away then, you know; and about the money?"

"She will have a little, but very little; a hundred a year. "

"Oh, Harry, is not that rash of you? Younger brothers should always getmoney. You're the same as a younger brother, you know. "

"My idea is to earn my own bread. It's not very aristocratic, but, afterall, there are a great many more in the same boat with me. "

Of course you will earn your bread, but having a wife with money wouldnot hinder that. A girl is not the worse because she can bring somehelp. However, I'm sure I hope you'll be happy. "

"What I meant was that I think it best when the money comes from thehusband. "

"I'm sure I ought to agree with you, because we never had any. " Thenthere was a pause. "I suppose you've heard about Lord Ongar, " she said. 

"I have heard that he is very ill. "

"Very ill. I believe there was no hope when we heard last; but Julianever writes now. "

"I'm sorry that it is so bad as that, " said Harry, not well knowing whatelse to say. 

"As regards Julia, I do not know whether it may not be for the best. Itseems to be a cruel thing to say, but of course I cannot but think mostof her. You have heard, perhaps, that they have not been happy?"

"Yes; I had heard that. "

"Of course; and what is the use of pretending anything with you? Youknow what people have said of her. "

"I have never believed it. "

"You always loved her, Harry. Oh, dear, I remember how unhappy that mademe once, and I was so afraid that Hugh would suspect it. She would neverhave done for you; would she, Harry?"

"She did a great deal better for herself. " said Harry. 

"If you mean that ironically, you shouldn't say it now. If he dies, shewill be well off, of course, and people will in time forget what hasbeen said--that is, if she will live quietly. The worst of it is thatshe fears nothing. "

"But you speak as though you thought she had been--been--"

"I think she was probably imprudent, but I believe nothing worse thanthat. But who can say what is absolutely wrong, and what only imprudent?I think she was too proud to go really astray. And then with such a manas that, so difficult and so ill-tempered--! Sir Hugh thinks--" But atthat moment the door was opened and Sir Hugh came in. 

"What does Sir Hugh think?" said he. 

"We were speaking of Lord Ongar, " said Harry, sitting up and shakinghands with his cousin. 

"Then, Harry, you were speaking on a subject that I would rather nothave discussed in this house. Do you understand that, Hermione? I willhave no talking about Lord Ongar or his wife. We know very little, andwhat we hear is simply uncomfortable. Will you dine here to-day, Harry?"

"Thank you, no; I have only just come home. "

"And I am just going away. That is, I go to-morrow. I cannot stand thisplace. I think it the dullest neighborhood in all England, and the mostgloomy house I ever saw. Hermione likes it. "

To this last assertion Lady Clavering expressed no assent; nor did sheventure to contradict him. 

Chapter V

Lady Ongar's Return

But Sir Hugh did not get away from Clavering Park on the next morning, as he had intended. There came to him that same afternoon a message bytelegraph, to say that Lord Ongar was dead. He had died at Florence onthe afternoon of Christmas-day, and Lady Ongar had expressed herintention of coming at once to England. 

"Why the devil doesn't she stay where she is?" said Sir Hugh, to hiswife. "People would forget her there, and in twelve months time the rowwould be all over. "

"Perhaps she does not want to be forgotten, " said Lady Clavering. 

"Then she should want it. I don't care whether she has been guilty ornot. When a woman gets her name into such a mess as that, she shouldkeep in the background. "

"I think you are unjust to her, Hugh. "

"Of course you do. You don't suppose that I expect anything else. But ifyou mean to tell me that there would have been all this row if she hadbeen decently prudent, I tell you that you're mistaken. "

"Only think what a man he was. "

She knew that when she took him, and should have borne with him while helasted. A woman isn't to have seven thousand a year for nothing. "

"But you forget that not a syllable has been proved against her, or beenattempted to be proved. She has never left him, and now she has beenwith him in his last moments. I don't think you ought to be the first toturn against her. "

"If she would remain abroad, I would do the best I could for her. Shechooses to return home; and as I think she's wrong, I won't have herhere--that's all. You don't suppose that I go about the world accusingher?"

"I think you might do something to fight her battle for her. "

"I will do nothing--unless she takes my advice and remains abroad. Youmust write to her now, and you will tell her what I say. It's aninfernal bore, his dying at this moment; but I suppose people won'texpect that I'm to shut myself up. "

For one day only did the baronet shut himself up, and on the followinghe went whither he had before intended. 

Lady Clavering thought it proper to write a line to the rectory, informing the family there that Lord Ongar was no more. This she did ina note to Mrs. Clavering; and when it was received, there came over thefaces of them all that lugubrious look, which is, as a matter of course, assumed by decorous people when tidings come of the death of any one whohas been known to them, even in the most distant way. With the exceptionof Harry, all the rectory Claverings had been introduced to Lord Ongar, and were now bound to express something approaching to sorrow. Will anyone dare to call this hypocrisy? If it be so called, who in the world isnot a hypocrite? Where is the man or woman who has not a special facefor sorrow before company? The man or woman who has no such face, wouldat once be accused of heartless impropriety. 

"It is very sad, " said Mrs. Clavering; "only think, it is but littlemore than a year since you married them!"

"And twelve such months as they have been for her!" said the Rector, shaking his head. His face was very lugubrious, for though as a parsonhe was essentially a kindly, easy man, to whom humbug was odious, andwho dealt little in the austerities of clerical denunciation, still hehad his face of pulpit sorrow for the sins of the people--what I mayperhaps call his clerical knack of gentle condemnation--and couldtherefore assume a solemn look, and a little saddened motion of hishead, with more ease than people who are not often called upon for suchaction. 

"Poor woman!" said Fanny, thinking of the woman's married sorrows, andher early widowhood. 

"Poor man!" said Mary, shuddering as she thought of the husband's fate. 

"I hope, " said Harry, almost sententiously, "that no one in this housewill condemn her upon such mere rumors as have been heard. "

"Why should any one in this house condemn her, " said the Rector, "evenif there were more than rumors? My dears, judge not, lest ye be judged. As regards her, we are bound by close ties not to speak ill of her--oreven to think ill, unless we cannot avoid it. As far as I know, we havenot even any reason for thinking ill. " Then he went out, changed thetone of his countenance among the rectory stables, and lit his cigar. 

Three days after that, a second note was brought down from the greathouse to the rectory, and this was from Lady Clavering to Harry. "DearHarry, " ran the note--"Could you find time to come up to me thismorning? Sir Hugh has gone to North Priory. Ever yours, H. C. " Harry, ofcourse, went, and as he went, he wondered how Sir Hugh could have hadthe heart to go to North Priory at such a moment. North Priory was ahunting seat some thirty miles from Clavering, belonging to a greatnobleman with whom Sir Hugh much consorted. Harry was grieved that hiscousin had not resisted the temptation of going at such a time, but hewas quick enough to perceive that Lady Clavering alluded to the absenceof her lord as a reason why Harry might pay his visit to the house withsatisfaction. 

"I'm so much obliged to you for coming, " said Lady Clavering. "I want toknow if you can do something for me. " As she spoke, she had a paper inher hand which he immediately perceived to be a letter from Italy. 

"I'll do anything I can, of course, Lady Clavering. "

"But I must tell you, that I hardly know whether I ought to ask you. I'mdoing what would make Hugh very angry. But he is so unreasonable and socruel about Julia. He condemns her simply because, as he says, there isno smoke without fire. That is such a cruel thing to say about a woman;is it not?"

Harry thought that it was a cruel thing, but as he did not wish to speakevil of Sir Hugh before Lady Clavering, he held his tongue. 

"When we got the first news by telegraph, Julia said that she intendedto come home at once. Hugh thinks that she should remain abroad for sometime, and indeed I am not sure but that would be best. At any rate, hemade me write to her, and advise her to stay. He declared that if shecame at once he would do nothing for her. The truth is, he does not wantto have her here, for if she were again in the house he would have totake her part, if ill-natured things were said. "

"That's cowardly, " said Harry, stoutly. 

"Don't say that, Harry, till you have heard it all. If he believes thesethings, he is right not to wish to meddle. He is very hard, and alwaysbelieves evil. But he is not a coward. If she were here, living with himas my sister, he would take her part, whatever he might himself think. "

"But why should he think ill of his own sister-in-law? I have neverthought ill of her. "

"You loved her, and he never did; though I think he liked her too, inhis way. But that's what he told me to do, and I did it. I wrote to her, advising her to remain at Florence till the warm weather comes, sayingthat, as she could not specially wish to be in London for the season, Ithought she would be more comfortable there than here; and then I addedthat Hugh also advised her to stay. Of course I did not say that hewould not have her here--but that was his threat. "

"She is not likely to press herself where she is not wanted. "

"No--and she will not forget her rank and her money; for that must nowbe hers. Julia can be quite as hard and as stubborn as he can. But I didwrite as I say, and I think that if she had got my letter before she hadwritten herself, she would perhaps have stayed. But here is a letterfrom her, declaring that she will come at once. She will be startingalmost as soon as my letter gets there, and I am sure she will not alterher purpose now. "

"I don't see why she should not come if she likes it. "

"Only that she might be more comfortable there. But read what she says. You need not read the first part. Not that there is any secret; but itis about him and his last moments, and it would only pain you. "

Harry longed to read the whole, but he did as he was bid, and began theletter at the spot which Lady Clavering marked for him with her finger. "I have to start on the third, and as I shall stay nowhere except tosleep at Turin and Paris, I shall be home by the eighth--I think on theevening of the eighth. I shall bring only my own maid, and one of hismen who desires to come back with me. I wish to have apartments takenfor me in London. I suppose Hugh will do as much as this for me. "

"I am quite sure Hugh won't, " said Lady Clavering, who was watching hiseye as he read. 

Harry said nothing, but went on reading. "I shall only want twositting-rooms and two bedrooms--one for myself and one for Clara--andshould like to have them somewhere near Piccadilly--in Clarges street, or about there. You can write me a line, or send me a message to theHotel Bristol, at Paris. If anything fails, so that I should not hear, Ishall go to the Palace Hotel; and, in that case, should telegraph forrooms from Paris. "

"Is that all I'm to read?" Harry asked. 

"You can go on and see what she says as to her reason for coming. " SoHarry went on reading. "I have suffered much, and of course I know thatI must suffer more; but I am determined that I will face the worst of itat once. It has been hinted to me that an attempt will be made tointerfere with the settlement--" "Who can have hinted that?" said Harry. Lady Clavering suspected who might have done so, but she made no answer. "I can hardly think it possible; but, if it is done, I will not be outof the way. I have done my duty as best I could, and have done it undercircumstances that I may truly say were terrible; and I will go on doingit. No one shall say that I am ashamed to show my face and claim my own. You will be surprised when you see me. I have aged so much--"

"You need not go on, " said Lady Clavering. "The rest is about nothingthat signifies. "

Then Harry refolded the letter and gave it back to his companion. 

"Sir Hugh is gone, and therefore I could not show him that in time to doanything; but if I were to do so, he would simply do nothing, and lether go to the hotel in London. Now that would be unkind--would it not?"

"Very unkind, I think. "

"It would seem so cold to her on her return. "

"Very cold. Will you not go and meet her?"

Lady Clavering blushed as she answered. Though Sir Hugh was a tyrant tohis wife, and known to be such, and though she knew that this was known, she had never said that it was so to any of the Claverings; but now shewas driven to confess it. "He would not let me go, Harry. I could not gowithout telling him, and if I told him he would forbid it. "

"And she is to be all alone in London, without any friend?"

"I shall go to her as soon as he will let me. I don't think he willforbid my going to her, perhaps, after a day or two; but I know he wouldnot let me go on purpose to meet her. "

"It does seem hard. "

"But about the apartments, Harry? I thought that perhaps you would seeabout them. After all that has passed, I could not have asked you, onlythat now, as you are engaged yourself, it is nearly the same as thoughyou were married. I would ask Archibald, only then there would be a fussbetween Archibald and Hugh; and somehow I look on you more as abrother-in-law than I do Archibald. "

"Is Archie in London?"

"His address is at his club, but I dare say he is at North Priory also. At any rate, I shall say nothing to him. "

"I was thinking he might have met her. "

"Julia never liked him. And, indeed, I don't think she will care so muchabout being met. She was always independent in that way, and would goover the world alone better than many men. But couldn't you run up andmanage about the apartments? A woman coming home as a widow, and in herposition, feels a hotel to be so public. "

"I will see about the apartments. "

"I knew you would. And there will be time for you to send to me, so thatI can write to Paris, will there not? There is more than a week, youknow. "

But Henry did not wish to go to London on this business immediately. Hehad made up his mind that he would not only take the rooms, but that hewould also meet Lady Ongar at the station. He said nothing of this toLady Clavering, as, perhaps, she might not approve; but such was hisintention. He was wrong, no doubt. A man in such cases should do what heis asked to do, and do no more. But he repeated to himself the excusethat Lady Clavering had made--namely, that he was already the same as amarried man, and that, therefore, no harm could come of his courtesy tohis cousin's wife's sister. But he did not wish to make two journeys toLondon, nor did he desire to be away for a full week out of hisholidays. Lady Clavering could not press him to go at once, and, therefore, it was settled as he proposed. She would write to Parisimmediately, and he would go up to London after three or four days. "Ifwe only knew of any apartment, we could write, " said Lady Clavering. "You could not know that they were comfortable, " said Harry; "and youwill find that I will do it in plenty of time. " Then he took his leave;but Lady Clavering had still one other word to say to him. "You hadbetter not say anything about all this at the rectory, had you?" Harry, without considering much about it, said that he would not mention it. 

Then he went away and walked again about the park, thinking of it all. He had not seen her since he had walked round the park, in his misery, after parting with her in the garden. How much had happened since then!She had been married in her glory, had become a countess, and then awidow, and was now returning with a tarnished name, almost repudiated bythose who had been her dearest friends; but with rank and fortune at hercommand--and again a free woman. He could not but think what might havebeen his chance were it not for Florence Burton! But much had happenedto him also. He had almost perished in his misery--so he toldhimself--but had once more "tricked his beams"--that was his expressionto himself--and was now "flaming in the forehead" of a glorious love. And even if there had been no such love, would a widowed countess with adamaged name have suited his ambition, simply because she had the richdower of the poor wretch to whom she had sold herself? No, indeed. Therecould be no question of renewed vows between them now; there could havebeen no such question even had there been no "glorious love, " which hadaccrued to him almost as his normal privilege, in right of his pupilagein Mr. Burton's office. No; there could be, there could have been, nothing now between him and the widowed Countess of Ongar. But, nevertheless, he liked the idea of meeting her in London. He felt sometriumph in the thought that he should be the first to touch her hand onher return after all that she had suffered. He would be very courteousto her, and would spare no trouble that would give her any ease. As forher rooms, he would see to everything of which he could think that mightadd to her comfort; and a wish crept upon him, uninvited, that she mightbe conscious of what he had done for her. 

Would she be aware, he wondered, that he was engaged? Lady Clavering hadknown it for the last three months, and would probably have mentionedthe circumstance in a letter. But perhaps not. The sisters, he knew, hadnot been good correspondents; and he almost wished that she might notknow it. "I should not care to be talking to her about Florence, " hesaid to himself. 

It was very strange that they should come to meet in such a way, afterall that had passed between them in former days. Would it occur to herthat he was the only man she had ever loved? For, of course, as he wellknew, she had never loved her husband. Or would she now be too callousto everything but the outer world to think at all of such a subject? Shehad said that she was aged, and he could well believe it. Then hepictured her to himself in her weeds, worn, sad, thin, but still proudand handsome. He had told Florence of his early love for the woman whomLord Ongar had married, and had described with rapture his joy that thatearly passion had come to nothing. Now he would have to tell Florence ofthis meeting; and he thought of the comparison he would make between herbright young charms and the shipwrecked beauty of the widow. On thewhole, he was proud that he had been selected for the commission, as heliked to think of himself as one to whom things happened which were outof the ordinary course. His only objection to Florence was that she hadcome to him so much in the ordinary course. 

"I suppose the truth is, you are tired of our dullness, " said his fatherto him, when he declared his purpose of going up to London, and, inanswer to certain questions that were asked him, had hesitated to tellhis business. 

"Indeed, it is not so, " said Harry, earnestly; "but I have a commissionto execute for a certain person, and I cannot explain what it is. "

"Another secret--eh, Harry?"

"I am very sorry--but it is a secret. It is not one of my own seeking;that is all I can say. " His mother and sisters also asked him a questionor two; but when he became mysterious they did not persevere. "Of courseit is something about Florence, " said Fanny. "I'll be bound he is goingto meet her. What will you bet me, Harry, you don't go to the play withFlorence before you come home?" To this Henry deigned no answer; andafter that no more questions were asked. 

He went up to London and took rooms in Bolton street. There was a prettyfresh-looking light drawing-room, or, indeed, two drawing-rooms, and asmall dining-room, and a large bedroom looking over upon the trees ofsome great nobleman's garden. As Harry stood at the window it seemed soodd to him that he should be there. And he was busy about everything inthe chamber, seeing that all things were clean and well ordered. Was theWoman of the house sure of her cook? Sure; of course she was sure. Hadnot old Lady Dimdaff lived there for two years, and nobody ever was soparticular about her victuals as Lady Dimdaff. "And would Lady Ongarkeep her own carriage?" As to this Harry could say nothing. Then camethe question of price, and Harry found his commission very difficult. The sum asked seemed to be enormous. "Seven guineas a week at that timeof the year?" Lady Dimdaff had always paid seven guineas. "But that wasin the season, " suggested Harry. To this the woman replied that it wasthe season now. Harry felt that he did not like to drive a bargain forthe Countess, who would probably care very little what she paid, andtherefore assented. But a guinea a day for lodgings did seem a greatdeal of money. He was prepared to marry and commence housekeeping upon aless sum for all his expenses. However, he had done his commission, hadwritten to Lady Clavering, and had telegraphed to Paris. He had almostbrought himself to write to Lady Ongar, but when the moment came heabstained. He had sent the telegram as from H. Clavering. She mightthink that it came from Hugh, if she pleased. He was unable not toattend specially to his dress when he went to meet her at the VictoriaStation. He told himself that he was an ass--but still he went on beingan ass. During the whole afternoon he could do nothing but think of whathe had in hand. He was to tell Florence everything, but had Florenceknown the actual state of his mind, I doubt whether she would have beensatisfied with him. The train was due at 8 p. M. He dined at the Oxfordand Cambridge Club at six, and then went to his lodgings to take onelast look at his outer man. The evening was very fine, but he went downto the station in a cab, because he would not meet Lady Ongar in soiledboots. He told himself again that he was an ass; and then tried toconsole himself by thinking that such an occasion as this seldomhappened once to any man--could hardly happen more than once to any man. He had hired a carriage for her, not thinking it fit that Lady Ongarshould be taken to her new home in a cab; and when he was at thestation, half an hour before the proper time, was very fidgety becauseit had not come. Ten minutes before eight he might have been seenstanding at the entrance to the station looking out anxiously for thevehicle. The man was there, of course, in time, but Harry made himselfangry because he could not get the carriage so placed that Lady Ongarmight be sure of stepping into it without leaving the platform. Punctually to the moment the coming train announced itself by itswhistle, and Harry Clavering felt himself to be in a flutter. 

The train came up along the platform, and Harry stood there expecting tosee Julia Brabazon's head projected from the first window that caughthis eye. It was of Julia Brabazon's head, and not of Lady Ongar's, thathe was thinking. But he saw no sign of her presence while the carriageswere coming to a stand-still, and the platform was covered withpassengers before he discovered her whom he was seeking. At last heencountered in the crowd a man in livery, and found from him that he wasLady Ongar's servant. "I have come to meet Lady Ongar, " said Harry, "andhave got a carriage for her. " Then the servant found his mistress, andHarry offered his hand to a tall woman in black. She wore a black strawbat with a veil, but the veil was so thick that Harry could not at allsee her face. 

"Is that Mr. Clavering?" said she. 

"Yes, " said Harry, "it is I. Your sister asked me to take rooms for you, and as I was in town I thought I might as well meet you to see if youwanted anything. Can I get the luggage?"

"Thank you; the man will do that. He knows where the things are. "

"I ordered a carriage; shall I show him where it is? Perhaps you willlet me take you to it? They are so stupid here. They would not let mebring it up. "

"It will do very well I'm sure. It's very kind of you. The rooms are inBolton street. I have the number here. Oh! thank you. " But she would nottake his arm. So he led the way, and stood at the door while she gotinto the carriage with her maid. "I'd better show the man where you arenow. " This he did, and afterward shook hands with her through thecarriage window. This was all he saw of her, and the words which havebeen repeated were all that were spoken. Of her face he had not caught aglimpse. 

As he went home to his lodgings he was conscious that the interview hadnot been satisfactory. He could not say what more he wanted, but he feltthat there was something amiss. He consoled himself, however, byreminding himself that Florence Burton was the girl whom he had reallyloved, and not Julia Brabazon. Lady Ongar had given him no invitation tocome and see her, and therefore he determined that he would return homeon the following day without going near Bolton street. He had picturedto himself beforehand the sort of description he would give to LadyClavering of her sister; but, seeing how things had turned out, he madeup his mind that he would say nothing of the meeting. Indeed, he wouldnot go up to the great house at all. He had done Lady Clavering'scommission, at some little trouble and expense to himself, and thereshould be an end of it. Lady Ongar would not mention that she had seenhim. He doubted, indeed, whether she would remember whom she had seen. For any good that he had done, or for any sentiment that there had been, his cousin Hugh's butler might as well have gone to the train. In thismood he returned home, consoling himself with the fitness of thingswhich had given him Florence Burton instead of Julia Brabazon for awife. 

Chapter VI

The Rev. Samuel Saul

During Harry's absence in London, a circumstance had occurred at therectory which had surprised some of them and annoyed others a good deal. Mr. Saul, the curate, had made an offer to Fanny. The Rector and Fannydeclared themselves to be both surprised and annoyed. That the Rectorwas in truth troubled by the thing was very evident. Mrs. Clavering saidthat she had almost suspected it--that she was at any rate notsurprised; as to the offer itself of course she was sorry that it shouldhave been made, as it could not suit Fanny to accept it. Mary wassurprised, as she had thought Mr. Saul to be wholly intent on otherthings; but she could not see any reason why the offer should beregarded as being on his part unreasonable. 

"How can you say so, mamma?" Such had been Fanny's indignant exclamationwhen Mrs. Clavering had hinted that Mr. Saul's proceeding had beenexpected by her. 

"Simply because I saw that he liked you, my dear. Men under suchcircumstances have different ways of showing their liking. "

Fanny, who had seen all of Mary's love affair from the beginning to theend, and who had watched the Reverend Edward Fielding in all his veryconspicuous manoeuvres, would not agree to this. Edward Fielding fromthe first moment of his intimate acquaintance with Mary had left nodoubt of his intentions on the mind of any one. He had talked to Maryand walked with Mary whenever, he was allowed or found it possible to doso. When driven to talk to Fanny, he had always talked about Mary. Hehad been a lover of the good, old, plainspoken stamp, about whom therehad been no mistake. From the first moment of his coming much aboutClavering Rectory the only question had been about his income. "I don'tthink Mr. Saul ever said a word to me except about the poor people andthe church services, " said Fanny. "That was merely his way, " said Mrs. Clavering. "Then he must be a goose, " said Fanny. "I am very sorry if Ihave made him unhappy, but he had no business to come to me in thatway. "

"I suppose I shall have to look for another curate, " said the Rector. But this was said in private to his wife. 

"I don't see that at all, " said Mrs. Clavering. "With many men it wouldbe so; but I think you will find that he will take an answer, and thatthere will be an end of it. "

Fanny, perhaps, had a right to be indignant, for certainly Mr. Saul hadgiven her no fair warning of his intention. Mary had for some monthsbeen intent rather on Mr. Fielding's church matters than on those goingon in her own parish, and therefore there had been nothing singular inthe fact that Mr. Saul had said more on such matters to Fanny than toher sister. Fanny was eager and active, and as Mr. Saul was very eagerand very active, it was natural that they should have had some interestsin common. But there had been no private walkings, and no talkings thatcould properly be called private. There was a certain book which Fannykept, containing the names of all the poor people in the parish, towhich Mr. Saul had access equally with herself; but its contents were ofa most prosaic nature, and when she had sat over it in the rectorydrawing-room, with Mr. Saul by her side, striving to extract more thantwelve pennies out of charity shillings, she had never thought that itwould lead to a declaration of love. 

He had never called her Fanny in his life--not up to the moment when shedeclined the honor of becoming Mrs. Saul. The offer itself was made inthis wise. She had been at the house of old Widow Tubb, half-way betweenCumberly Green and the little village of Clavering, striving to makethat rheumatic old woman believe that she had not been cheated by ageneral conspiracy of the parish in the matter of a distribution ofcoal, when, just as she was about to leave the cottage, Mr. Saul cameup. It was then past four, and the evening was becoming dark, and therewas, moreover, a slight drizzle of rain. It was not a tempting eveningfor a walk of a mile and a half through a very dirty lane; but FannyClavering did not care much for such things, and was just stepping outinto the mud and moisture, with her dress well looped up, when Mr. Saulaccosted her. 

"I'm afraid you'll be very wet, Miss Clavering. "

"That will be better than going without my cup of tea, Mr. Saul, which Ishould have to do if I stayed any longer with Mrs. Tubb. And I have gotan umbrella. "

"But it is so dark and dirty, " said he. 

"I'm used to that, as you ought to know. "

"Yes; I do know it, " said he, walking on with her. "I do know thatnothing ever turns you away from the good work. "

There was something in the tone of his voice which Fanny did not like. He had never complimented her before. They had been very intimate, andhad often scolded each other. Fanny would accuse him of exacting toomuch from the people, and he would retort upon her that she coddledthem. Fanny would often decline to obey him, and he would make angryhints as to his clerical authority. In this way they had worked togetherpleasantly, without any of the awkwardness which on other terms wouldhave arisen between a young man and a young woman. But now that he beganto praise her with some peculiar intention of meaning in his tone, shewas confounded. She had made no immediate answer to him, but walked onrapidly through the mud and slush. 

"You are very constant, " said he; "I have not been two years atClavering without finding that out. " It was becoming worse and worse. Itwas not so much his words which provoked her as the tone in which theywere uttered. And yet she had not the slightest idea of what was coming. If, thoroughly admiring her devotion and mistaken as to her character, he were to ask her to become a Protestant nun, or suggest to her thatshe should leave her home and go as nurse into a hospital, then therewould have occurred the sort of folly of which she believed him to becapable. Of the folly which he now committed, she had not believed himto be capable. 

It had come on to rain hard, and she held her umbrella low over herhead. He also was walking with an open umbrella in his hand, so thatthey were not very close to each other. Fanny, as she stepped onimpetuously, put her foot into the depth of a pool, and splashed herselfthoroughly. 

"Oh dear, oh dear, " said she; "this is very disagreeable. "

"Miss Clavering, " said he, "I have been looking for an opportunity tospeak to you, and I do not know when I may find another so suitable asthis. " She still believed that some proposition was to be made to herwhich would be disagreeable, and perhaps impertinent; but it neveroccurred to her that Mr. Saul was in want of a wife. 

"Doesn't it rain too hard for talking?" she said. 

"As I have begun, I must go on with it now, " he replied, raising hisvoice a little, as though it were necessary that he should do so to makeher hear him through the rain and darkness. She moved a little furtheraway from him with unthinking irritation; but still he went on with hispurpose. "Miss Clavering, I know that I am ill-suited to play the partof a lover; very ill-suited. " Then she gave a start and again splashedherself sadly. "I have never read how it is done in books, and have notallowed my imagination to dwell much on such things. "

"Mr. Saul, don't go on; pray don't. " Now she did understand what wascoming. 

"Yes, Miss Clavering, I must go on now; but not on that account would Ipress you to give me an answer to-day. I have learned to love you, and, if you can love me in return, I will take you by the hand, and you shallbe my wife. I have found that in you which I have been unable not tolove--not to covet that I may bind it to myself as my own forever. Willyou think of this, and give me an answer when you have considered itfully?" He had not spoken altogether amiss, and Fanny, though she wasvery angry with him, was conscious of this. The time he had chosen mightnot be considered suitable for a declaration of love, nor the place;but, having chosen them, he had, perhaps, made the best of them. Therehad been no hesitation in his voice, and his words had been perfectlyaudible. 

"Oh, Mr. Saul, of course I can assure you at once, " said Fanny. "Thereneed not be any consideration. I really have never thought--" Fanny, whoknew her own mind on the matter thoroughly, was hardly able to expressherself plainly and without incivility. As soon as that phrase "ofcourse" had passed her lips, she felt that it should not have beenspoken. There was no need that she should insult him by telling him thatsuch a proposition from him could have but one answer. 

"No, Miss Clavering; I know you have never thought of it, and thereforeit would be well that you should take time. I have not been able to makemanifest to you by little signs, as men do who are less awkward, all thelove that I have felt for you. Indeed, could I have done so, I shouldstill have hesitated till I had thoroughly resolved that I might bebetter with a wife than without one, and had resolved also, as far asthat might be possible for me, that you also would be better with ahusband. "

"Mr. Saul, really that should be for me to think of. "

"And for me also. Can any man offer to marry a woman--to bind a womanfor life to certain duties, and to so close an obligation, withoutthinking whether such bonds would be good for her as well as forhimself? Of course, you must think for yourself--and so have I thoughtfor you. You should think for yourself, and you should think also forme. "

Fanny was quite aware that, as regarded herself, the matter was onewhich required no more thinking. Mr. Saul was not a man with whom shecould bring herself to be in love. She had her own ideas as to what wasloveable in men, and the eager curate, splashing through the rain by herside, by no means came up to her standard of excellence. She wasunconsciously aware that he had altogether mistaken her character, andgiven her credit for more abnegation of the world than she pretended topossess, or was desirous of possessing. Fanny Clavering was in no hurryto get married. I do not know that she had even made up her mind thatmarriage would be a good thing for her; but she bad an untroubledconviction that, if she did marry, her husband should have a house andan income. She had no reliance on her own power of living on a potato, and with one new dress every year. A comfortable home, with nice, comfortable things around her, ease in money matters and elegance inlife, were charms with which she had not quarrelled, and, though she didnot wish to be hard upon Mr. Saul on account of his mistake, she didfeel that in making his proposition he had blundered. Because she choseto do her duty as a parish clergyman's daughter, he thought himselfentitled to regard her as a devotee, who would be willing to resigneverything to become the wife of a clergyman, who was active, indeed, but who had not one shilling of income beyond his curacy. "Mr. Saul, "she said, "I can assure you I need take no time for further thinking. Itcannot be as you would have it. "

"Perhaps I have been abrupt. Indeed, I feel that it is so, though I didnot know how to avoid it. "

"It would have made no difference. Indeed, indeed, Mr. Saul, nothing ofthat kind could have made a difference. "

"Will you grant me this--that I may speak to you again on the samesubject after six months?"

"It cannot do any good. "

"It will do this good--that for so much time you will have had the ideabefore you. " Fanny thought that she would have Mr. Saul himself beforeher, and that that would be enough. Mr. Saul, with his rusty clothes andhis thick, dirty shoes, and his weak, blinking eyes, and his mind alwaysset upon the one wish of his life, could not be made to present himselfto her in the guise of a lover. He was one of those men of whom womenbecome very fond with the fondness of friendship, but from whom youngwomen seem to be as far removed in the way of love as though theybelonged to some other species. "I will not press you further, " said he, "as I gather by your tone that it distresses you. "

"I am so sorry if I distress you, but really, Mr. Saul, I could giveyou--I never could give you any other answer. "

Then they walked on silently through the rain--silently, without asingle word--for more than half a mile, till they reached the rectorygate. Here it was necessary that they should, at any rate, speak to eachother, and for the last three hundred yards Fanny had been trying tofind the words which would be suitable. But he was the first to breakthe silence. "Good-night, Miss Clavering, " he said, stopping and puttingout his hand. 

"Good-night, Mr. Saul. "

"I hope that there may be no difference in our bearing to each other, because of what I have to-day said to you?"

"Not on my part--that is, if you will forget it. "

"No, Miss Clavering; I shall not forget it. If it had been a thing to beforgotten, I should not have spoken. I certainly shall not forget it. "

"You know what I mean, Mr. Saul. "

"I shall not forget it even in the way that you mean. But still I thinkyou need not fear me, because you know that I love you. I think I canpromise that you need not withdraw yourself from me, because of what haspassed. But you will tell your father and your mother, and of coursewill be guided by them. And now, good-night. " Then he went, and she wasastonished at finding that he had had much the best of it in his mannerof speaking and conducting himself. She had refused him very curtly, andhe had borne it well. He had not been abashed, nor had he become sulky, nor had he tried to melt her by mention of his own misery. In truth, hehad done it very well--only that he should have known better than tomake any such attempt at all. 

Mr. Saul had been right in one thing. Of course she told her mother, andof course her mother told her father. Before dinner that evening thewhole affair was being debated in the family conclave. They all agreedthat Fanny had had no alternative but to reject the proposition at once. That, indeed was so thoroughly taken for granted, that the point was notdiscussed. But there came to be a difference between the Rector andFanny on one side, and Mrs. Clavering and Mary on the other. "Upon myword, " said the Rector, "I think it was very impertinent. " Fanny wouldnot have liked to use that word herself but she loved her father forusing it. 

"I do not see that, " said Mrs. Clavering. "He could not know whatFanny's views in life might be. Curates very often marry out of thehouses of the clergymen with whom they are placed, and I do not see whyMr. Saul should be debarred from the privilege of trying. "

"If he had got to like Fanny what else was he to do?" said Mary. 

"Oh, Mary, don't talk such nonsense, " said Fanny. "Got to like! Peopleshouldn't get to like people unless there's some reason for it. "

"What on earth did he intend to live on?" demanded the Rector. 

"Edward had nothing to live on, when you first allowed him to comehere, " said Mary. 

"But Edward had prospects, and Saul, as far as I know, has none. He hadgiven no one the slightest notice. If the man in the moon had come toFanny I don't suppose she would have been more surprised. "

"Not half so much, papa. "

Then it was that Mrs. Clavering had declared that she was notsurprised--that she had suspected it, and had almost made Fanny angry bysaying so. When Harry came hack two days afterward, the family news wasimparted to him, and he immediately ranged himself on his father's side. "Upon my word I think that he ought to be forbidden the house, " saidHarry. "He has forgotten himself in making such a proposition. "

"That's nonsense, Harry, " said his mother. "If he can be comfortablecoming here, there can be no reason why he should be uncomfortable. Itwould be an injustice to him to ask him to go, and a great trouble toyour father to find another curate that would suit him so well. " Therecould be no doubt whatever as to the latter proposition, and thereforeit was quietly argued that Mr. Saul's fault, if there had been a fault, should be condoned. On the next day he came to the rectory, and theywere all astonished at the ease with which he bore himself. It was notthat he affected any special freedom of manner, or that he altogetheravoided any change in his mode of speaking to them. A slight blush cameupon his sallow face as he first spoke to Mrs. Clavering, and he hardlydid more than say a single word to Fanny. But he carried himself asthough conscious of what he had done, but in no degree ashamed of thedoing it. The Rector's manner to him was stiff and formal; seeing which, Mrs. Clavering spoke to him gently, and with a smile. "I saw you were alittle hard on him, and therefore I tried to make up for it, " said sheafterward. "You were quite right, " said the husband. "You always are. But I wish he had not made such a fool of himself. It will never be thesame thing with him again. " Harry hardly spoke to Mr. Saul the firsttime he met him, all of which Mr. Saul understood perfectly. 

"Clavering, " he said to Harry, a day or two after this, "I hope there isto be no difference between you and me. "

"Difference! I don't know what you mean by difference. "

"We were good friends, and I hope that we are to remain so. No doubt youknow what has taken place between me and your sister. "

"Oh, yes; I have been told, of course. "

"What I mean is, that I hope you are not going to quarrel with me onthat account? What I did, is it not what you would have done in myposition--only you would have done it successfully?"

"I think a fellow should have some income, you know. "

"Can you say that you would have waited for income before you spoke ofmarriage?"

"I think it might have been better that you should have gone to myfather. "

"It may be that that is the rule in such things, but if so, I do notknow it. Would she have liked that better?"

"Well; I can't say. "

You are engaged? Did you go to the young lady's family first?"

"I can't say I did; but I think I had given them some ground to expectit. I fancy they all knew what I was about. But it's over now; and Idon't know that we need say anything more about it. "

"Certainly not. Nothing can be said that would be of any use; but I donot think I have done anything that you should resent. "

"Resent is a strong word. I don't resent it, or, at any rate, I won't;and there may be an end of it. " After this, Harry was more gracious withMr. Saul, having an idea that the curate had made some sort of apologyfor what he had done. But that, I fancy, was by no means Mr. Saul's viewof the case. Had he offered to marry the daughter of the Archbishop ofCanterbury, instead of the daughter of the Rector of Clavering, he wouldnot have imagined that his doing so needed an apology. 

The day after his return from London, Lady Clavering sent for Harry upto the House. "So you saw my sister in London?!" she said. 

"Yes, " said Harry, blushing; "as I was in town, I thought that I mightas well meet her. But, as you said, Lady Ongar is able to do withoutmuch assistance of that kind. I only just saw her. "

"Julia took it so kindly of you; but she seems surprised that you didnot come to her the following day. She thought you would have called. "

"Oh, dear, no. I fancied that she would be too tired and too busy towish to see any mere acquaintance. "

"Ah, Harry, I see that she has angered you, " said Lady Clavering;"otherwise you would not talk about mere acquaintance. "

"Not in the least. Angered me! How could she anger me? What I meant wasthat at such a time she would probably wish to see no one but people onbusiness--unless it was some one near to her, like yourself or Hugh. "

"Hugh will not go to her. "

"But you will do so; will you not?"

"Before long I will. You don't seem to understand, Harry--and, perhaps, it would be odd if you did--that I can't run up to town and back as Iplease. I ought not to tell you this, I dare say, but one feels asthough one wanted to talk to some one about one's affairs. At thepresent moment, I have not the money to go--even if there was no otherreason. " These last words she said almost in a whisper, and then shelooked up into the young man's face, to see what he thought of thecommunication she had made him. 

"Oh, money!" he said. "You could soon get money. But I hope it won't belong before you go. "

On the next morning but one, a letter came by the post for him from LadyOngar. When he saw the handwriting, which he knew, his heart was at oncein his mouth, and he hesitated to open his letter at the breakfasttable. He did open it and read it, but, in truth, he hardly understoodit or digested it till he had taken it away with him up to his own room. The letter, which was very short, was as follows:

 Dear Friend:--I felt your kindness in coming to me at the station so much! the more, perhaps, because others, who owed me more kindness, have paid me less. Don't suppose that I allude to poor Hermione, for, in truth, I have no intention to complain of her. I thought, perhaps, you would have come to see me before you left London; but I suppose you were hurried. I hear from Clavering that you are to be up about your new profession in a day or two. Pray come and see me before you have been many days in London. I shall have so much to say to you! The rooms you have taken are everything that I wanted, and I am so grateful!

 Yours ever, J. O. 

When Harry had read and had digested this, he became aware that he wasagain fluttered. "Poor creature!" he said to himself; "it is sad tothink how much she is in want of a friend. "

Chapter VII

Some Scenes in the Life of a Countess

About the middle of January Harry Clavering went up to London, andsettled himself to work at Mr. Beilby's office. Mr. Beilby's officeconsisted of four or five large chambers, overlooking the river from thebottom of Adam Street in the Adelphi, and here Harry found a table forhimself in the same apartment with three other pupils. It was a fine oldroom, lofty, and with large windows, ornamented on the ceiling withItalian scroll-work, and a flying goddess in the centre. In days gone bythe house had been the habitation of some great rich man, who had thereenjoyed the sweet breezes from the river before London had become theLondon of the present days, and when no embankment had been needed forthe Thames. Nothing could be nicer than this room, or more pleasant thanthe table and seat which he was to occupy near a window; but there wassomething in the tone of the other men toward him which did not quitesatisfy him. They probably did not know that he was a fellow of acollege, and treated him almost as they might have done had he come tothem direct from King's College, in the Strand, or from the LondonUniversity. Down at Stratton a certain amount of honor had been paid tohim. They had known there who he was, and had felt some deference forhim. They had not slapped him on the back, or poked him in the ribs, oreven called him old fellow, before some length of acquaintance justifiedsuch appellation. But up at Mr. Beilby's, in the Adelphi, one young man, who was certainly his junior in age, and who did not seem as yet to haveattained any high position in the science of engineering, manifestlythought that he was acting in a friendly and becoming way by declaringthe stranger to be a lad of wax on the second day of his appearance. Harry Clavering was not disinclined to believe that he was a "lad ofwax, " or "a brick, " or "a trump, " or "no small. " But he desired thatsuch complimentary and endearing appellations should be used to him onlyby those who had known him long enough to be aware that he deservedthem. Mr. Joseph Walliker certainly was not as yet among this number. 

There was a man at Mr. Beilby's who was entitled to greet him withendearing terms, and to be so greeted himself, although Harry had neverseen him till he attended for the first time at the Adelphi. This wasTheodore Burton, his future brother-in-law, who was now the leading manin the London house--the leading man as regarded business, though he wasnot as yet a partner. It was understood that this Mr. Burton was to comein when his father went out; and in the meantime he received a salary ofa thousand a year as managing clerk. A very hard-working, steady, intelligent man was Mr. Theodore Burton, with a bald head, a highforehead, and that look of constant work about him which such menobtain. Harry Clavering could not bring himself to take a liking to him, because he wore cotton gloves, and had an odious habit of dusting hisshoes with his pocket-handkerchief. Twice Harry saw him do this on thefirst day of their acquaintance, and he regretted it exceedingly. Thecotton gloves, too, were offensive, as were also the thick shoes whichhad been dusted; but the dusting was the great sin. 

And there was something which did not quite please Harry in Mr. TheodoreBurton's manner, though the gentleman had manifestly intended to be verykind to him. When Burton had been speaking to him for a minute or two, it flashed across Harry's mind that he had not bound himself to marrythe whole Burton family, and that, perhaps, he must take some means tolet that fact be known. "Theodore, " as he had so often heard the youngerMr. Burton called by loving lips, seemed to claim him as his own, calledhim Harry, and upbraided him with friendly warmth for not having comedirect to his--Mr. Burton's house-in Onslow Crescent. "Pray feelyourself at home there, " said Mr. Burton. "I hope you'll like my wife. You needn't be afraid of being made to be idle if you spend yourevenings there, for we are all reading people. Will you come and dineto-day?" Florence had told him that she was her brother Theodore'sfavorite sister, and that Theodore as a husband and a brother, and aman, was perfect. But Theodore had dusted his boots with hishandkerchief, and Harry Clavering would not dine with him on that day. 

And then it was perfectly manifest to him that every one in the officeknew his destiny with reference to old Burton's daughter. He had beenone of the Stratton men, and no more than any other had he goneunscathed through the Stratton fire. He had been made to do the regularthing, as Granger, Scarness, and others had done it. Stratton would besafer ground now, as Clavering had taken the last. That was the feelingon the matter which seemed to belong to others. It was not that Harrythought in this way of his own Florence. He knew well enough what alucky fellow he was to have won such a girl He was well aware how widelyhis Florence differed from Carry Scarness. He denied to himselfindignantly that he had any notion of repenting what he had done. But hedid wish that these private matters might have remained private, andthat all the men at Beilby's had not known of his engagement. WhenWalliker, on the fourth day of their acquaintance, asked him if it wasall right at Stratton, he made up his mind that he hated Walliker, andthat he would hate Walliker to the last day of his life. He had declinedthe first invitation given to him by Theodore Burton; but he could notaltogether avoid his future brother-in-law, and had agreed to dine withhim on this day. 

On that same afternoon Harry, when he left Mr. Beilby's office, wentdirect to Bolton Street, that he might call on Lady Ongar. As he wentthither he bethought himself that these Wallikers and the like had hadno such events in life as had befallen him! They laughed at him aboutFlorence Burton, little guessing that it had been his lot to love, andto be loved by such a one as Julia Brabazon had been--such a one as LadyOngar now was. But things had gone well with him. Julia Brabazon couldhave made no man happy, but Florence Burton would be the sweetest, dearest, truest little wife that ever man took to his home. He wasthinking of this, and determined to think of it more and more daily, ashe knocked at Lady Ongar's door. "Yes; her ladyship was at home, " saidthe servant whom he had seen on the railway platform; and in a fewmoments' time he found himself in the drawing-room which he hadcriticized so carefully when he was taking it for its present occupant. 

He was left in the room for five or six minutes, and was able to make afull mental inventory of its contents. It was very different in itspresent aspect from the room which he had seen not yet a month since. She had told him that the apartments had been all that she desired; butsince then everything had been altered, at least in appearance. A newpiano had been brought in, and the chintz on the furniture was surelynew. And the room was crowded with small feminine belongings, indicativeof wealth and luxury. There were ornaments about, and pretty toys, and athousand knickknacks which none but the rich can possess, and which nonecan possess even among the rich unless they can give taste as well asmoney to their acquisition. Then he heard a light step; the door opened, and Lady Ongar was there. 

He expected to see the same figure that he had seen on the railwayplatform, the same gloomy drapery, the same quiet, almost deathlikedemeanor, nay, almost the same veil over her features; but the LadyOngar whom he now saw was as unlike that Lady Ongar as she was unlikethat Julia Brabazon whom he had known in old days at Clavering Park. Shewas dressed, no doubt, in black; nay, no doubt, she was dressed inweeds; but in spite of the black and in spite of the weeds there wasnothing about her of the weariness or of the solemnity of woe. He hardlysaw that her dress was made of crape, or that long white pendants werehanging down from the cap which sat so prettily upon her head. But itwas her face at which he gazed. At first he thought she could hardly bethe same woman, she was to his eyes so much older than she had been! Andyet as he looked at her, he found that she was as handsome as ever--morehandsome than she had ever been before. There was a dignity about herface and figure which became her well, and which she carried as thoughshe knew herself to be in very truth a countess. It was a face whichbore well such signs of age as those which had come upon it. She seemedto be a woman fitter for womanhood than for girlhood. Her eyes werebrighter than of yore, and, as Harry thought, larger; and her highforehead and noble stamp of countenance seemed fitted for the dress andheadgear which she wore. 

"I have been expecting you, " said she, stepping up to him. "Hermionewrote me word that you were to come up on Monday. Why did you not comesooner?" There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and a confidence inher tone which almost confounded him. 

"I have had so many things to do, " said he lamely. 

"About your new profession. Yes, I can understand that. And so you aresettled in London now? Where are you living--that is, if you are settledyet?" In answer to this, Harry told her he had taken lodgings inBloomsbury Square, blushing somewhat as he named so unfashionable alocality. Old Mrs. Burton had recommended him to the house in which hewas located, but he did not find it necessary to explain that fact toLady Ongar. 

"I have to thank you for what you did for me, " continued she. "You ranaway from me in such a hurry on that night that I was unable to speak toyou. But to tell the truth, Harry, I was in no mood then to speak to anyone. Of course you thought that I treated you ill. "

"Oh, no, " said he. 

"Of course you did. If I thought you did not, I should be angry with younow. But had it been to save my life I could not have helped it. Why didnot Sir Hugh Clavering come to meet me? Why did not my sister's husbandcome to me?" To this question Harry could make no answer. He was stillstanding with his hat in his hand, and now turned his face away from herand shook his head. 

"Sit down, Harry, " said she, "and let me talk to you like afriend--unless you are in a hurry to go away. "

"Oh, no, " said he, seating himself. 

"Or unless you, too, are afraid of me. "

"Afraid of you, Lady Ongar?"

"Yes, afraid; but I don't mean you. I don't believe that you are cowardenough to desert a woman who was once your friend because misfortune hasovertaken her, and calumny has been at work with her name. "

"I hope not, " said he. 

"No, Harry; I do not think it of you. But if Sir Hugh be not a coward, why did he not come and meet me? Why has he left me to stand alone, nowthat he could be of service to me? I knew that money was his god, but Ihave never asked him for a shilling, and should not have done so now. Oh, Harry, how wicked you were about that check? Do you remember?"

"Yes; I remember. "

"So shall I; always, always. If I had taken that money how often shouldI have heard of it since?"

"Heard of it?" he asked. "Do you mean from me?"

"Yes; how often from you? Would you have dunned me, and told me of itonce a week? Upon my word, Harry, I was told of it more nearly everyday. Is it not wonderful that men should be so mean?"

It was clear to him now that she was talking of her husband who wasdead, and on that subject he felt himself at present unable to speak aword. He little dreamed at that moment how openly she would soon speakto him of Lord Ongar and of Lord Ongar's faults?

"Oh, how I have wished that I had taken your money! But never mind aboutthat now, Harry. Wretched as such taunts were, they soon became a smallthing. But it has been cowardly in your cousin, Hugh; has it not? If Ihad not lived with him as one of his family, it would not have mattered. People would not have expected it. It was as though my own brother hadcast me forth. "

"Lady Clavering has been with you; has she not?"

"Once, for half an hour. She came up for one day, and came here byherself; cowering as though she were afraid of me. Poor Hermy! She hasnot a good time of it either. You lords of creation lead your slaves sadlives when it pleases you to change your billing and cooing formatter-of-fact masterdom and rule. I don't blame Hermy. I suppose shedid all she could, and I did not utter one word of reproach of her. Norshould I to him. Indeed, if he came now the servant would deny me tohim. He has insulted me, and I shall remember the insult. "

Harry Clavering did not clearly understand what it was that Lady Ongarhad desired of her brother-in-law--what aid she had required; nor did heknow whether it would be fitting for him to offer to act in Sir Hugh'splace. Anything that he could do, he felt himself at that moment willingto do, even though the necessary service should demand some sacrificegreater than prudence could approve. "If I had thought that anything waswanted, I should have come to you sooner, " said he. 

"Everything is wanted, Harry. Everything is wanted--except that checkfor six hundred pounds which you sent me so treacherously. Did you everthink what might have happened if a certain person had heard of that?All the world would have declared that you had done it for your ownprivate purposes--all the world, except one. "

Harry, as he heard this, felt that he was blushing. Did Lady Ongar knowof his engagement with Florence Burton? Lady Clavering knew it, andmight probably have told the tidings; but then, again, she might nothave told them. Harry at this moment wished that he knew how it was. Allthat Lady Ongar said to him would come with so different a meaningaccording as he did or did not know that fact. But he had no mind totell her of the fact himself. He declared to himself that he hoped sheknew it, as it would serve to make them both more comfortable together;but he did not think it would do for him to bring forward the subject, neck and heels as it were. The proper thing would be that she shouldcongratulate him, but this she did not do. "I certainly meant no ill, "he said, in answer to the last words she had spoken. 

"You have never meant ill to me, Harry; though you know you have abusedme dreadfully before now. I daresay you forget the hard names you havecalled me. You men do forget such things. "

"I remember calling you one name. "

"Do not repeat it now, if you please. If I deserved it, it would shameme; and if I did not, it should shame you. "

"No; I will not repeat it. "

"Does it not seem odd, Harry, that you and I should be sitting, talkingtogether in this way?" She was leaning now toward him, across the table, and one hand was raised to her forehead while her eyes were fixedintently upon his. The attitude was one which he felt to express extremeintimacy. She would not have sat in that way, pressing back her hairfrom her brow, with all the appearance of widowhood banished from herface, in the presence of any but a dear and close friend. He did notthink of this, but he felt that it was so, almost by instinct. "I havesuch a tale to tell you, " she said; "such a tale!"

Why should she tell it to him? Of course he asked himself thisquestion. Then he remembered that she had no brother--remembered alsothat her brother-in-law had deserted her, and he declared to himselfthat, if necessary, he would be her brother. "I fear that you havenot been happy, " said he, "since I saw you last. "

"Happy!" she replied. "I have lived such a life as I did not think anyman or woman could be made to live on this side the grave. I will behonest with you, Harry. Nothing but the conviction that it could not befor long has saved me from destroying myself. I knew that he must die!"

"Oh, Lady Ongar!"

"Yes, indeed; that is the name he gave me; and because I consented totake it from him, he treated me--O heavens! how am I to find words totell you what he did, and the way in which he treated me. A woman couldnot tell it to a man. Harry, I have no friend that I trust but you, butto you I cannot tell it. When he found that he had been wrong inmarrying me, that he did not want the thing which he had thought wouldsuit him, that I was a drag upon him rather than a comfort--what was hismode, do you think, of ridding himself of the burden?" Clavering satsilent looking at her. Both her hands were now up to her forehead, andher large eyes were gazing at him till he found himself unable towithdraw his own for a moment from her face. "He strove to get anotherman to take me off his hands; and when he found he was failing--hecharged me with the guilt which he himself had contrived for me. "

"Lady Ongar!"

"Yes; you may well stare at me. You may well speak hoarsely and looklike that. It may be that even you will not believe me; but by the Godin whom we both believe, I tell you nothing but the truth. He attemptedthat and he failed; and then he accused me of the crime which he couldnot bring me to commit. "

"And what then?"

"Yes; what then? Harry, I had a thing to do, and a life to live, thatwould have tried the bravest; but I went through it. I stuck to him tothe last! He told me before he was dying--before that last frightfulillness, that I was staying with him for his money. 'For your money, mylord, ' I said, 'and for my own name. ' And so it was. Would it have beenwise in me, after all that I had gone through, to have given up that forwhich I had sold myself? I had been very poor, and had been so placedthat poverty, even, such poverty as mine, was a curse to me. You knowwhat I gave up because I feared that curse. Was I to be foiled at last, because such a creature as that wanted to shirk out of his bargain? Iknew there would be some who would say I had been false. Hugh Claveringsays so now, I suppose. But they never should say I had left him to diealone in a foreign land. "

"Did he ask you to leave him?"

"No; but he called me that name which no woman should hear and stay. Nowoman should do so unless she had a purpose such as mine. He wanted backthe price he had paid, and I was determined to do nothing that shouldassist him in his meanness! And then, Harry, his last illness! Oh, Harry, you would pity me if you could know all!"

"It was his own intemperance!"

"Intemperance! It was brandy--sheer brandy. He brought himself to such astate that nothing but brandy would keep him alive, and in which brandywas sure to kill him--and it did kill him. Did you ever hear of thehorrors of drink?"

"Yes; I have heard of such a state. "

"I hope you may never live to see it. It is a sight that would stick byyou for ever. But I saw it, and tended him through the whole, as thoughI had been his servant. I remained with him when that man who opened thedoor for you could no longer endure the room. I was with him when thestrong woman from the hospital, though she could not understand hiswords, almost fainted at what she saw and heard. He was punished, Harry. I need wish no farther vengeance on him, even for all his cruelty, hisinjustice, his unmanly treachery. Is it not fearful to think that anyman should have the power of bringing himself to such an end as that?"

Harry was thinking rather how fearful it was that a man should have itin his power to drag any woman through such a Gehenna as that which thislord had created. He felt that had Julia Brabazon been his, as she hadonce promised him, he never would have allowed himself to speak a harshword to her, to have looked at her except with loving eyes. But she hadchosen to join herself to a man who had treated her with a crueltyexceeding all that his imagination could have conceived. "It is a mercythat he has gone, " said he at last. 

"It is a mercy for both. Perhaps you can understand now something of mymarried life. And through it all I had but one friend--if I may call hima friend who had come to terms with my husband, and who was to have beenhis agent in destroying me. But when this man understood from me that Iwas not what he had been taught to think me--which my husband told him Iwas--he relented. "

"May I ask what was that man's name?"

"His name is Pateroff. He is a Pole, but he speaks English like anEnglishman. In my presence he told Lord Ongar that he was false andbrutal. Lord Ongar laughed, with that little, low, sneering laughterwhich was his nearest approach to merriment, and told Count Pateroffthat that was of course his game before me. There, Harry, I will tellyou nothing more of it. You will understand enough to know what I havesuffered; and if you can believe that I have not sinned--"

"Oh, Lady Ongar!"

"Well, I will not doubt you again. But as far as I can learn you arenearly alone in your belief. What. Hermy thinks I cannot tell, but shewill soon come to think as Hugh may bid her. And I shall not blame her. What else can she do, poor creature?"

"I am sure she believes no ill of you. "

"I have one advantage, Harry--one advantage over her and some others. Iam free. The chains have, hurt me sorely during my slavery; but I amfree, and the price of my servitude remains. He had written home-wouldyou believe that? while I was living with him he had written home to saythat evidence should be collected for getting rid of me. And yet hewould sometimes be civil, hoping to cheat me into inadvertencies. Hewould ask that man to dine, and then of a sudden would be absent; andduring this he was ordering that evidence should be collected! Evidence, indeed! The same servants have lived with me through it all If I couldnow bring forward evidence I could make it all clear as the day. Butthere needs no care for a woman's honor, though a man may have to guardhis by collecting evidence!"

"But what he did cannot injure you. "

"Yes, Harry, it has injured me; it has all but destroyed me. Have notreports reached even you? Speak out like a man, and say whether it isnot so!"

"I have heard something. "

"Yes, you have heard something! If you heard something of your sisterwhere would you be? All the world would be a chaos to you till you hadpulled out somebody's tongue by the roots. Not injured me! For two yearsyour cousin Hugh's house was my home. I met Lord Ongar in his house. Iwas married from his house. He is my brother-in-law, and it so happensthat of all men he is the nearest to me. He stands well before theworld, and at this time could have done me real service. How is it thathe did not welcome me home; that I am not now at his house with mysister; that he did not meet me so that the world might know that I wasreceived back among my own people? Why is it, Harry, that I am tellingthis to you--to you, who are nothing to me; my sister's husband'scousin; a young man, from your position, not fit to be my confidant? Whyam I telling this to you, Harry?"

"Because we are old friends, " said he, wondering again at this momentwhether she knew of his engagement with Florence Burton. 

"Yes, we are old friends, and we have always liked each other; but youmust know that, as the world judges, I am wrong to tell all this to you. I should be wrong, only that the world has cast me out, so that I am nolonger bound to regard it. I am Lady Ongar, and I have my share of thatman's money. They have given me up Ongar Park, having satisfiedthemselves that it is mine by right, and must be mine by law. But he hasrobbed me of every friend I had in the world, and yet you tell me he hasnot injured me!"

"Not every friend. "

"No, Harry, I will not forget you, though I spoke so slightingly of youjust now. But your vanity need not be hurt. It is only the world--Mrs. Grundy, you know, that would deny me such friendship as yours; not myown taste or choice. Mrs. Grundy always denies us exactly those thingswhich we ourselves like best. You are clever enough to understand that. "

He smiled and looked foolish, and declared that he only offered hisassistance because perhaps it might be convenient at the present moment. What could he do for her? How could he show his friendship for her nowat once?

"You have done it, Harry, in listening to me and giving me yoursympathy. It is seldom that we want any great thing from our friends. Iwant nothing of that kind. No one can hurt me much further now. My moneyand my rank are safe; and, perhaps, by degrees, acquaintances, if notfriends, will form themselves round me again. At present, of course, Isee no one; but because I see no one, I wanted some one to whom I couldspeak. Poor Hermy is worse than no one. Good-by, Harry; you looksurprised and bewildered now, but you will soon get over that. Don't belong before I see you again. " Then, feeling that he was bidden to go, hewished her good-by, and went. 

Chapter VIII

The House in Onslow Crescent

Harry, as he walked away from the house in Bolton street, hardly knewwhether he was on his heels or his head. Burton had told him not todress--"We don't give dress dinner parties, you know. It's all in thefamily way with us"--and Harry, therefore, went direct from Boltonstreet to Onslow Crescent. But, though he managed to keep the propercourse down Piccadilly, he was in such confusion of mind that he hardlyknew whither he was going. It seemed as though a new form of life hadbeen opened to him, and that it had been opened in such a way as almostnecessarily to engulf him. It was not only that Lady Ongar's history wasso terrible, and her life so strange, but that he himself was calledupon to form a part of that history, and to join himself in some sortwith that life. This countess, with her wealth, her rank, her beauty, and her bright intellect, had called him to her, and told him that hewas her only friend. Of course he had promised his friendship. How couldhe have failed to give such a promise to one whom he had loved so well?But to what must such a promise lead, or rather to what must it not haveled had it not been for Florence Burton? She was young, free, and rich. She made no pretence of regret for the husband she had lost, speaking ofhim as though in truth she hardly regarded herself as his wife. And shewas the same Julia whom he had loved, who had loved him, who had jiltedhim, and in regret for whom he had once resolved to lead a wretched, lonely life! Of course she must expect that he would renew itall--unless, indeed, she knew of his engagement. But if she knew it, whyhad she not spoken of it?

And could it be that she had no friends; that everybody had desertedher; that she was alone in the world? As he thought of it all, the wholething seemed to him to be too terrible for reality. What a tragedy wasthat she had told him! He thought of the man's insolence to the womanwhom he had married and sworn to love, then of his cruelty, hisfiendish, hellish cruelty; and lastly of his terrible punishment. "Istuck to him through it all, " she had said to him; and then heendeavored to picture to himself that bedside by which Julia Brabazon, his Julia Brabazon, had remained firm, when hospital attendants had beenscared by the horrors they had witnessed, and the nerves of a strongman, of a man paid for such work, had failed him!

The truth of her word throughout he never doubted; and, indeed, no manor woman who heard her could have doubted. One hears stories told thatto oneself, the hearer, are manifestly false; and one hears stories asto the truth or falsehood of which one is in doubt; and stories againwhich seem to be partly true and partly untrue. But one also hears thatof the truth of which no doubt seems to be possible. So it had been withthe tale which Lady Ongar had told. It had been all as she had said; andhad Sir Hugh heard it--even Sir Hugh, who doubted all men and regardedall women as being false beyond a doubt--even he, I think, would havebelieved it. 

But she had deserved the sufferings which had come upon her. Even Harry, whose heart was very tender toward her, owned as much as that. She hadsold herself, as she had said of herself more than once. She had givenherself to a man whom she regarded not at all, even when her heartbelonged to another--to a man whom she must have loathed and despisedwhen she was putting her hand into his before the altar. What scorn hadthere been upon her face when she spoke of the beginning of theirmarried miseries. With what eloquence of expression had she pronouncedhim to be vile, worthless, unmanly; a thing from which a woman must turnwith speechless contempt. She had now his name, his rank, and his money, but she was friendless and alone. Harry Clavering declared to himselfthat she had deserved it-and, having so declared, forgave her all herfaults. She had sinned, and then had suffered; and, therefore, shouldnow be forgiven. If he could do aught to ease her troubles, he would doit--as a brother would for a sister. 

But it would be well that she should know of his engagement. Then hethought of the whole interview, and felt sure that she must know it. Atany rate he told himself that he was sure. She could hardly have spokento him as she had done, unless she had known. When last they had beentogether, sauntering round the gardens at Clavering, he had rebuked herfor her treachery to him: Now she came to him almost open-armed, free, full of her cares, swearing to him that he was her only friend! All thiscould mean but one thing--unless she knew that that one thing was barredby his altered position. 

But it gratified him to think that she had chosen him for the repositoryof her tale; that she had told her terrible history to him. I fear thatsome small part of this gratification was owing to her rank and wealth. To be the one friend of a widowed countess, young, rich, and beautiful, was something much out of the common way. Such confidence lifted him farabove the Wallikers of the world. That he was pleased to be so trustedby one that was beautiful, was, I think, no disgrace to him; although Ibear in mind his condition as a man engaged. It might be dangerous, butthat danger in such case it would be his duty to overcome. But in orderthat it might be overcome, it would certainly be well that she shouldknow his position. 

I fear he speculated as he went along as to what might have been hiscondition in the world had he never seen Florence Burton. First he askedhimself, whether, under any circumstances, he would have wished to marrya widow, and especially a widow by whom he had already been jilted. Yes;he thought that he could have forgiven her even that, if his own hearthad not changed; but he did not forget to tell himself again how luckyit was for him that his heart was changed. What countess in the world, let her have what park she might, and any imaginable number of thousandsa year, could be so sweet, so nice, so good, so fitting for him as hisown Florence Burton? Then he endeavored to reflect what happened when acommoner married the widow of a peer. She was still called, he believed, by her own title, unless she should choose to abandon it. Any sucharrangement was now out of the question; but he thought that he wouldprefer that she should have been called Mrs. Clavering, if such a stateof things had come about. I do not know that he pictured to himself anynecessity--either on her part or on his, of abandoning anything elsethat came to her from her late husband. 

At half-past six, the time named by Theodore Burton, he found himself atthe door in Onslow Crescent, and was at once shown up into thedrawing-room. He knew that Mr. Burton had a family, and he had picturedto himself an untidy, ugly house, with an untidy, motherly woman goingabout with a baby in her arms. Such would naturally be the home of a manwho dusted his shoes with his pocket-handkerchief. But to his surprisehe found himself in as pretty a drawing-room as he remembered to haveseen; and seated on a sofa, was almost as pretty a woman as heremembered. She was tall and slight, with large brown eyes andwell-defined eyebrows, with an oval face, and the sweetest, kindestmouth that ever graced a woman. Her dark brown hair was quite plain, having been brushed simply smooth across the forehead, and thencollected in a knot behind. Close beside her, on a low chair, sat alittle fair-haired girl, about seven years old, who was going throughsome pretence at needlework; and kneeling on a higher chair, while shesprawled over the drawing-room table, was another girl, some three yearsyounger, who was engaged with a puzzle-box. 

"Mr. Clavering, " said she, rising from her chair; "I am so glad to seeyou, though I am almost angry with you for not coming to us sooner. Ihave heard so much about you; of course you know that. " Harry explainedthat he had only been a few days in town, and declared that he was happyto learn that he had been considered worth talking about. 

"If you were worth accepting you were worth talking about. "

"Perhaps I was neither, " said he. 

"Well; I am not going to flatter you yet. Only as I think our Flo iswithout exception the most perfect girl I ever saw, I don't suppose shewould be guilty of making a bad choice. Cissy, dear, this is Mr. Clavering. "

Cissy got up from her chair, and came up to him. "Mamma says I am tolove you very much, " said Cissy, putting up her face to be kissed. 

"But I did not tell you to say I had told you, " said Mrs. Burton, laughing. 

"And I will love you very much, " said Harry, taking her up in his arms. 

"But not so much as Aunt Florence--will you?"

They all knew it. It was clear to him that everybody connected with theBurtons had been told of the engagement, and that they all spoke of itopenly, as they did of any other everyday family occurrence. There wasnot much reticence among the Burtons. He could not but feel this, thoughnow, at the present moment, he was disposed to think specially well ofthe family because Mrs. Burton and her children were so nice. 

"And this is another daughter?"

"Yes; another future niece, Mr. Clavering. But I suppose I may call youHarry; may I not? My name is Cecilia. Yes, that is Miss Pert. "

"I'm not Miss Pert, " said the little soft round ball of a girl from thechair. "I'm Sophy Burton. Oh, you musn't tittle. "

Harry found himself quite at home in ten minutes; and, before Mr. Burtonhad returned, had been taken upstairs into the nursery to see TheodoreBurton, Junior, in his cradle, Theodore Burton, Junior, being as yetonly some few months old. "Now you've seen us all, " said Mrs. Burton, "and we'll go downstairs and wait for my husband. I must let you into asecret, too. We don't dine till past seven; you may as well rememberthat for the future. But I wanted to have you for half an hour to myselfbefore dinner, so that I might look at you, and make up my mind aboutFlo's choice. I hope you won't be angry with me?"

"And how have you made up your mind?"

"If you want to find that out, you must get it through Florence. You maybe quite sure I shall tell her; and I suppose I may be quite sure shewill tell you. Does she tell you everything?"

"I tell her everything, " said Harry, feeling himself, however, to be alittle conscience-smitten at the moment, as he remembered his interviewwith Lady Ongar. Things had occurred this very day which he certainlycould not tell her. 

"Do--do; always do that, " said Mrs. Burton, laying her handaffectionately on his arm. "There is no way so certain to bind a womanto you, heart and soul, as to show her that you trust her in everything. Theodore tells me everything. I don't think there's a drain plannedunder a railway bank but that he shows it me in some way; and I feel sograteful for it. It makes me know that I can never do enough for him. Ihope you'll be as good to Flo as he is to me. "

"We can't both be perfect, you know. "

"Ah, well! of course, you'll laugh at me. Theodore always laughs at mewhen I get on what he calls a high horse. I wonder whether you are assensible as he is?"

Harry reflected that he never wore cotton gloves. "I don't think I amvery sensible, " said he. I do a great many foolish things, and the worstis, that I like them. "

"So do I. I like so many foolish things. "

"Oh, mamma!" said Cissy. 

"I shall have that quoted against me, now, for the next six months, whenever I am preaching wisdom in the nursery. But Florence is nearly assensible as her brother. "

"Much more so than I am. "

"All the Burtons are full up to their eyes with good sense. And what agood thing it is! Who ever heard of any of them coming to sorrow?Whatever they have to live on, they always have enough. Did you everknow a woman who has done better with her children, or has known how todo better, than Theodore's mother? She is the dearest old woman. " Harryhad heard her called a very clever old woman by certain persons inStratton, and could not but think of her matrimonial successes as herpraises were thus sung by her daughter-in-law. 

They went on talking, while Sophy sat in Harry's lap, till there washeard the sound of a key in the latch of the front door, and the masterof the house was known to be there. "It's Theodore, " said his wife, jumping up and going out to meet him. "I'm so glad that you have beenhere a little before him, because now I feel that I know you. When he'shere, I shan't get in a word. " Then she went down to her husband, andHarry was left to speculate how so very charming a woman could ever havebeen brought to love a man who cleaned his boots with hispocket-handkerchief. 

There were soon steps again upon the stairs, and Burton returned, bringing with him another man, whom he introduced to Harry as Mr. Jones. "I didn't know my brother was coming, " said Mrs. Burton, "but it will bevery pleasant, as of course I shall want you to know him. " Harry becamea little perplexed. How far might these family ramifications be supposedto go? Would he be welcomed, as one of the household, to the hearth ofMrs. Jones; and if of Mrs. Jones, then of Mrs. Jones's brother? Hismental inquiries, however, in this direction, were soon ended by hisfinding that Mr. Jones who a bachelor. 

Jones, it appeared, was the editor, or sub-editor, or co-editor, of someinfluential daily newspaper. "He is a night bird, Harry--" said Mrs. Burton. She had fallen into the way of calling him Harry at once, but hecould not on that occasion bring himself to call her Cecilia. He mighthave done so had not her husband been present, but he was ashamed to doit before him. "He is a night bird, Harry, " said she, speaking of herbrother, "and flies away at nine o'clock that he may go and hoot like anowl in some dark city haunt that he has. Then, when he is himself asleepat breakfast time, his hootings are being heard round the town. "

Harry rather liked the idea of knowing an editor. Editors were, hethought, influential people, who had the world very much under theirfeet--being, as he conceived, afraid of no men, while other men are verymuch afraid of them. He was glad enough to shake Jones by the hand, whenhe found that Jones was an editor. But Jones, though he had the face andforehead of a clever man, was very quiet, and seemed almost submissiveto his sister and brother-in-law. 

The dinner was plain, but good, and Harry after a while became happy andsatisfied, although he had come to the house with something almost likea resolution to find fault. Men, and women also, do frequently go aboutin such a mood, having unconscionably from some small circumstance, prejudged their acquaintances, and made up their mind that theiracquaintances should be condemned. Influenced in this way, Harry had notintended to pass a pleasant evening, and would have stood aloof and beencold, had it been possible to him; but he found that it was notpossible; and after a little while he was friendly and joyous, and thedinner went off very well. There was some wild fowl, and he wasagreeably surprised as he watched the mental anxiety and gastronomicskill with which Burton went through the process of preparing the gravy, with lemon and pepper, having in the room a little silver pot, and anapparatus of fire for the occasion. He would as soon have expected theArchbishop of Canterbury himself to go through such an operation in thedining-room at Lambeth as the hard-working man of business whom he hadknown in the chambers of the Adelphi. 

"Does he always do that, Mrs. Burton?" Harry asked. 

"Always, " said Burton, "when I get the materials. One doesn't botheroneself about a cold leg of mutton, you know, which is my usual dinnerwhen we are alone. The children have it hot in the middle of the day. "

"Such a thing never happened to him yet, Harry, " said Mrs. Burton. 

"Gently with the pepper, " said the editor. It was the first word he hadspoken for some time. 

"Be good enough to remember that, yourself, when you are writing yourarticle to-night. "

"No, none for me, Theodore, said Mrs. Burton. 

"Cissy!"

"I have dined really. If I had remembered that you were going to displayyour cookery, I would have kept some of my energy, but I forgot it. "

"As a rule, " said Burton, "I don't think women recognize any differencein flavors. I believe wild duck and hashed mutton would be quite thesame to my wife if her eyes were blinded. I should not mind this, if itwere not that they are generally proud of the deficiency. They think itgrand. "

"Just as men think it grand not to know one tune from another, " said hiswife. 

When dinner was over, Burton got up from his seat. "Harry, " said he, "doyou like good wine?" Harry said that he did. Whatever women may sayabout wild fowl, men never profess an indifference to good wine, although there is a theory about the world, quite as incorrect as it isgeneral, that they have given up drinking it. "Indeed I do, " said Harry. "Then I'll give you a bottle of port, " said Burton, and so saying heleft the room. 

"I'm very glad you have come to-day, " said Jones, with much gravity. "Henever gives me any of that when I'm alone with him; and he never, by anymeans, brings it out for company. "

"You don't mean to accuse him of drinking it alone, Tom?" said hissister, laughing. 

"I don't know when he drinks it; I only know when he doesn't. "

The wine was decanted with as much care as had been given to theconcoction of the gravy, and the clearness of the dark liquid wasscrutinized with an eye that was full of anxious care. "Now, Cissy, whatdo you think of that? She knows a glass of good wine when she gets it, as well as you do Harry, in spite of her contempt for the duck. "

As they sipped the old port, they sat round the dining-room fire, andHarry Clavering was forced to own to himself that he had never been morecomfortable. 

"Ah, " said Burton, stretching out his slippered feet, "why can't it allbe after-dinner, instead of that weary room at the Adelphi?"

"And all old port?" said Jones. 

"Yes, and all old port. You are not such an ass as to suppose that a manin suggesting to himself a continuance of pleasure suggests to himselfalso the evils which are supposed to accompany such pleasure. If I tookmuch of the stuff I should get cross and sick, and make a beast ofmyself but then what a pity it is that it should be so. "

"You wouldn't like much of it, I think, " said his wife. 

"That is it, " said he. "We are driven to work because work never pallson us, whereas pleasure always does. What a wonderful scheme it is whenone looks at it all. No man can follow, pleasure long continually. Whena man strives to do so, he turns his pleasure at once into business, andworks at that. Come, Harry, we musn't have another bottle, as Joneswould go to sleep among the type. " Then they all went up stairstogether. Harry, before he went away, was taken again up into thenursery, and there kissed the two little girls in their cots. When hewas outside the nursery door, on the top of the stairs, Mrs. Burton tookhim by the hand. "You'll come to us often, " said she, "and make yourselfat home here, will you not?" Harry could not but say that he would. Indeed he did so without hesitation, almost with eagerness, for he hadliked her and had liked her house. "We think of you, you know, " shecontinued, "quite as one of ourselves. How could it be otherwise whenFlo is the dearest to us of all beyond our own?"

"It makes me so happy to hear you say so, " said he. 

"Then come here and talk about her. I want Theodore to feel that you arehis brother; it will be so important to you in the business that itshould be so. " After that he went away, and as he walked back alongPiccadilly, and then up through the regions of St. Giles to his house inBloomsbury Square, he satisfied himself that the life of Onslow Crescentwas a better manner of life than that which was likely to prevail inBolton Street. 

When he was gone his character was of course discussed between thehusband and wife in Onslow Crescent. "What do you think of him?" saidthe husband. 

"I like him so much! He is so much nicer than you told me--so muchpleasanter and easier; and I have no doubt he is as clever, though Idon't think he shows that at once. "

"He is clever enough; there's no doubt about that. "

"And did you not think he was pleasant?"

"Yes; he was pleasant here. He is one of those men who get on best withwomen. You'll make much more of him for awhile than I shall. He'llgossip with you and sit idling with you for the hour together, if you'lllet him. There's nothing wrong about him, and he'd like nothing betterthan that. "

"You don't believe that he's idle by disposition? Think of all that hehas done already. "

"That's just what is most against him. He might do very well with us ifhe had not got that confounded fellowship; but having got that, hethinks the hard work of life is pretty well over with him. "

"I don't suppose he can be so foolish as that, Theodore. "

"I know well what such men are, and I know the evil that is doneto them by the cramming they endure. They learn many names ofthings--high-sounding names, and they come to understand a great dealabout words. It is a knowledge that requires no experience and verylittle real thought. But it demands much memory; and when they haveloaded themselves in this way, they think that they are instructed inall things. After all, what can they do that is of real use to mankind?What can they create?"

"I suppose they are of use. "

"I don't know it. A man will tell you, or pretend to tell you--for thechances are ten to one that he is wrong--what sort of lingo was spokenin some particular island or province six hundred years before Christ. What good will that do any one, even if he were right? And then see theeffect upon the men themselves! At four-and-twenty a young fellow hasachieved some wonderful success, and calls himself by some outlandishand conceited name--a double first, or something of the kind. Then hethinks he has completed everything, and is too vain to learn anythingafterward. The truth is, that at twenty-four no man has done more thanacquire the rudiments of his education. The system is bad from beginningto end. All that competition makes false and imperfect growth. Come, I'll go to bed. "

What would Harry have said if he had heard all this from the man whodusted his boots with his handkerchief?

Chapter IX

Too Prudent By Half

Florence Burton thought herself the happiest girl in the world. Therenothing wanting perfection of her bliss. She could perceive, though shenever allowed her mind to dwell upon the fact, that her lover wassuperior in many respects to the men whom her sisters had married. Hewas better educated, better looking, in fact more fully a gentleman atall points than either Scarness or any of the others. She liked hersisters' husbands very well, and in former days, before Harry Claveringhad come to Stratton, she had never taught herself to think that she, ifshe married, would want anything different from that which Providencehad given to them. She had never thrown up her head, or even thrown upher nose, and told herself that she would demand something better thanthat. But not the less was she alive to the knowledge that somethingbetter had come in her way, and that that something better was now herown. She was very proud of her lover, and, no doubt, in some gentlyfeminine way showed that she was so as she made her way about among herfriends at Stratton. Any idea that she herself was better educated, better looking, or more clever than her elder sisters, and that, therefore, she was deserving of a higher order of husband, had neverentered her mind. The Burtons in London--Theodore Burton and hiswife--who knew her well, and who, of all the family, were best able toappreciate her worth, had long been of opinion that she deserved somespecially favored lot in life. The question with them would be, whetherHarry Clavering was good enough for her. 

Everybody at Stratton knew that she was engaged, and when they wishedher joy she made no coy denials. Her sisters had all been engaged in thesame way, and their marriages had gone off in regular sequence to theirengagements. There had never been any secret with them about theiraffairs. On this matter the practice is very various among differentpeople. There are families who think it almost indelicate to talk aboutmarriage as a thing actually in prospect for any of their own community. An ordinary acquaintance would be considered to be impertinent in evenhinting at such a thing, although the thing were an established fact. The engaged young ladies only whisper the news through the very depthsof their pink note-paper, and are supposed to blush as they communicatethe tidings by their pens, even in the retirement of their own rooms. But there are other families in which there is no vestige of suchmystery, in which an engaged couple are spoken of together as openly asthough they were already bound in some sort of public partnership. Inthese families the young ladies talk openly of their lovers, andgenerally prefer that subject of conversation to any other. Such afamily--so little mysterious--so open in their arrangements, was that ofthe Burtons at Stratton. The reserve in the reserved families is usuallyatoned for by the magnificence of the bridal arrangements, when themarriage is at last solemnized; whereas, among the other set--the peoplewho have no reserve--the marriage, when it comes, is customarily anaffair of much less outward ceremony. They are married without blast oftrumpet, with very little profit to the confectioner, and do theirhoneymoon, if they do it at all, with prosaic simplicity. 

Florence had made up her mind that she would be in no hurry about it. Harry was in a hurry; but that was a matter of course. He was aquick-blooded, impatient, restless being. She was slower, and more givento consideration. It would be better that they should wait, even if itwere for five or six years. She had no fear of poverty for herself. Shehad lived always in a house in which money was much regarded, and amongpeople who were of inexpensive habits. But such had not been his lot, and it was her duty to think of the mode of life which might suit him. He would not be happy as a poor man--without comforts around him, whichwould simply be comforts to him though they would be luxuries to her. When her mother told her, shaking her head rather sorrowfully as sheheard Florence talk, that she did not like long engagements, Florencewould shake hers too, in playful derision, and tell her mother not to beso suspicious. "It is not you that are going to marry him, mamma. "

"No, my dear; I know that. But long engagements never are good. And Ican't think why young people should want so many things, now, that theyused to do without very well when I was married. When I went intohousekeeping, we only had one girl of fifteen to do everything; and wehadn't a nursemaid regular till Theodore was born; and there were threebefore him. "

Florence could not say how many maid-servants Harry might wish to haveunder similar circumstances, but she was very confident that he wouldwant much more attendance than her father and mother had done, or eventhan some of her brothers and sisters. Her father, when he firstmarried, would not have objected, on returning home, to find his wife inthe kitchen, looking after the progress of the dinner; nor even wouldher brother Theodore have been made unhappy by such a circumstance. ButHarry, she knew, would not like it; and therefore Harry must wait. "Itwill do him good, mamma, " said Florence. "You can't think that I mean tofind fault with him; but I know that he is young in his ways. He is oneof those men who should not marry till they are twenty-eight, orthereabouts. "

"You mean that he is unsteady?"

"No; not unsteady. I don't think him a bit unsteady; but he will behappier single for a year or two. He hasn't settled down to like his teaand toast when he is tired of his work, as a married man should do. Doyou know that I am not sure that a little flirtation would not be verygood for him?"

"Oh, my dear!"

"It should be very moderate, you know. "

"But then, suppose it wasn't moderate. I don't like to see engaged youngmen going on in that way. I suppose I'm very old fashioned; but I thinkwhen a young man is engaged, he ought to remember it and to show it. Itought to make him a little serious, and he shouldn't be going about likea butterfly, that may do just as it pleases in the sunshine. "

During the three months which Harry remained in town before the Easterholidays he wrote more than once to Florence, pressing her to name anearly day for their marriage. These letters were written, I think, aftercertain evenings spent under favorable circumstances in Onslow Crescent, when he was full of the merits of domestic comfort, and perhaps alsoowed some of their inspiration to the fact that Lady Ongar had leftLondon without seeing him. He had called repeatedly in Bolton Street, having been specially pressed to do so by Lady Ongar, but he had onlyonce found her at home, and then a third person had been present. Thisthird person had been a lady who was not introduced to him, but he hadlearned from her speech that she was a foreigner. On that occasion LadyOngar had made herself gracious and pleasant, but nothing had passedwhich interested him, and, most unreasonably, he had felt himself to beprovoked. When next he went to Bolton Street he found that Lady Ongarhad left London. She had gone down to Ongar Park, and, as far as thewoman at the house knew, intended to remain there till after Easter. Harry had some undefined idea that she should not have taken such a stepwithout telling him. Had she not declared to him that he was her onlyfriend? When a friend is going out of town, leaving an only friendbehind, that friend ought to tell her only friend what she is going todo, otherwise such a declaration of only-friendship means nothing. Suchwas Harry Clavering's reasoning, and having so reasoned, he declared tohimself that it did mean nothing, and was very pressing to FlorenceBurton to name an early day. He had been with Cecilia, he told her--hehad learned to call Mrs. Burton Cecilia in his letters--and she quiteagreed with him that their income would be enough. He was to have twohundred a year from his father, having brought himself to abandon thathigh-toned resolve which he had made some time since, that he wouldnever draw any part of his income from the parental coffers. His fatherhad again offered it, and he had accepted it. Old Mr. Burton was to adda hundred, and Harry was of opinion that they could do very well. Cecilia thought the same, he said, and therefore Florence surely wouldnot refuse. But Florence received, direct from Onslow Crescent Cecilia'sown version of her thoughts, and did refuse. It may be surmised that shewould have refused even without assistance from Cecilia, for she was ayoung lady not of a fickle or changing disposition. So she wrote toHarry with much care, and as her letter had some influence on the storyto be told, the reader shall read it--if the reader so pleases. 

 STRATTON, March, 186--. 

 DEAR HARRY: I received your letter this morning, and answer it at once, because I know you will be impatient for an answer. You are impatient about things--are you not? But it was a kind, sweet, dear, generous letter, and I need not tell you now that I love the writer of it with all my heart. I am so glad you like Cecilia. I think she is the perfection of a woman. And Theodore is every bit as good as Cecilia, though I know you don't think so, because you don't say so. I am always happy when I am in Onslow Crescent. I should have been there this Spring, only that a certain person, who chooses to think that his claims on me are stronger than those of any other person, wishes me to go elsewhere. Mamma wishes me to go to London also for a week, but I don't want to be away from the old house too much before the final parting comes at last. 

 And now about the final parting; for I may as well rush at it at once. I need hardly tell you that no care for father or mother shall make me put off my marriage. Of course I owe everything to you now; and as they have approved it, I have no right to think of them in opposition to you. And you must not suppose that they ask me to stay. On the contrary, mamma is always telling me that early marriages are best. She has sent all the birds out of the nest but one; and is impatient to see that one fly away, that she may be sure that there is no lame one in the brood. You must not therefore think that it is mamma; nor is it papa, as regards himself--though papa agrees with me in thinking that we ought to wait a little. 

 Dear Harry, you must not be angry, but I am sure that we ought to wait. We are, both of us, young, and why should we be in a hurry? I know what you will say, and of course I love you the more because you love me so well; but I fancy that I can be quite happy if I can see you two or three times in the year, and hear from you constantly. 

 It is so good of you to write such nice letters, and the longer they are the better I like them. Whatever you put in them, I like them to be full. I know I can't write nice letters myself, and it makes me unhappy. Unless I have got something special to say, I am dumb. 

 But now I have something special to say. In spite of all that you tell me about Cecilia, I do not think it would do for us to venture upon marrying yet. I know that you are willing to sacrifice everything, but I ought not on that account to accept a sacrifice. I could not bear to see you poor and uncomfortable; and we should be very poor in London now-a-days with such an income as we should have. If we were going to live here at Stratton, perhaps we might manage; but I feel sure that it would be imprudent in London. You ought not to be angry with me for saying this, for I am quite as anxious to be with you as you can possibly be to be with me; only, I can bear to look forward, and have a pleasure in feeling that all my happiness is to come. I know I am right in this. Do write me one little line to say that you are not angry with your little girl. 

 I shall be quite ready for you by the 29th. I got such a dear little note from Fanny the other day. She says that you never write to them, and she supposes that I have the advantage of all your energy in that way. I have told her that I do get a good deal. My brother writes to me very seldom, I know; and I get twenty letters from Cecilia for one scrap that Theodore ever sends me. Perhaps some of these days I shall be the chief correspondent with the rectory. Fanny told me all about the dresses, and I have my own quite ready. I've been bridesmaid to four of my own sisters, so I ought to know what I'm about. I'll never be bridesmaid to anybody again, after Fanny; but whom on earth shall I have for myself? I think we must wait till Cissy and Sophy are ready. Cissy wrote me word that you were a darling man. I don't know how much of that came directly from Cissy, or how much from Cecilia. 

 God bless you, dear, dearest Harry. Let me have one letter before you come to fetch me, and acknowledge that I am right, even if you say that I am disagreeable. Of course I like to think that you want to have me; but, you see, one has to pay the penalty of being civilized. Ever and always your own affectionate:

 Florence Burton. 

Harry Clavering was very angry when he got this letter. The primarycause of his anger was the fact that Florence should pretend to knowwhat was better for him than he knew himself. If he was willing toencounter life in London on less than four hundred a year, surely shemight be contented to try the same experiment. He did not for a momentsuspect that she feared for herself, but he was indignant with herbecause of her fear for him. What right had she to accuse him of wantingto be comfortable? Had he not for her sake consented to be veryuncomfortable at that old house at Stratton? Was he not willing to giveup his fellowship, and the society of Lady Ongar, and everything else, for her sake? Had he not shown himself to be such a lover as there isnot one in a hundred? And yet she wrote and told him that it wouldn't dofor him to be poor and uncomfortable? After all that lie had done in theworld, after all that he had gone through, it would be odd if at thistime of day, he did not know what was good for himself! It was in thatway that he regarded Florence's pertinacity. 

He was rather unhappy at this period. It seemed to him that he wassomewhat slighted on both sides--or, if I may say so, less thought of onboth sides than he deserved. Had Lady Ongar remained in town, as sheought to have done, he would have solaced himself, and at the same timehave revenged himself upon Florence, by devoting some of his spare hoursto that lady. It was Lady Ongar's sudden departure that had made himfeel that he ought to rush at once into marriage. Now he had noconsolation, except that of complaining to Mrs. Burton, and goingfrequently to the theatre. To Mrs. Burton he did complain a great deal, pulling her worsteds and threads about the while, sitting in idlenesswhile she was working, just as Theodore Burton had predicted that hewould do. 

"I won't have you so idle, Harry, " Mrs. Burton said to him one day. "Youknow you ought to be at your office now. " It must be admitted, on behalfof Harry Clavering, that they who liked him, especially women, were ableto become intimate with him very easily. He had comfortable, homely waysabout him, and did not habitually give himself airs. He had become quitedomesticated at the Burtons' house during the ten weeks that he had beenin London, and knew his way to Onslow Crescent almost too well. It may, perhaps, be surmised correctly that he would not have gone there sofrequently if Mrs. Theodore Burton had been an ugly woman. 

"It's all her fault, " said he, continuing to snip a piece of worstedwith a pair of scissors as he spoke. "She's too prudent by half. "

"Poor Florence!"

"You can't but know that I should work three times as much if she hadgiven me a different answer. It stands to reason any man would workunder such circumstances as that. Not that I am idle, I believe. I do asmuch as any other man about the place. "

"I won't have my worsted destroyed all the same. Theodore says thatFlorence is right. "

"Of course he does; of course he'll say I'm wrong. I won't ask heragain--that's all. "

"Oh, Harry! don't say that. You know you'll ask her. You wouldto-morrow, if she were here. "

"You don't know me, Cecilia, or you would not say so. When I have madeup my mind to a thing, I am generally firm about it. She said somethingabout two years, and I will not say a word to alter that decision. If itbe altered, it shall be altered by her. "

In the meantime he punished Florence by sending her no special answer toher letter. He wrote to her as usual; but he made no reference to hislast proposal, nor to her refusal. She had asked him to tell her that hewas not angry, but he would tell her nothing of the kind. He told herwhen and where and how he would meet her, and convey her from Strattonto Clavering; gave her some account of a play he had seen; described alittle dinner-party in Onslow Crescent; and told her a funny story aboutMr. Walliker and the office at the Adelphi. But he said no word, even inrebuke, as to her decision about their marriage. He intended that thisshould be felt to be severe, and took pleasure in the pain that he wouldbe giving. Florence, when she received her letter, knew that he wassore, and understood thoroughly the working of his mind. "I will comforthim when we are together, " she said to herself. "I will make himreasonable when I see him. " It was not the way in which he expected thathis anger would be received. 

One day on his return home he found a card on his table which surprisedhim very much. It contained a name but no address, but over the namethere was a pencil memorandum, stating that the owner of the card wouldcall again on his return to London after Easter. The name on the cardwas that of Count Pateroff. He remembered the name well as soon as hesaw it, though he had never thought of it since the solitary occasion onwhich it had been mentioned to him. Count Pateroff was the man who hadbeen Lord Ongar's friend, and respecting whom Lord Ongar had brought afalse charge against his wife. Why should Count Pateroff call on him?Why was he in England? Whence had he learned the address in BloomsburySquare? To that last question he had no difficulty in finding an answer. Of course he must have heard it from Lady Ongar. Count Pateroff had nowleft London. Had he gone to Ongar Park? Harry Clavering's mind wasinstantly filled with suspicion, and he became jealous in spite ofFlorence Burton. Could it be that Lady Ongar, not yet four months awidow, was receiving at her house in the country this man with whosename her own had been so fatally joined? If so, what could he think ofsuch behavior? He was very angry. He knew that he was angry, but he didnot at all know that he was jealous. Was he not, by her own declarationto him, her only friend; and as such could he entertain such a suspicionwithout anger? "Her friend!" he said to himself. "Not if she has anydealings whatever with that man after what she has told me of him!" Heremembered at last that perhaps the count might not be at Ongar Park;but he must, at any rate, have had some dealing with Lady Ongar, or hewould not have known the address in Bloomsbury Square. "Count Pateroff!"he said, repeating the name, "I shouldn't wonder if I have to quarrelwith that man. " During the whole of that night he was thinking of LadyOngar. As regarded himself, he knew that he had nothing to offer to LadyOngar but a brotherly friendship; but, nevertheless, it was an injury tohim that she should be acquainted intimately with any unmarried man buthimself. 

On the next day he was to go to Stratton, and in the morning a letterwas brought to him by the postman; a letter, or rather a very shortnote. Guildford was the postmark, and he knew at once that it was fromLady Ongar. 

 DEAR MR. CLAVERING (the note said)--

 I was so sorry to leave London without seeing you; I shall be back by the end of April, and am keeping on the same rooms. Come to me, if you can, on the evening of the 30th, after dinner. He at last bade Hermy to write and ask me to go to Clavering for the Easter week. Such a note! I'll show it you when we meet. Of course I declined. 

 But I write on purpose to tell you that I have begged Count Pateroff to see you. I have not seen him, but I have had to write to him about things that happened in Florence. He has come to England chiefly with reference to the affairs of Lord Ongar. I want you to hear his story. As far as I have known him he is a truth-telling man, though I do not know that I am able to say much more in his favor. Ever yours, J. O. 

When he had read this he was quite an altered man. See Count Pateroff!Of course he would see him. What task could be more fitting for a friendthan this, of seeing such a man under such circumstances. Before he leftLondon he wrote a note for Count Pateroff, to be given to the count bythe people at the lodgings should he call during Harry's absence fromLondon. In this he explained that he would be at Clavering for afortnight, but expressed himself ready to come up to London at a day'snotice should Count Pateroff be necessitated again to leave Londonbefore the day named. 

As he went about his business that day, and as he journeyed down toStratton, he entertained much kinder ideas about Lady Ongar than he hadpreviously done since seeing Count Pateroff's card. 

Chapter X

Florence Burton at the Rectory

Harry Clavering went down to Stratton, slept one night at old Mr. Burton's house, and drove Florence over to Clavering--twenty milesacross the country, on the following day. This journey together had beenlooked forward to with great delight by both of them, and Florence inspite of the snubbing which she had received from her lover because ofher prudence, was very happy as she seated herself alongside of him inthe vehicle which had been sent over from the rectory, and which hecalled a trap. Not a word had as yet been said between them as to thatsnubbing, nor was Harry minded that anything should be said. He meant tocarry on his revenge by being dumb on that subject. But such was notFlorence's intention. She desired not only to have her own way in thismatter, but desired also that he should assent to her arrangements. 

It was a charming day for such a journey. It was cold, but not coldenough to make them uncomfortable. There was a wind, but not wind enoughto torment them. Once there came on a little shower, which just sufficedto give Harry an opportunity of wrapping his companion very closely, buthe had hardly completed the ceremony before the necessity for it wasover. They both agreed that this mode of travelling was infinitelypreferable to a journey by railroad, and I myself should be of the nameopinion if one could always make one's journeys under the samecircumstances. And it must be understood that Harry, though no doubt hewas still taking his revenge on Florence by abstaining from all allusionto her letter, was not disposed to make himself otherwise disagreeable. He played his part of lover very well, and Florence was supremely happy. 

"Harry, " she said, when the journey was more than half completed, "younever told me what you thought of my letter. "

"Which letter?" But he knew very well which was the letter in question. 

"My prudent letter--written in answer to yours that was very imprudent. "

"I thought there was nothing more to be said about it. "

"Come, Harry, don't let there be any subject between us that we don'tcare to think about and discuss. I know what you meant by not answeringme. You meant to punish me, did you not, for having an opinion differentfrom yours? Is not that true, Harry?"

"Punish you, no; I did not want to punish you. It was I that waspunished, I think. "

"But you know I was right. Was I not right?"

"I think you were wrong, but I don't want to say anything more about itnow. "

"Ah, but, Harry, I want you to talk about it. Is it not everything tome--everything in this world--that you and I should agree about this? Ihave nothing else to think of but you. I have nothing to hope for butthat I may live to be your wife. My only care in the world is my carefor you! Come, Harry, don't be glum with me. "

"I am not glum. "

"Speak a nice word to me. Tell me that you believe me when I say that itis not of myself I am thinking, but of you. "

"Why can't you let me think for myself in this?"

"Because you have got to think for me. "

"And I think you'd do very well on the income we ye got. If you'llconsent to marry, this Summer, I won't be glum, as you call it, a momentlonger. "

"No, Harry; I must not do that. I should be false to my duty to you if Idid. "

"Then it's no use saying anything more about it. "

"Look here, Harry, if an engagement for two years is tedious to you--"

"Of course it is tedious. Is not waiting for anything always tedious?There's nothing I hate so much as waiting. "

"But listen to me, " said she, gravely. "If it is too tedious, if it ismore than you think you can bear without being unhappy, I will releaseyou from your engagement. "

"Florence!"

"Hear me to the end. It will make no change in me and then if you liketo come to me again at the end of the two years, you may be sure of theway in which I shall receive you. "

"And what good would that do?"

"Simply this good, that you would not be bound in a manner that makesyou unhappy. If you did not intend that when you asked me to be yourwife--Oh, Harry, all I want is to make you happy. That is all that Icare for, all that I think about?"

Harry swore to her with ten thousand oaths that he would not release herfrom any part of her engagement with him, that he would give her noloophole of escape from him, that he intended to hold her so firmly thatif she divided herself from him, she should be accounted among women aparagon of falseness. He was ready, he said, to marry her to-morrow. That was his wish, his idea of what would be best for both of them; andafter that, if not to-morrow, then on the next day, and so on till theday should come on which she should consent to become his wife. He wenton also to say that he should continue to torment her on the subjectabout once a week till he had induced her to give way; and then hequoted a Latin line to show that a constant dropping of water willhollow a stone. This was somewhat at variance with a declaration he hadmade to Mrs. Burton, of Onslow Crescent, to the effect that he wouldnever speak to Florence again upon the subject; but then men dooccasionally change their minds, and Harry Clavering was a man who oftenchanged his. 

Florence, as he made the declaration above described, thought that heplayed his part of lover very well, and drew herself a little closer tohim as she thanked him for his warmth. "Dear Harry, you are so good andso kind, and I do love you so truly!" In this way the journey was madevery pleasantly, and when Florence was driven up to the rectory door shewas quite contented with her coachman. 

Harry Clavering, who is the hero of our story, will not, I fear havehitherto presented himself to the reader as having much of the heroicnature in his character. It will, perhaps, be complained of him that heis fickle, vain, easily led, and almost as easily led to evil as togood. But it should be remembered that hitherto he has been ratherhardly dealt with in these pages, and that his faults and weaknesseshave been exposed almost unfairly. That he had such faults, and wassubject to such weaknesses, may be believed of him; but there may be aquestion whether as much evil would not be known of most men, let thembe heroes or not be heroes, if their characters were, so to say, turnedinside out before our eyes. 

Harry Clavering, fellow of his college, six feet high, with handsomeface and person, and with plenty to say for himself on all subjects, wasesteemed highly and regarded much by those who knew him, in spite ofthose little foibles which marred his character; and I must beg thereader to take the world's opinion about him, and not to estimate himtoo meanly thus early in this history of his adventures. 

If this tale should ever be read by any lady who, in the course of hercareer, has entered a house under circumstances similar to those whichhad brought Florence Burton to Clavering rectory, she will understandhow anxious must have been that young lady when she encountered thewhole Clavering family in the hall. She had been blown about by thewind, and her cloaks and shawls were heavy on her, and her hat was alittle out of shape--from some fault on the part of Harry, as Ibelieve--and she felt herself to be a dowdy as she appeared among them. What would they think of her, and what would they think of Harry in thathe had chosen such an one to be his wife? Mrs. Clavering had kissed herbefore she had seen that lady's face; and Mary and Fanny had kissed herbefore she knew which was which; and then a stout, clerical gentlemankissed her who, no doubt, was Mr. Clavering, senior. After that, anotherclerical gentleman, very much younger and very much slighter, shockhands with her. He might have kissed her, too, had he been so minded, for Florence was too confused to be capable of making any exactreckoning in the matter. He might have done so--that is, as far asFlorence was concerned. It may be a question whether Mary Claveringwould not have objected; for this clerical gentleman was the Rev. EdwardFielding, who was to become her husband in three days' time. 

"Now, Florence, " said Fanny, "come up stairs into mamma's room and havesome tea, and we'll look at you. Harry, you needn't come. You've had herto yourself for a long time, and can have her again in the evening. "

Florence, in this way, was taken up stairs and found herself seated by afire, while three pairs of hands were taking from her her shawls and hatand cloak, almost before she knew where she was. 

"It is so odd to have you here, " said Fanny. "We have only one brother, so, of course, we shall make very much of you. Isn't she nice, mamma?"

"I'm sure she is; very nice. But I shouldn't have told her so before herface, if you hadn't asked the question. "

"That's nonsense, mamma. You musn't believe mamma when she pretends tobe grand and sententious. It's only put on as a sort of company air, butwe don't mean to make company of you. "

"Pray don't, " said Florence. 

"I'm so glad you are come just at this time, " said Mary. "I think somuch of having Harry's future wife at my wedding. I wish we were bothgoing to be married the same day. "

"But we are not going to be married for ever so long. Two years hencehas been the shortest time named. "

"Don't be sure of that, Florence, " said Fanny. "We have all of usreceived a special commission from Harry to talk you out of that heresy;have we not, mamma?"

"I think you had better not tease Florence about that immediately on herarrival. It's hardly fair. " Then, when they had drunk their tea, Florence was taken away to her own room, and before she was allowed togo down stairs she was intimate with both the girls, and had so farovercome her awe of Harry's mother as to be able to answer her withoutconfusion. 

"Well, sir, what do you think of her?" said Harry to his father, as soonas they were alone. 

"I have not had time to think much of her yet. She seems to be verypretty. She isn't so tall as I thought she would be. "

"No; she's not tall, " said Harry, in a voice of disappointment. 

"I've no doubt we shall like her very much. What money is she to have?"

"A hundred a year while her father lives. "

"That's not much. "

"Much or little, it made no difference with me. I should never havethought of marrying a girl for her money. It's a kind of thing that Ihate. I almost wish she was to have nothing. "

"I shouldn't refuse it if I were you. "

"Of course, I shan't refuse it; but what I mean is that I never thoughtabout it when I asked her to have me; and I shouldn't have been a bitmore likely to ask her if she had ten times as much. "

"A fortune with one's wife isn't a bad thing for a poor man, Harry. "

"But a poor man must be poor in more senses than one when he looks aboutto get a fortune in that way. "

"I suppose you won't marry just yet, " said the father. "Includingeverything, you would not have five hundred a year, and that would bevery close work in London. "

"It's not quite decided yet, sir. As far as I am myself concerned, Ithink that people are a great deal too prudent about money, I believe Icould live as a married man on a hundred a year, if I had no more; andas for London, I don't see why London should be more expensive than anyother place. You can get exactly what you want in London, and make yourhalfpence go farther there than anywhere else. "

"And your sovereigns go quicker, " said the rector. 

"All that is wanted, " said Harry, "is the will to live on your income, and a little firmness in carrying out your plans. "

The rector of Clavering, as he heard all this wisdom fall from his son'slips, looked at Harry's expensive clothes, at the ring on his finger, atthe gold chain on his waistcoat, at the studs in his shirt, and smiledgently. He was by no means so clever a man as his son, but he knewsomething more of the world, and though not much given to generalreading, he had read his son's character. "A great deal of firmness andof fortitude also is wanted for that kind of life, " he said. "There aremen who can go through it without suffering, but I would not advise anyyoung man to commence it in a hurry. If I were you I should wait a yearor two. Come, let's have a walk; that is, if you can tear yourself awayfrom your lady-love for an hour. If there is not Saul coming up theavenue! Take your hat, Harry, and we'll get out the other way. He onlywants to see the girls about the school, but if he catches us he'll keepus for an hour. " Then Harry asked after Mr. Saul's love-affairs. "I'venot heard one single word about it since you went away, " said therector. "It seems to have passed off like a dream. He and Fanny go onthe same as ever, and I suppose he knows that he made a fool ofhimself. " But in this matter the rector of Clavering was mistaken. Mr. Saul did not by any means think that he made a fool of himself. 

"He has never spoken a word to me since, " said Fanny to her brother thatevening; "that is, not a word as to what occurred then. Of course it wasvery embarrassing at first, though I don't think he minded it much. Hecame after a day or two just the same as ever, and he almost made methink that he had forgotten it. "

"And he wasn't confused?"

"Not at all. He never is. The only difference is that I think he scoldsme more than he used to do. "

"Scold you!"

"Oh dear, yes; he always scolded me if he thought there was anythingwrong, especially about giving the children holidays. But he does it nowmore than ever. "

"How do you bear it?"

"In a half-and-half sort of a way. I laugh at him, and then do as I'mbid. He makes everybody do what he bids them at Clavering--except papa, sometimes. But he scolds him, too. I heard him the other day in thelibrary. "

"And did my father take it from him?"

"He did, in a sort of a way. I don't think papa likes him; but then heknows, and we all know, that he is so good. He never spares himself inanything. He has nothing but his curacy, and what he gives away iswonderful. "

"I hope he won't take to scolding me, " said Harry, proudly. 

"As you don't concern yourself about the parish, I should say thatyou're safe. I suppose he thinks mamma does everything right, for henever scolds her. "

"There is no talk of his going away. "

"None at all. I think we should all be sorry, because he does so muchgood. "

Florence reigned supreme in the estimation of the rectory family all theevening of her arrival and till after breakfast the next morning, butthen the bride elect was restored to her natured preeminence. This, however, lasted only for two days, after which the bride was taken away. The wedding was very nice, and pretty, and comfortable; and the peopleof Clavering were much better satisfied with it than they had been withthat other marriage which has been mentioned as having been celebratedin Clavering Church. The rectory family was generally popular, andeverybody wished well to the daughter who was being given away. Whenthey were gone there was a breakfast at the rectory, and speeches weremade with much volubility. On such an occasion the rector was a greatman, and Harry also shone in conspicuous rivalry with his father. ButMr. Saul's spirit was not so well tuned to the occasion as that of therector or his son, and when he got upon his legs, and mournfullyexpressed a hope that his friend Mm Fielding might be enabled to bearthe trials of this life with fortitude, it was felt by them all that thespeaking had better be brought to an end. 

"You shouldn't laugh at him, Harry, " Fanny said to her brotherafterward, almost seriously. "One man can do one thing and one another. You can make a speech better than he can, but I don't think you couldpreach so good a sermon. "

"I declare I think you're getting fond of him, after all, " said Harry. Upon hearing this Fanny turned away with a look of great offence. "Noone but a brother, " said she, "would say such a thing as that to me, because I don't like to hear the poor man ridiculed without cause. " Thatevening, when they were alone, Fanny told Florence the whole story aboutMr. Saul. "I tell you, you know, because you're like one of ourselvesnow. It has never been mentioned to any one out of the family. "

Florence declared that the story would be sacred with her. 

"I'm sure of that, dear, and therefore I like you to know it. Of coursesuch a thing was quite out of the question. The poor fellow has no meansat all--literally, none. And then independently of that--"

"I don't think I should ever bring myself to think of that as the firstthing, " said Florence. 

"No, nor would I. If I really were attached to a man, I think I wouldtell him so, and agree to wait, either with hope or without it. "

"Just so, Fanny. "

"But there was nothing of that kind; and, indeed, he's the sort of manthat no girl would think of being in love with--isn't he? You see hewill hardly take the trouble to dress himself decently. "

"I have only seen him at a wedding, you know. "

"And for him he was quite bright. But you will see plenty of him if youwill go to the schools with me. And indeed he comes here a great deal, quite as much as he did before that happened. He is so good, Florence!"

"Poor man!"

"I can't in the least make out from his manner whether he has given upthinking about it. I suppose he has. Indeed, of course he has, becausehe must know that it would be of no sort of use. But he is one of thosemen of whom you can never say whether they are happy or not; and younever can be quite sure what may be in his mind. "

"He is not bound to the place at all--not like your father?"

"Oh, no, " said Fanny, thinking perhaps that Mr. Saul might find himselfto be bound to the place, though not exactly with bonds similar to thosewhich kept her father there. 

"If he found himself to be unhappy, he could go, " said Florence. 

"Oh, yes; he could go if he were unhappy, " said Fanny. "That is, hecould go if he pleased. "

Lady Clavering had come to the wedding; but no one else had been presentfrom the great house. Sir Hugh, indeed, was not at home; but, as therector truly observed, he might have been at home if he had so pleased. "But he is a man, " said the father to the son, "who always does a rudething if it be in his power. For myself, I care nothing for him, as heknows. But he thinks that Mary would have liked to have seen him as thehead of the family, and therefore he does not come. He has greater skillin making himself odious than any man I ever knew. As for her, they sayhe's leading her a terrible life. And he's becoming so stingy aboutmoney, too!"

"I hear that Archie is very heavy on him. "

"I don't believe that he would allow any man to be heavy on him, as youcall it. Archie has means of his own, and I suppose has not run throughthem yet. If Hugh has advanced him money, you may be sure that he hassecurity. As for Archie, he will come to an end very soon, if what Ihear is true. They tell me he is always at Newmarket, and he alwaysloses. "

But though Sir Hugh was thus uncourteous to the rector and to therector's daughter, he was so far prepared to be civil to his cousinHarry, that he allowed his wife to ask all the rectory family to dine upat the house, in honor of Harry's sweetheart. Florence Burton wasspecially invited, with Lady Clavering's sweetest smile. Florence, ofcourse, referred the matter to her hostess, but it was decided that theyshould all accept the invitation. It was given, personally, after thebreakfast, and it is not always easy to decline invitations so given. Itmay, I think, be doubted whether any man or woman has a right to give aninvitation in this way, and whether all invitations so given should notbe null and void, from the fact of the unfair advantage that has beentaken. The man who fires at a sitting bird is known to be no sportsman. Now, the dinner-giver who catches his guest in an unguarded moment, andbags him when he has had no chance to rise upon his wing, does fire at asitting bird. In this instance, however, Lady Clavering's littlespeeches were made only to Mrs. Clavering and to Florence. She saidnothing personally to the rector, and he therefore might have escaped. But his wife talked him over. 

"I think you should go for Harry's sake, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"I don't see what good it will do Harry. "

"It will show that you approve of the match. "

"I don't approve or disapprove of it. He's his own master. "

"But you approve, you know, as you countenance it; and there cannotpossibly be a sweeter girl than Florence Burton. We all like her, andI'm sure you seem to take to her thoroughly. "

"Take to her; yes, I take to her very well. She's ladylike, and thoughshe's no beauty, she looks pretty, and is spirited. And I daresay she'sclever. "

"And so good. "

"If she's good, that's better than all. Only I don't see what they're tolive. "

"But as she is here, you will go with us to the great house?"

Mrs. Clavering never asked her husband anything in vain, and the rectoragreed to go. He apologized for this afterward to his son, by explainingthat he did it as a duty. "It will serve for six months, " he said. "If Idid not go there about once in six months, there would be supposed to bea family quarrel, and that would be bad for the parish. "

Harry was to remain only a week at Clavering, and the dinner was to takeplace the evening before he went away. On that morning he walked allround the park with Florence--as he had before often walked withJulia--and took that occasion of giving her a full history of theClavering family. "We none of us like my cousin Hugh, " he said. "But sheis at least harmless, and she means to be good-natured. She is veryunlike her sister, Lady Ongar. "

"So I should suppose, from what you have told me. "

"Altogether an inferior being. "

"And she has only one child. "

"Only one--a boy now two years old. They say he's anything but strong. "

"And Sir Hugh has one brother. "

"Yes; Archie Clavering. I think Archie is a worse fellow even than Hugh. He makes more attempts to be agreeable, but there is something in hiseye which I always distrust. And then he is a man who does no good inthe world to anybody. "

"He's not married?"

"No; he's not married, and I don't suppose he ever will marry. It's onthe cards, Florence, that the future baronet may be. " Then she frownedon him, walked on quickly, and changed the conversation. 

Chapter XI

Sir Hugh and His Brother Archie

There was a numerous gathering of Claverings in the drawing-room of thegreat house when the family from the rectory arrived, comprising threegenerations; for the nurse was in the room holding the heir in her arms. Mrs. Clavering and Fanny of course inspected the child at once, as theywere bound to do, while Lady Clavering welcomed Florence Burton. Archiespoke a word or two to his uncle, and Sir Hugh vouchsafed to give onefinger to his cousin Harry by way of shaking hands with him. Then therecame a feeble squeak from the infant, and there was a cloud at once uponSir Hugh's brow. "Hermione, " he said, "I wish you wouldn't have thechild in here. It's not the place for him. He's always cross. I've saida dozen times I wouldn't have him down here just before dinner. " Then asign was made to the nurse, and she walked off with her burden. It was apoor, rickety, unalluring bairn, but it was all that Lady Clavering had, and she would fain have been allowed to show it to her relatives, asother mothers are allowed to do. 

"Hugh, " said his wife, "shall I introduce you to Miss Burton?"

Then Sir Hugh came forward and shook hands with his new guest, with somesort of apology for his remissness, while Harry stood by, glowering athim, with offence in his eye. "My father is right, " he had said tohimself when his cousin failed to notice Florence on her first entranceinto the room; "he is impertinent as well as disagreeable. I don't carefor quarrels in the parish, and so I shall let him know. "

"Upon my word she's a doosed good-looking little thing, " said Archie, coming up to him, after having also shaken hands with her; "doosedgood-looking, I call her. "

"I'm glad you think so, " said Harry, dryly. 

"Let's see; where was it you picked her up? I did hear, but I forget. "

"I picked her up, as you call it, at Stratton, where her father lives. "

"Oh, yes; I know. He's the fellow that coached you in your new business, isn't he? By-the-by, Harry, I think you've made a mess of it in changingyour line. I'd have stuck to my governor's shop if I'd been you. You'dgot through all the d----d fag of it, and there's the living that hasalways belonged to a Clavering. "

"What would your brother have said if I had asked him to give it to me?"

"He wouldn't have given it of course. Nobody does give anything toanybody now-a-days. Livings are a sort of thing that people buy. Butyou'd have got it under favorable circumstances. "

"The fact is, Archie, I'm not very fond of the church, as a profession. "

"I should have thought it easy work. Look at your father. He keeps acurate and doesn't take any trouble himself. Upon my word, if I'd knownas much then as I do now, I'd have had a shy for it myself. Hughcouldn't have refused it to me. "

"But Hugh can't give it while his uncle holds it. "

"That would have been against me to be sure, and your governor's life ispretty nearly as good as mine. I shouldn't have liked waiting; so Isuppose it's as well as it is. "

There may perhaps have been other reasons why Archie Clavering's regretsthat he did not take holy orders were needless. He had never succeededin learning anything that any master had ever attempted to teach him, although he had shown considerable aptitude in picking up acquirementsfor which no regular masters are appointed. He knew the fathers andmothers--sires and dams I ought perhaps to say--and grandfathers andgrandmothers, and so back for some generations, of all the horses ofnote living in his day. He knew also the circumstances of allraces--what horses would run at them, and at what ages, what were thestakes, the periods of running, and the special interests of eachaffair. But not, on that account, should it be thought that the turf hadbeen profitable to him. That it might become profitable at some futuretime, was possible; but Captain Archibald Clavering had not yet reachedthe profitable stage in the career of a betting man, though perhaps hewas beginning to qualify himself for it. He was not bad-looking, thoughhis face was unprepossessing to a judge of character. He was slight andwell made about five feet nine in height, with light brown hair, whichhad already left the top of his head bald, with slight whiskers, and awell-formed moustache. But the peculiarity of his face was in his eyes. His eyebrows were light-colored and very slight, and this was made moreapparent by the skin above the eyes, which was loose and hung down overthe outside corners of them, giving him a look of cunning which wasdisagreeable. He seemed always to be speculating, counting up the odds, and calculating whether anything could be done with the events thenpresent before him. And he was always ready to make a bet, being everprovided with a book for that purpose. He would take the odds that thesun did not rise on the morrow, and would either win the bet or wranglein the losing of it. He would wrangle, but would do so noiselessly, never on such occasions damaging his cause by a loud voice. He was nowabout thirty-three years of age, and was two years younger than thebaronet. Sir Hugh was not a gambler like his brother, but I do not knowthat he was therefore a more estimable man. He was greedy and anxious toincrease his store, never willing to lose that which he possessed, fondof pleasure, but very careful of himself in the enjoyment of it, handsome, every inch an English gentleman in appearance, and thereforepopular with men and women of his own class who were not near enough tohim to know him well, given to but few words, proud of his name, andrank, and place, well versed in the business of the world, a match formost men in money matters, not ignorant, though he rarely opened a book, selfish, and utterly regardless of the feelings of all those with whomhe came in contact. Such were Sir Hugh Clavering and his brother thecaptain. 

Sir Hugh took Florence in to dinner, and when the soup had been eatenmade an attempt to talk to her. "How long have you been here, MissBurton?"

"Nearly a week, " said Florence. 

"Ah; you came to the wedding; I was sorry I couldn't be here. It wentoff very well, I suppose?"

"Very well indeed, I think. "

"They're tiresome things in general--weddings. Don't you think so?"

"Oh, dear, no--except that some person one loves is always being takenaway. "

"You'll be the next person to be taken away yourself; I suppose?"

"I must be the next person at home, because I am the last that is left. All my sisters are married. "

"And how many are there?"

"There are five married. "

"Good heavens--five!"

"And they are all married to men in the same profession as Harry. "

"Quite a family affair, " said Sir Hugh. Harry, who was sitting on theother side of Florence, heard this, and would have preferred thatFlorence should have said nothing about her sisters. "Why, Harry, " saidthe baronet, "if you will go into partnership with your father-in-lawand all your brothers-in-law you could stand against the world. "

"You might add my four brothers, " said Florence, who saw no shame in thefact that they were all engaged in the same business. 

"Good heaven!" exclaimed Sir Hugh, and after that he did not say muchmore to Florence. 

The rector had taken Lady Clavering in to dinner, and they two didmanage to carry on between them some conversation respecting the parishaffairs. Lady Clavering was not active among the poor--nor was therector himself, and perhaps neither of them knew how little the otherdid; but they could talk Clavering talk, and the parson was willing totake for granted his neighbor's good will to make herself agreeable. ButMrs. Clavering, who sat between Sir Hugh and Archie, had a very bad timeof it. Sir Hugh spoke to her once during the dinner, saying that hehoped she was satisfied with her daughter's marriage; but even this hesaid in a tone that seemed to imply that any such satisfaction must reston very poor grounds. "Thoroughly satisfied, " said Mrs. Clavering, drawing herself up and looking very unlike the usual Mrs. Clavering ofthe rectory. After that there was no further conversation between herand Sir Hugh. "The worst of him to me is always this, " she said thatevening to her husband, "that he puts me so much out of conceit withmyself. If I were with him long I should begin to find myself the mostdisagreeable woman in England!" "Then pray don't be with him long, " saidthe rector. 

But Archie made conversation throughout dinner, and added greatly toMrs. Clavering's troubles by doing so. There was nothing in commonbetween them, but still Archie went on laboriously with his work. It wasa duty which he recognized, and at which he would work hard. When he hadused up Mary's marriage, a subject which he economized carefully, sothat he brought it down to the roast saddle of mutton, he began uponHarry's match. When was it to be? Where were they to live? Was there anymoney? What manner of people were the Burtons? Perhaps he might get overit? This he whispered very lowly, and it was the question next insequence to that about the money. When, in answer to this, Mrs. Clavering with considerable energy declared that anything of that kindwould be a misfortune of which there seemed to be no chance whatever, herecovered himself as he thought very skilfully. "Oh, yes; of course;that's just what I meant; a doosed nice girl I think her; a doosed nicegirl, all round. " Archie's questions were very laborious to hisfellow-laborer in the conversation, because he never allowed one of themto pass without an answer. He always recognized the fact that he wasworking hard on behalf of society, and, as he used to say himself thathe had no idea of pulling all the coach up the hill by his ownshoulders. Whenever, therefore, he had made his effort he waited for hiscompanion's, looking closely into her face, cunningly driving her on, sothat she also should pull her share of the coach. Before dinner was overMrs. Clavering found the hill to be very steep, and the coach to be veryheavy. "I'll bet you seven to one, " said he--and this was his partingspeech as Mrs. Clavering rose up at Lady Clavering's nod--"I'll bet youseven to one, that the whole box and dice of them are married beforeme--or at any rate as soon; and I don't mean to remain single muchlonger, I can tell you. " The "box and dice of them" was supposed tocomprise Harry, Florence, Fanny and Lady Ongar, of all of whom mentionhad been made, and that saving clause--"at any rate as soon"--wascunningly put in, as it had occurred to Archie that he perhaps might bemarried on the same day as one of those other persons. But Mrs. Clavering was not compelled either to accept or reject the bet, as shewas already moving before the terms had been fully explained to her. 

Lady Clavering as she went out of the room stopped a moment behindHarry's chair and whispered a word to him. "I want to speak to youbefore you go to-night. " Then she passed on. 

"What's that Hermione was saying?" asked Sir Hugh, when he had shut thedoor. 

"She only told me that she wanted to speak to me. "

"She has always got some cursed secret, " said Sir Hugh. "If there, isanything I hate, it's a secret. " Now this was hardly fair, for Sir Hughwas a man very secret in his own affairs, never telling his wifeanything about them. He kept two banker's accounts, so that no banker'sclerk might know how he stood as regarded ready money, and hardlytreated even his lawyer with confidence. 

He did not move from his own chair, so that, after dinner, his uncle wasnot next to him. The places left by the ladies were not closed up, andthe table was very uncomfortable. 

"I see they're going to have another week after this with the Pytchley, "said Sir Hugh to his brother. 

"I suppose they will--or ten days. Things ain't very early this year. "

"I think I shall go down. It's never any use trying to hunt here afterthe middle of March. "

"You're rather short of foxes, are you not?" said the rector, making anattempt to join the conversation. 

"Upon my word I don't know anything about it, " said Sir Hugh. 

"There are foxes at Clavering, " said Archie, recommencing his duty. "Thehounds will be here on Saturday, and I'll bet three to one I find a foxbefore twelve o'clock, or, say, half-past twelve--that is, if they'lldraw punctual and let me do as I like with the pack. I'll bet a guineawe find, and a guinea we run, and a guinea we kill; that is, you know, if they'll really look for a fox. "

The rector had been willing to fall into a little hunting talk for thesake of society, but he was not prepared to go the length that Archieproposed to take him, and therefore the subject dropped. 

"At any rate I shan't stay here after to-morrow, " said Sir Hugh, stilladdressing himself to his brother. "Pass the wine, will you, Harry; thatis, if your father is drinking any. "

"No more wine for me, " said the rector, almost angrily. 

"Liberty Hall, " said Sir Hugh; "everybody does as they like about that. I mean to have another bottle of claret. Archie, ring the bell, willyou?" Captain Clavering, though he was further from the bell than hiselder brother, got up and did as he was bid. The claret came, and wasdrunk almost in silence. The rector, though he had a high opinion of thecellar of the great house, would take none of the new bottle, because hewas angry. Harry filled his glass, and attempted to say something. SirHugh answered him by a monosyllable, and Archie offered to bet him twoto one that he was wrong. 

"I'll go into the drawing-room, " said the rector, getting up. 

"All right, " said Sir Hugh; "you'll find coffee there, I daresay. Hasyour father given up wine?" he asked, as soon as the door was closed. 

"Not that I know of, " said Harry. 

"He used to take as good a whack as any man I know. The bishop hasn'tput his embargo on that as well as the hunting, I hope?" To this Harrymade no answer. 

"He's in the blues, I think, " said Archie. "Is there anything the matterwith him, Harry?"

"Nothing as far as I know. "

"If I were left at Clavering all the year, with nothing to do, as he is, I think I should drink a good deal of wine, " said Sir Hugh. "I don'tknow what it is--something in the air, I suppose--but everybody alwaysseems to me to be dreadfully dull here. You ain't taking any wineeither. Don't stop here out of ceremony, you know, if you want to goafter Miss Burton. " Harry took him at his word, and went after MissBurton, leaving the brothers together over their claret. 

The two brothers remained drinking their wine, but they drank it in anuncomfortable fashion, not saying much to each other for the first tenminutes after the other Claverings were gone. Archie was in some degreeafraid of his brother, and never offered to make any bets with him. Hughhad once put a stop to this altogether. "Archie, " he had said, "prayunderstand that there is no money to be made out of me, at any rate notby you. If you lost money to me, you wouldn't think it necessary to pay;and I certainly shall lose none to you. " The habit of proposing to bethad become with Archie so much a matter of course, that he did notgenerally intend any real speculation by his offers; but with hisbrother he had dropped even the habit. And he seldom began anyconversation with Hugh unless he had some point to gain--an advance ofmoney to ask, or some favor to beg in the way of shooting, or the loanof a horse. On such occasions he would commence the negotiation with hisusual diplomacy, not knowing any other mode of expressing his wishes;but he was aware that his brother would always detect his manoeuvres, and expose them before he had got through his first preface: and, therefore, as I have said, he was afraid of Hugh. 

"I don't know what's come to my uncle of late, " said Hugh, after awhile. "I think I shall have to drop them at the rectory altogether. "

"He never had much to say for himself. "

"But he has a mode of expressing himself without speaking, which I donot choose to put up with at my table. The fact is they are going to themischief at the rectory. His eldest girl has just married a curate. "

"Fielding has got a living. "

"It's something very small then, and I suppose Fanny will marry thatprig they have here. My uncle himself never does any of his own work, and now Harry is going to make a fool of himself. I used to think hewould fall on his legs. "

"He is a clever fellow. "

"Then why is he such a fool as to marry such a girl as this, withoutmoney, good looks, or breeding? It's well for you he is such a fool, orelse you wouldn't have a chance. "

"I don't see that at all, " said Archie. 

"Julia always had a sneaking fondness for Harry, and if he had waitedwould have taken him now. She was very near making a fool of herselfwith him once, before Lord Ongar turned up. "

To this Archie said nothing, but he changed color, and it may almost besaid of him that he blushed. Why he was affected in so singular a mannerby his brother's words will be best explained by a statement of whattook place in the back drawing-room a little later in the evening. 

When Harry reached the drawing-room he went up to Lady Clavering, butshe said nothing to him then of especial notice. She was talking to Mrs. Clavering while the rector was reading--or pretending to read--a reviewand the two girls were chattering together in another part of the room. Then they had coffee, and after a while the two other men came in fromtheir wine. Lady Clavering did not move at once, but she took the firstopportunity of doing so, when Sir Hugh came up to Mrs. Clavering andspoke a word to her. A few minutes after that, Harry found himselfcloseted with Lady Clavering, in a little room detached from the others, though the doors between the two were open. 

"Do you know, " said Lady Clavering, "that Sir Hugh has asked Julia tocome here?" Harry paused a moment, and then acknowledged that he didknow it. 

"I hope you did not advise her to refuse. "

"I advise her! Oh dear, no. She did not ask me anything about it. "

"But she has refused. Don't you think she has been very wrong?"

"It is hard to say, " said Harry. "You know I thought it very cruel thatHugh did not receive her immediately on her return. If I had been he, Ishould have gone to Paris to meet her. "

"It's no good talking of that now, Harry. Hugh is hard, and we all knowthat. Who feels it most do you think; Julia or I? But as he has comeround, what can she gain by standing off? Will it not be the best thingfor her to come here?"

"I don't know that she has much to gain by it. "

"Harry, do you know that we have a plan?" "Who is we?" Harry asked; butshe went on without noticing his question. "I tell you, because Ibelieve you can help us more than any one, if you will. Only for yourengagement with Miss Burton I should not mention it to you; and, but forthat, the plan would, I daresay, be of no use. "

"What is the plan?" said Harry, very gravely. A vague idea of what theplan might be had come across Harry's mind during Lady Clavering's lastspeech. 

"Would it not be a good thing if Julia and Archie were to be married?"She asked the question in a quick, hesitating voice, looking at firsteagerly up into his face, and then turning away her eyes, as though shewere afraid of the answer she might read there. "Of course I know thatyou were fond of her, but all that can be nothing now. "

"No, " said Harry, "that can be nothing now. "

"Then why shouldn't Archie have her? It would make us all so much morecomfortable together. I told Archie that I should speak to you, becauseI know that you have more weight with her than any of us; but Hughdoesn't know that I mean it. "

"Does Sir Hugh know of the--the plan?"

"It was he who proposed it. Archie will be very badly off when he hassettled with Hugh about all their money dealings. Of course Julia'smoney would be left in her own hands; there would be no intention tointerfere with that. But the position would be so good for him; and itwould, you know, put him on his legs. "

"Yes, " said Harry, "it would put him on his legs, I dare say. "

"And why shouldn't it be so? She can't live alone by herself always. Ofcourse she never could have really loved Lord Ongar. "

"Never, I should think, " said Harry. 

"And Archie is good-natured, and good-tempered, and--and--and--good-looking. Don't you think so? I think it would justdo for her. She'd have her own way, for he's not a bit like Hugh, youknow. He's not so clever as Hugh, but he is much more good-natured. Don't you think it would be a good arrangement, Harry?" Then again shelooked up into his face anxiously. 

Nothing in the whole matter surprised him more than her eagerness inadvocating the proposal. Why should she desire that her sister should besacrificed in this way? But in so thinking of it he forgot her ownposition, and the need that there was to her for some friend to be nearto her--for some comfort and assistance. She had spoken truly in sayingthat the plan had originated with her husband; but since it had beensuggested to her, she had not ceased to think of it, and to wish for it. 

"Well, Harry, what do you say?" she asked. 

"I don't see that I have anything to say. "

"But I know you can help us. When I was with her the last time shedeclared that you were the only one of us she ever wished to see again. She meant to include me then especially, but of course she was notthinking of Archie. I know you can help us if you will. "

"Am I to ask her to marry him?"

"Not exactly that; I don't think that would do any good. But you mightpersuade her to come here. I think she would come if you advised her;and then, after a bit you might say a good word for Archie. "

"Upon my word I could not. "

"Why not, Harry?"

"Because I know he would not make her happy. What good would such amarriage do her?"

"Think of her position. No one will visit her unless she is firstreceived here, or at any rate unless she comes to us in town. And thenit would be up-hill work. Do you know Lord Ongar had absolutelydetermined at one time to--to get a divorce?"

"And do you believe that she was guilty?"

"I don't say that. No; why should I believe anything against my ownsister when nothing is proved, but that makes no difference, if theworld believes it. They say now that if he had lived three months longershe never would have got the money. "

"Then they say lies. Who is it says so? A parcel of old women whodelight in having some one to run down and backbite. It is all false, Lady Clavering. "

"But what does it signify, Harry? There she is, and you know how peopleare talking. Of course it would be best for her to marry again; and ifshe would take Archie--Sir Hugh's brother, my brother-in-law, nothingfurther would be said. She might go anywhere then. As her sister, I feelsure that it is the best thing she could do. "

Harry's brow became clouded, and there was a look of anger on his faceas he answered her. 

"Lady Clavering, " he said, "your sister will never marry my cousinArchie. I look upon the thing as impossible. "

"Perhaps it is, Harry, that you--you yourself would not wish it. "

"Why should I wish it?"

"He is your own cousin. "

"Cousin indeed! Why should I wish it, or why should I not wish it? Theyare neither of them anything to me. "

"She ought not to be anything to you. "

"And she is nothing. She may marry Archie if she pleases, for me. Ishall not set her against him. But, Lady Clavering, you might as welltell him to get one of the stars. I don't think you can know your sisterwhen you suppose such a match to be possible. "

"Hermione!" shouted Sir Hugh--and the shout was uttered in a voice thatalways caused Lady Clavering to tremble. 

"I am coming, " she said, rising from her chair. "Don't set yourselfagainst it, Harry, " and then, without waiting to hear him further, sheobeyed her husband's summons. "What the mischief keeps you in there?" hesaid. It seemed that things had not been going on well in the largerroom. The rector had stuck to his review, taking no notice of Sir Hughwhen he entered. "You seem to be very fond of your book, all of asudden, " Sir Hugh had said, after standing silent on the rug for a fewminutes. 

"Yes, I am, " said the rector--"just at present. "

"It's quite new with you, then, " said Sir Hugh, "or else you're verymuch belied. "

"Hugh, " said Mr. Clavering, rising slowly from his chair, "I don't oftencome into my father's house, but when I do, I wish to be treated withrespect. You are the only person in this parish that ever omits to doso. "

"Bosh!" said Sir Hugh. 

The two girls sat cowering in their seats, and poor Florence must havebegun to entertain an uncomfortable idea of her future connections. Archie made a frantic attempt to raise some conversation with Mrs. Clavering about the weather. Mrs. Clavering, paying no attention toArchie whatever, looked at her husband with beseeching eyes. "Henry, "she said, "do not allow yourself to be angry; pray do not. What is theuse?"

"None on earth, " he said, returning to his book. "No use on earth; andworse than none in showing it. "

Then it was that Sir Hugh had made a diversion by calling to his wife. "I wish you'd stay with us, and not go off alone with one person inparticular, in that way. " Lady Clavering looked round and immediatelysaw that things were unpleasant. "Archie, " she said, "will you ring fortea?" And Archie did ring. The tea was brought, and a cup was taken allround, almost in silence. 

Harry in the meantime remained by himself, thinking of what he had heardfrom Lady Clavering. Archie Clavering marry Lady Ongar--marry his Julia!It was impossible. He could not bring himself even to think of such anarrangement with equanimity. He was almost frantic with anger as hethought of this proposition to restore Lady Ongar to the position in theworld's repute which she had a right to claim by such a marriage asthat. "She would indeed be disgraced then, " said Harry to himself. Buthe knew that it was impossible. He could see what would be the nature ofJulia's countenance if Archie should ever get near enough to her to makehis proposal! Archie indeed! There was no one for whom, at that moment, he entertained so thorough a contempt as he did for his cousin, ArchieClavering. 

Let us hope that he was no dog in the manger; that the feelings which henow entertained for poor Archie would not have been roused against anyother possible suitor who might have been named as a fitting husband forLady Ongar. Lady Ongar could be nothing to him. 

But I fear that he was a dog in the manger, and that any marriagecontemplated for Lady Ongar, either by herself or by others for her, would have been distasteful to him--unnaturally distasteful. He knewthat Lady Ongar could be nothing to him; and yet, as he came out of thesmall room into the larger room, there was something sore about hisheart, and the soreness was occasioned by the thought that any secondmarriage should be thought possible for Lady Ongar. Florence smiled onhim as he went up to her, but I doubt whether she would have smiled hadshe known all his heart. 

Soon after that Mrs. Clavering rose to return home, having swallowed apeace-offering in the shape of a cup of tea. But though the tea hadquieted the storm then on the waters, there was no true peace in therector's breast. He shook hands cordially with Lady Clavering, withoutanimosity with Archie, and then held out three fingers to the baronet. The baronet held out one finger. Each nodded at the other, and so theyparted. Harry, who knew nothing of what had happened, and who was stillthinking of Lady Ongar, busied himself with Florence, and they were soonout of the house, walking down the broad road from the front door. 

"I will never enter that house again, when I know that Hugh Clavering isin it, " said the rector. 

"Don't make rash assertions, Henry, " said his wife. 

"I hope it is not rash, but I make that assertion, " he said. "I willnever again enter that house as my nephew's guest. I have borne a greatdeal for the sake of peace, but there are things which a man cannotbear. "

Then, as they walked home, the two girls explained to Harry what hadoccurred in the larger room, while he was talking to Lady Clavering inthe smaller one. But he said nothing to them of the subject of thatconversation. 

Chapter XII

Lady Ongar Takes Possession

I do not know that there is in England a more complete gentleman'sresidence than Ongar Park, nor could there be one in better repair, ormore fit for immediate habitation than was that house when it came intothe hands of the young widow. The park was not large, containing aboutsixty or seventy acres. But there was a home-farm attached to the place, which also now belonged to Lady Ongar for her life, and which gave tothe park itself an appearance of extent which it would otherwise havewanted. The house, regarded as a nobleman's mansion, was moderate insize, but it was ample for the requirements of any ordinarily wealthyfamily. The dining-room, library, drawing-rooms, and breakfast-room, were all large and well-arranged. The hall was handsome and spacious, and the bed-rooms were sufficiently numerous to make an auctioneer'smouth water. But the great charm of Ongar Park lay in the groundsimmediately round the house, which sloped down from the terrace beforethe windows to a fast-running stream which was almost hidden--but wasnot hidden--by the shrubs on its bank. Though the domain itself wassmall, the shrubberies and walks were extensive. It was a place costlyto maintain in its present perfect condition, but when that was saidagainst it, all was said against it which its bitterest enemies couldallege. 

But Lady Ongar, with her large jointure, and with no external expenseswhatever, could afford this delight without imprudence. Everything inand about the place was her own, and she might live there happily, evenin the face of the world's frowns, if she could teach herself to findhappiness in rural luxuries. On her immediate return to England, herlawyer had told her that he found there would be opposition to herclaim, and that an attempt would be made to keep the house out of herhands. Lord Ongar's people would, he said, bribe her to submit to thisby immediate acquiescence, as to her income. But she had declared thatshe would not submit--that she would have house and income and all; andshe had been successful. "Why should I surrender what is my own?" shesaid, looking the lawyer full in the face. The lawyer had not dared totell her that her opponents--Lord Ongar's heirs--had calculated on heranxiety to avoid exposure; but she knew that that was meant. "I havenothing to fear from them, " she said, "and mean to claim what is my ownby my settlement. " There had, in truth, been no ground for disputing herright, and the place was given up before she had been three months inEngland. She at once went down and took possession, and there she was, alone, when her sister was communicating to Harry Clavering her planabout Captain Archie. 

She had never seen the place till she reached it on this occasion; norhad she ever seen, nor would she now probably ever see, Lord Ongar'slarger house, Courton Castle. She had gone abroad with him immediatelyon their marriage, and now she had returned a widow to take possessionof his house. There she was, in possession of it all. The furniture inthe rooms, the books in the cases, the gilded clocks and grand mirrorsabout the house, all the implements of wealthy care about the gardens, the corn in the granaries and the ricks in the hay-yard, the horses inthe stable, and the cows lowing in the fields--they were all hers. Shehad performed her part of the bargain, and now the price was paid to herinto her hands. When she arrived she did not know what was the extent ofher riches in this world's goods; nor, in truth, had she at once thecourage to ask questions on the subject. She saw cows, and was told ofhorses; and words came to her gradually of sheep and oxen, of poultry, pigs, and growing calves. It was as though a new world had opened itselfbefore her eyes, full of interest; and as though all that world were herown. She looked at it, and knew that it was the price of her bargain. Upon the whole, she had been very lucky. She had, indeed, passed througha sharp agony--an agony sharp almost to death; but the agony had beenshort, and the price was in her hand. 

A close carriage had met her at the station, and taken her with her maidto the house. She had so arranged that she had reached the station afterdark, and even then had felt that the eyes of many were upon her as shewent out to her carriage, with her face covered by a veil. She was allalone, and there would be no one at the house to whom she could speak;but the knowledge that the carriage was her own perhaps consoled her. The housekeeper who received her was a stout, elderly, comfortable body, to whom she could perhaps say a few words beyond those which might bespoken to an ordinary servant; but she fancied at once that thehousekeeper was cold to her, and solemn in her demeanor. 

"I hope you have good fires, Mrs. Button. "

"Yes, my lady. "

"I think I will have some tea; I don't want anything else to-night. "

"Very well, my lady. "

Mrs. Button, maintaining a solemn countenance, would not go beyond this;and yet Mrs. Button looked like a woman who could have enjoyed a gossip, had the lady been a lady to her mind. Perhaps Mrs. Button did not likeserving a lady as to whom such sad stories were told. Lady Ongar, as shethought of this, drew herself up unconsciously, and sent Mrs. Buttonaway from her. 

The next morning, after an early breakfast, Lady Ongar went out. She wasdetermined that she would work hard; that she would understand the farm;that she would know the laborers; that she would assist the poor; thatshe would have a school; and, above all, that she would make all theprivileges of ownership her own. Was not the price in her hand, andwould she not use it? She felt that it was very good that something ofthe price had come to her thus in the shape of land, and beeves, andwide, heavy outside garniture. From them she would pluck an interestwhich mere money could not have given her. She was out early, therefore, that she might look round upon the things that were her own. 

And there came upon her a feeling that she would not empty this sweetcup at one draught, that she would daily somewhat with the rich banquetthat was spread for her. She had many griefs to overcome, much sorrow toconquer, perhaps a long period of desolation to assuage, and she wouldnot be prodigal of her resources. As she looked around her while shewalked, almost furtively, lest some gardener as he spied her might guessher thoughts and tell how my lady was revelling in her pride ofpossession--it appeared to her that those novelties in which she was tofind her new interest were without end. There was not a tree there, nota shrub, not a turn in the walks, which should not become her friend. She did not go far from the house, not even down to the water. She washusbanding her resources. But yet she lost herself amidst the paths, andtried to find a joy in feeling that she had done so. It was all her own. It was the price of what she had done: and the price was even now beingpaid into her hand--paid with current coin and of full weight. 

As she sat down alone to her breakfast, she declared to herself thatthis should be enough for her--that it should satisfy her. She had madeher bargain with her eyes open, and would not now ask for things whichhad not been stipulated in the contract. She was alone, and all theworld was turning its back on her. The relatives of her late husbandwould, as a matter of course, be her enemies. Them she had never seen, and that they should speak evil of her seemed to be only natural. Buther own relatives were removed from her by a gulf nearly equally wide. Of Brabazon cousins she had none nearer than the third or fourth degreeof cousinship, and of them she had never taken heed, and expected noheed from them. Her set of friends would naturally have been the same asher sister's, and would have been made up of those she had known whenshe was one of Sir Hugh's family. But from Sir Hugh she was divided nowas widely as from the Ongar people, and, for any purposes of society, from her sister also. Sir Hugh had allowed his wife to invite her toClavering, but to this she would not submit after Sir Hugh's treatmentto her on her return. Though she had suffered much, her spirit wasunbroken. Sir Hugh was, in truth, responsible for her reception inEngland. Had he come forward like a brother, all might have been well. But it was too late now for Sir Hugh Clavering to remedy the evil he haddone, and he should be made to understand that Lady Ongar would notbecome a suppliant to him for mercy. She was striving to think how "richshe was in horses, how rich in broidered garments, and in gold, " as shesat solitary over her breakfast; but her mind would run off to otherthings, cumbering itself with unnecessary miseries and uselessindignation. Had she not her price in her hand?

Would she see the steward that morning? No, not that morning. Thingsoutside could go on for a while in their course as heretofore. Shefeared to seem to take possession with pride, and then there was thatconviction that it would be well to husband her resources. So she sentfor Mrs. Button, and asked Mrs. Button to walk through the rooms withher. Mrs. Button came, but again declined to accept her lady'scondescension. Every spot about the house, every room, closet andwardrobe, she was ready to open with zeal; the furniture she wasprepared to describe, if Lady Ongar would listen to her; but every wordwas spoken in a solemn voice, very far removed from gossipping. Onlyonce was Mrs. Button moved to betray any emotion. "That, my lady, was mylord's mother's room, after my lord died--my lord's father that was; mayGod bless her. " Then Lady Ongar reflected that from her husband she hadnever heard a word either of his father or his mother. She wished thatshe could seat herself with that woman in some small upstairs room, andthen ask question after question about the family. But she did not dareto make the attempt. She could not bring herself to explain to Mrs. Button that she had never known anything of the belongings of her ownhusband. 

When she had seen the upper part of the house, Mrs. Button offered toconvoy her through the kitchens and servants' apartments, but shedeclined this for the present. She had done enough for the day. So shedismissed Mrs. Button, and took herself to the library. How often hadshe heard that books afforded the surest consolation to the desolate. She would take to reading; not on this special day, but as the resourcefor many days and months, and years to come. But this idea had faded andbecome faint, before she had left the gloomy, damp-feeling, chill room, in which some former Lord Ongar had stored the musty Volumes which hehad thought fit to purchase. The library gave her no ease, so she wentout again among the lawns and shrubs. For some time to come her bestresources must be those which she could find outside the house. 

Peering about, she made her way behind the stables, which were attachedto the house, to a farm-yard gate, through which the way led to theheadquarters of the live stock. She did not go through, but she lookedover the gate, telling herself that those barns and sheds, that wealthof straw-yard, those sleeping pigs and idle, dreaming calves, were allher own. As she did so, her eye fell upon an old laborer, who wassitting close to her, on a felled tree, under the shelter of a paling, eating his dinner. A little girl, some six years old, who had broughthim his meal tied up in a handkerchief, was crouching near his feet. They had both seen her before she had seen them, and when she noticedthem, were staring at her with all their eyes. She and they were on thesame side of the farmyard paling, and so she could reach them and speakto them without difficulty. There was, apparently, no other person nearenough to listen, and it occurred to her that she might at any rate makea friend of this old man. His name, he said, was Enoch Gubby, and thegirl was his grandchild. Her name was Patty Gubby. Then Patty got up andhad her head patted by her ladyship and received sixpence. They neitherof them, however, knew who her ladyship was, and, as far as Lady Ongarcould ascertain without a question too direct to be asked, had neverheard of her. Enoch Gubby said he worked for Mr. Giles, thesteward--that was for my lord, and as he was old and stiff withrheumatism he only got eight shillings a week. He had a daughter, themother of Patty, who worked in the fields, and got six shillings a week. Everything about the poor Gubbys seemed to be very wretched andmiserable. Sometimes he could hardly drag himself about, he was so badwith the rheumatics. Then she thought that she would make one personhappy, and told him that his wages should be raised to ten shillings aweek. No matter whether he earned it or not, or what Mr. Giles mightsay; he should have ten shillings a week. 

So Enoch Gabby got his weekly ten shillings, though Lady Ongar hardlyrealized the pleasure that she had expected from the transaction. Shesent that afternoon for Mr. Giles, the steward, and told him what shehad done. Mr. Giles did not at all approve, and spoke his disapprovalvery plainly, though he garnished his rebuke with a great many "mylady's. " The old man was a hanger-on about the place, and for years hadreceived eight shillings a week, which he had not half earned. "Now hewill have ten, that is all, " said Lady Ongar. Mr. Giles acknowledgedthat if her ladyship pleased, Enoch Gubby must have the ten shillings, but declared that the business could not be carried on in that way. Everybody about the place would expect an addition, and those people whodid earn what they received, would think themselves cruelly used inbeing worse treated than Enoch Gubby, who, according to Mr. Giles, wasby no means the most worthy old man in the parish. And as for hisdaughter--oh! Mr. Giles could not trust himself to talk about thedaughter to her ladyship. Before he left her, Lady Ongar was convincedthat she had made a mistake. Not even from charity will pleasure come, if charity be taken up simply to appease remorse. 

The price was in her hand. For a fortnight the idea clung to her, thatgradually she would realize the joys of possession; but there was nomoment in which she could tell herself that the joy was hers. She wasnow mistress of the geography of the place. There was no more losingherself amidst the shrubberies, no thought of economizing her resources. Of Mr. Giles and his doings she still knew very little, but the desireof knowing much had faded. The ownership of the haystacks had become athing tame to her, and the great cart-horses, as to every one of whichshe had intended to feel an interest, were matters of indifference toher. She observed that since her arrival a new name in new paint--herown name--was attached to the carts, and that the letters were big andglaring. She wished that this had not been done, or, at any rate, thatthe letters had been smaller. Then she began to think that it might bewell for her to let the farm to a tenant; not that she might thus getmore money, but because she felt that the farm would be a trouble. Theapples had indeed quickly turned to ashes between her teeth!

On the first Sunday that she was at Ongar Park she went to the parishchurch. She had resolved strongly that she would do this, and she didit; but when the moment for starting came, her courage almost failedher. The church was but a few yards from her own gate, and she walkedthere without any attendant. She had, however, sent word to the sextonto say that she would be there, and the old man was ready to show herinto the family pew. She wore a thick veil, and was dressed, of course, in all the deep ceremonious woe of widowhood. As she walked up thecentre of the church she thought of her dress, and told herself that allthere would know how it had been between her and her husband. She waspretending to mourn for the man to whom she had sold herself; for theman who through happy chance had died so quickly, leaving her with theprice in her hand! All of course knew that, and all thought that theyknew, moreover, that she had been foully false to her bargain, and hadnot earned the price! That, also, she told herself. But she went throughit, and walked out of the church among the village crowd with her headon high. 

Three days afterward, she wrote to the clergyman, asking him to call onher. She had come, she said, to live in the parish, and hoped to beable, with his assistance, to be of some use among the people. She wouldhardly know how to act without some counsel from him. The schools mightbe all that was excellent, but if there was anything required she hopedhe would tell her. On the following morning the clergyman called, and, with many thanks for her generosity, listened to her plans, and acceptedher subsidies. But he was a married man, and he said nothing of hiswife, nor during the next week did his wife come to call on her. She wasto be left desolate by all, because men had told lies of her!

She had the price in her hands, but she felt herself tempted to do asJudas did--to go out and hang herself. 

Chapter XIII

A Visitor Calls At Ongar Park

It will be remembered that Harry Clavering, on returning one evening tohis lodgings in Bloomsbury Square, had been much astonished at findingthere the card of Count Pateroff, a man of whom he had only heard, up tothat moment, as the friend of the late Lord Ongar. At first he had beenvery angry with Lady Ongar, thinking that she and this count were insome league together, some league of which he would greatly disapprove;but his anger had given place to a new interest when he learned directfrom herself that she had not seen the count, and that she was simplyanxious that he, as her friend, should have an interview with the man. He had then become very eager in the matter, offering to subject himselfto any amount of inconvenience so that he might effect that which LadyOngar asked of him. He was not, however, called upon to endure anyspecial trouble or expense, as he heard nothing more from Count Paterofftill he had been back in London for two or three weeks. 

Lady Ongar's statement to him had been quite true. It had been even morethan true; for when she had written she had not even heard directly fromthe count. She had learned by letter from another person that CountPateroff was in London, and had then communicated the fact to herfriend. This other person was a sister of the count's, who was nowliving in London, one Madame Gordeloup--Sophie Gordeloup--a lady whomHarry had found sitting in Lady Ongar's room when last he had seen herin Bolton Street. He had not then heard her name; nor was he aware then, or for some time subsequently, that Count Pateroff had any relative inLondon. 

Lady Ongar had been a fortnight in the country before she receivedMadame Gordeloup's letter. In that letter the sister had declaredherself to be most anxious that her brother should see Lady Ongar. Theletter had been in French, and had been very eloquent--more eloquent inits cause than any letter with the same object could have been ifwritten by an Englishwoman in English; and the eloquence was lessoffensive than it might, under all concurrent circumstances, have beenhad it reached Lady Ongar in English. The reader must not, however, suppose that the letter contained a word that was intended to support alover's suit. It was very far indeed from that, and spoke of the countsimply as a friend; but its eloquence went to show that nothing that hadpassed should be construed by Lady Ongar as offering any bar to a fairfriendship. What the world said!--Bah! Did not she know--she, Sophie--and did not her friend know--her friend Julie--that the worldwas a great liar? Was it not even now telling wicked venomous lies abouther friend Julie? Why mind what the world said, seeing that the worldcould not be brought to speak one word of truth? The world indeed! Bah!

But Lady Ongar, though she was not as yet more than half as old asMadame Gordeloup, knew what she was about almost as well as that ladyknew what Sophie Gordeloup was doing. Lady Ongar had known the count'ssister in France and Italy, having seen much of her in one of thosesudden intimacies to which English people are subject when abroad; andshe had been glad to see Madame Gordeloup in London--much more glad thanshe would have been had she been received there on her return by a crowdof loving native friends. But not on that account was she prepared toshape her conduct in accordance with her friend Sophie's advice, andespecially not so when that advice had reference to Sophie's brother. She had, therefore, said very little in return to the lady's eloquence, answering the letter on that matter very vaguely; but, having a purposeof her own, had begged that Count Pateroff might be asked to call uponHarry Clavering. Count Pateroff did not feel himself to care very muchabout Harry Clavering, but wishing to do as he was bidden, did leave hiscard in Bloomsbury Square. 

And why was Lady Ongar anxious that the young man who was her friendshould see the man who had been her husband's friend, and whose name hadbeen mixed with her own in so grievous a manner? She had called Harryher friend, and it might be that she desired to give this friend everypossible means of testing the truth of that story which she herself hadtold. The reader, perhaps, will hardly have believed in Lady Ongar'sfriendship; will, perhaps, have believed neither the friendship nor thestory. If so, the reader will have done her wrong, and will not haveread her character aright. The woman was not heartless because she hadonce, in one great epoch of her life, betrayed her own heart; nor wasshe altogether false because she had once lied; nor altogether vile, because she had once taught herself that, for such an one as her, richeswere a necessity. It might be that the punishment of her sin could meetwith no remission in this world, but not on that account should it bepresumed that there was no place for repentance left to her. 

As she walked alone through the shrubberies at Ongar Park she thoughtmuch of those other paths at Clavering, and of the walks in whichshe had not been alone; and she thought of that interview in thegarden when she had explained to Harry--as she had then thought sosuccessfully--that they two, each being poor, were not fit to love andmarry each other. She had brooded over all that, too, during the longhours of her sad journey home to England. She was thinking of it stillwhen she had met him, and had been so cold to him on the platform of therailway station, when she had sent him away angry because she had seemedto slight him. She had thought of it as she had sat in her London room, telling him the terrible tale of her married life, while her eyes werefixed on his and her head was resting on her hands. Even then, at thatmoment, she was asking herself whether he believed her story, orwhether, within his breast, he was saying that she was vile and false. She knew that she had been false to him, and that he must have despisedher when, with her easy philosophy, she had made the best of her ownmercenary perfidy. He had called her a jilt to her face, and she hadbeen able to receive the accusation with a smile. Would he now call hersomething worse, and in a louder voice, within his own bosom? And if shecould convince him that to that accusation she was not fairly subject, might the old thing come back again? Would he walk with her again, andlook into her eyes as though he only wanted her commands to show himselfready to be her slave? She was a widow, and had seen many things, buteven now she had not reached her six-and-twentieth year. 

The apples at her rich country-seat had quickly become ashes between herteeth, but something of the juice of the fruit might yet reach herpalate if he would come and sit with her at the table. As she complainedto herself of the coldness of the world, she thought that she would notcare how cold might be all the world if there might be but one whom shecould love, and who would love her. And him she had loved. To him, inold days--in days which now seemed to her to be very old--she had madeconfession of her love. Old as were those days, it could not be but heshould still remember them. She had loved him, and him only. To noneother had she ever pretended love. From none other had love been offeredto her. Between her and that wretched being to whom she had soldherself, who had been half dead before she had seen him, there had beenno pretence of love. But Harry Clavering she had loved. Harry Claveringwas a man, with all those qualities which she valued, and also withthose foibles which saved him from being too perfect for so slight acreature as herself. Harry had been offended to the quick, and hadcalled her a jilt; but yet it might be possible that he would return toher. 

It should not be supposed that since her return to England she had hadone settled, definite object before her eyes with regard to this renewalof her love. There had been times in which she had thought that shewould go on with the life which she had prepared for herself, and thatshe would make herself contented, if not happy, with the price which hadbeen paid to her. And there were other times, in which her spirits sanklow within her, and she told herself that no contentment was longerpossible to her. She looked at herself in the glass, and found herselfto be old and haggard. Harry, she said, was the last man in the world tosell himself for wealth, when there was no love remaining. Harry wouldnever do as she had done with herself! Not for all the wealth that womanever inherited--so she told herself--would he link himself to one whohad made herself vile and tainted among women! In this, I think, she didhim no more than justice, though it maybe that in some other matters sherated his character too highly. Of Florence Burton she had as yet heardnothing, though had she heard of her, it may well be that she would noton that account have desisted. Such being her thoughts and her hopes, she had written to Harry, begging him to see this man who had followedher--she knew not why--from Italy; and had told the sister simply thatshe could not do as she was asked, because she was away from London, alone in a country house. 

And quite alone she was sitting one morning, counting up her misery, feeling that the apples were, in truth, ashes, when a servant came toher, telling her that there was a gentleman in the hall desirous ofseeing her. The man had the visitor's card in his hand, but before shecould read the name, the blood had mounted into her face as she toldherself that it was Harry Clavering. There was joy for a moment at herheart; but she must not show it--not as yet. She had been but fourmonths a widow, and he should not have come to her in the country. Shemust see him and in some way make him understand this--but she would bevery gentle with him. Then her eye fell upon the card, and she saw, withgrievous disappointment, that it bore the name of Count Pateroff. No;she was not going to be caught in that way. Let the result be what itmight, she would not let Sophie Gordeloup, or Sophie's brother, get thebetter of her by such a ruse as that! "Tell the gentleman, with mycompliments, " she said, as she handed back the card, "that I regret itgreatly, but I can see no one now. " Then the servant went away, and shesat wondering whether the count would be able to make his way into herpresence. She felt rather than knew that she had some reason to fearhim. All that had been told of him and of her had been false. Noaccusation brought against her had contained one spark of truth. Butthere had been things between Lord Ongar and this man which she wouldnot care to have told openly in England. And though, in his conduct toher, he had been customarily courteous, and on one occasion had beengenerous, still she feared him. She would much rather that he shouldhave remained in Italy. And though, when all alone in Bolton Street, shehad in her desolation welcomed his sister Sophie, she would havepreferred that Sophie should not have come to her, claiming to renewtheir friendship. But with the count she would hold no communion now, even though he should find his way into the room. 

A few minutes passed before the servant returned, and then he brought anote with him. As the door opened Lady Ongar rose, ready to leave theroom by another passage; but she took the note and read it. It was asfollows: "I cannot understand why you should refuse to see me, and Ifeel aggrieved. My present purpose is to say a few words to you onprivate matters connected with papers that belonged to Lord Ongar. Istill hope that you will admit me--P. " Having read these words whilestanding, she made an effort to think what might be the best course forher to follow. As for Lord Ongar's papers, she did not believe in theplea. Lord Ongar could have had no papers interesting to her in such amanner as to make her desirous of seeing this man or of hearing of themin private. Lord Ongar, though she had nursed him to the hour of hisdeath, earning her price, had been her bitterest enemy; and though therehad been something about this count that she had respected, she hadknown him to be a man of intrigue and afraid of no falsehoods in hisintrigues--a dangerous man, who might perhaps now and again do agenerous thing, but one who would expect payment for his generosity. Besides, had he not been named openly as her lover? She wrote to him, therefore, as follows: "Lady Ongar presents her compliments to CountPateroff and finds it to be out of her power to see him at present. "This answer the visitor took and walked away from the front door withoutshowing any disgust to the servant, either by his demeanor or in hiscountenance. On that evening she received from him a long letter, written at the neighboring inn, expostulating with her as to her conducttoward him, and saying in the last line, that it was "impossible nowthat they should be strangers to each other. " "Impossible that we shouldbe strangers, " she said almost out aloud. "Why impossible? I know nosuch impossibility. " After that she carefully burned both the letter andthe note. 

She remained at Ongar Park something over six weeks, and then, about thebeginning of May, she went back to London. No one had been to see her, except Mr. Sturm, the clergyman of the parish; and he, though somethingalmost approaching to an intimacy had sprung up between them, had neveryet spoken to her of his wife. She was not quite sure whether her rankmight not deter him--whether under such circumstances as those now inquestion, the ordinary social rules were not ordinarily broken--whethera countess should not call on a clergyman's wife first, although thecountess might be the stranger; but she did not dare to do as she wouldhave done, had no blight attached itself to her name. She gave, therefore, no hint; she said no word of Mrs. Sturm, though her heart waslonging for a kind word from some woman's mouth. But she allowed herselfto feel no anger against the husband, and went through her parish work, thanking him for his assistance. 

Of Mr. Giles she had seen very little, and since her misfortune withEnoch Gubby, she had made no further attempt to interfere with the wagesof the persons employed. Into the houses of some of the poor she hadmade her way, but she fancied that they were not glad to see her. Theymight, perhaps, have all heard of her reputation, and Gubby's daughtermay have congratulated herself that there was another in the parish asbad as herself, or perhaps, happily, worse. The owner of all the wealtharound strove to make Mrs. Button become a messenger of charity betweenherself and some of the poor; but Mrs. Button altogether declined theemployment, although, as her mistress had ascertained, she herselfperformed her own little missions of charity with zeal. Before thefortnight was over, Lady Ongar was sick of her house and her park, utterly disregardful of her horses and oxen, and unmindful even of thepleasant stream which in these Spring days rippled softly at the bottomof her gardens. 

She had undertaken to be back in London early in May, by appointmentwith her lawyer, and had unfortunately communicated the fact to MadameGordeloup. Four or five days before she was due in Bolton Street, hermindful Sophie, with unerring memory, wrote to her, declaring herreadiness to do all and anything that the most diligent friendship couldprompt. Should she meet her dear Julie at the station in London? Shouldshe bring any special carriage? Should she order any special dinner inBolton Street? She herself would of course come to Bolton Street, if notallowed to be present at the station. It was still chilly in theevenings, and she would have fires lit. Might she suggest a roast fowland some bread sauce, and perhaps a sweetbread--and just one glass ofchampagne? And might she share the banquet? There was not a word in thenote about the too obtrusive brother, either as to the offence committedby him, or the offence felt by him. 

The little Franco-Polish woman was there in Bolton Street, ofcourse--for Lady Ongar had not dared to refuse her. A little, dry, bright woman she was, with quick eyes, and thin lips, and small nose, and mean forehead, and scanty hair drawn back quite tightly from herface and head; very dry, but still almost pretty with her quickness andher brightness. She was fifty, was Sophie Gordeloup, but she had somanaged her years that she was as active on her limbs as most women areat twenty-five. And the chicken and the bread sauce, and the sweetbread, and the champagne were there, all very good of their kind; for SophieGordeloup liked such things to be good, and knew how to indulge her ownappetite, and to coax that, of another person. 

Some little satisfaction Lady Ongar received from the fact that she wasnot alone; but the satisfaction was not satisfactory. When Sophie hadleft her at ten o'clock, running off by herself to her lodgings in MountStreet, Lady Ongar, after but one moment's thought, sat down and wrote, a note to Harry Clavering. 

 "DEAR HARRY--I am back in town. Pray come and see me to-morrow evening. 

 "Yours ever, "J. O. "

Chapter XIV

Count Pateroff

After an interval of some weeks, during which Harry had been down atClavering and had returned again to his work at the Adelphi, CountPateroff called again in Bloomsbury Square; but Harry was at Mr. Beilby's office. Harry at once returned the count's visit at the addressgiven in Mount Street. Madame was at home, said the servant-girl, fromwhich Harry was led to suppose that the count was a married man; butHarry felt that he had no right to intrude upon madame, so he simplyleft his card. Wishing, however, really to have this interview, andhaving been lately elected at a club of which he was rather proud, hewrote to the count asking him to dine with him at the Beaufort. Heexplained that there was a stranger's room--which Pateroff knew verywell, having often dined at the Beaufort--and said something as to aprivate little dinner for two, thereby apologizing for proposing to thecount to dine without other guests. Pateroff accepted the invitation, and Harry, never having done such a thing before, ordered his dinnerwith much nervousness. 

The count was punctual, and the two men introduced themselves. Harry hadexpected to see a handsome foreigner, with black hair, polishedwhiskers, and probably a hook nose--forty years of age or thereabouts, but so got up as to look not much more than thirty. But his guest was byno means a man of that stamp. Excepting that the count's age wasaltogether uncertain, no correctness of guess on that matter beingpossible by means of his appearance, Harry's preconceived notion waswrong in every point. He was a fair man, with a broad fair face, andvery light blue eyes; his forehead was low, but broad; he wore nowhiskers, but bore on his lip a heavy moustache which was not gray, butperfectly white--white it was with years, of course, but yet it gave nosign of age to his face. He was well made, active, and somewhat broad inthe shoulders, though rather below the middle height. But for a certainease of manner which he possessed, accompanied by something ofrestlessness in his eye, any one would have taken him for an Englishman. And his speech hardly betrayed that he was not English. Harry, knowingthat he was a foreigner, noticed now and again some little acquireddistinctness of speech which is hardly natural to a native; butotherwise there was nothing in his tongue to betray him. 

"I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble, " he said, shakinghands with Harry. Clavering declared that he had incurred no trouble, and declared also that he would be only too happy to have taken anytrouble in obeying a behest from his friend Lady Ongar. Had he been aPole as was the count, he would not have forgotten to add that he wouldhave been equally willing to exert himself with the view of making thecount's acquaintance; but being simply a young Englishman, he was muchtoo awkward for any such courtesy as that. The count observed theomission, smiled, and bowed. Then he spoke of the weather, and said thatLondon was a magnificent city. Oh, yes, he knew London well; had knownit these twenty years; had been for fifteen years a member of theTravellers'; he liked everything English, except hunting. Englishhunting he had found to be dull work. But he liked shooting for an houror two. He could not rival, he said, the intense energy of anEnglishman, who would work all day with his gun harder than ploughmenwith their ploughs. Englishmen sported, he said, as though more thantheir bread--as though their honor, their wives, their souls, dependedon it. It was very fine! He often wished that he was an Englishman. Thenhe shrugged his shoulders. 

Harry was very anxious to commence a conversation about Lady Ongar, buthe did not know how at first to introduce her name. Count Pateroff hadcome to him at Lady Ongar's request, and therefore, as he thought, thecount should have been the first to mention her. But the count seemed tobe enjoying his dinner without any thought either of Lady Ongar or ofher late husband. At this time he had been down to Ongar Park, on thatmission which had been, as we know, futile; but he said no word of thatto Harry. He seemed to enjoy his dinner thoroughly, and made himselfvery agreeable. When the wine was discussed he told Harry that a certainvintage of Moselle was very famous at the Beaufort. Harry ordered thewine of course, and was delighted to give his guest the best ofeverything; but he was a little annoyed at finding that the strangerknew his club better than he knew it himself. Slowly the count ate hisdinner, enjoying every morsel that he took with that thoughtful, conscious pleasure which young men never attain in eating and drinking, and which men as they grow older so often forget to acquire. But thecount never forgot any of his own capacities for pleasure, and in allthings made the most of his own resources. To be rich is not to have oneor ten thousand a year, but to be able to get out of that one or tenthousand all that every pound, and every shilling, and every penny willgive you. After this fashion the count was a rich man. 

"You don't sit after dinner here, I suppose, " said the count, when hehad completed an elaborate washing of his mouth and moustache. "I likethis club because we who are strangers have so charming a room for oursmoking. It is the best club in London for men who do not belong to it. "

It occurred to Harry that in the smoking-room there could be no privacy. Three or four men had already spoken to the count, showing that he waswell known, giving notice, as it were, that Pateroff would become apublic man when once he was placed in a public circle. To have given adinner to the count, and to have spoken no word to him about Lady Ongar, would be by no means satisfactory to Harry's feelings, though, as itappeared, it might be sufficiently satisfactory to the guest. Harrytherefore suggested one bottle of claret. The count agreed, expressingan opinion that the 51 Lafitte was unexceptional. The 51 Lafitte wasordered, and Harry, as he filled his glass, considered the way in whichhis subject should be introduced. 

"You knew Lord Ongar, I think, abroad?"

"Lord Ongar--abroad! Oh, yes, very well; and for many years here inLondon; and at Vienna; and very early in life at St. Petersburg. I knewLord Ongar first in Russia, when he was attached to the embassy asFrederic Courton. His father, Lord Courton, was then alive, as was alsohis grandfather. He was a nice, good-looking lad then. "

"As regards his being nice, he seems to have changed a good deal beforehe died. " This the count noticed by simply shrugging his shoulders andsmiling as he sipped his wine. "By all that I can hear, he became ahorrid brute when he married, " said Harry, energetically. 

"He was not pleasant when he was ill at Florence, " said the count. 

"She must have had a terrible time with him, " said Harry. 

The count put up his hands, again shrugged his shoulders, and then shookhis head. "She knew he was no longer an Adonis when he married her. "

"An Adonis! No; she did not expect an Adonis; but she thought he wouldhave something of the honor and feelings of a man. "

"She found it uncomfortable, no doubt. He did too much of this, youknow, " said the count, raising his glass to his lips; "and he didn't doit with 51 Lafitte. That was Ongar's fault. All the world knew it forthe last ten years. No one knew it better than Hugh Clavering. "

"But--" said Harry, and then he stopped. He hardly knew what it was thathe wished to learn from the man, though he certainly did wish to learnsomething. He had thought that the count would himself have talked aboutLady Ongar and those Florentine days, but this he did not seem disposedto do. "Shall we have our cigars now?" said Count Pateroff. 

"One moment, if you don't mind. "

"Certainly, certainly. There is no hurry. "

"You will take no more wine?"

"No more wine. I take my wine at dinner, as you saw. "

"I want to ask you one special question--about Lady Ongar. "

"I will say anything in her favor that you please. I am always ready tosay anything in the favor of any lady, and, if needs be, to swear it. Buanything against any lady nobody ever heard me say. "

Harry was sharp enough to perceive that any assertion made under such astipulation was worse than nothing. It was as when a man, in denying thetruth of a statement, does so with an assurance that on that subject heshould consider himself justified in telling any number of lies. "I didnot write the book--but you have no right to ask the question; and Ishould say that I had not, even if I had. " Pateroff was speaking of LadyOngar in this way, and Harry hated him for doing so. 

"I don't want you to say any good of her, " said he, "or any evil. "

"I certainly shall say no evil of her. "

"But I think you know that she has been most cruelly treated. "

"Well, there is about seven-thousand-pounds a year, I think!Seven-thousand a year! Not francs, but pounds! We poor foreigners loseourselves in amazement when we hear about your English fortunes. Seven-thousand pounds a year for a lady all alone, and a beautifulhouse! A house so beautiful, they tell me!"

"What has that to do with it?" said Harry; whereupon the count againshrugged his shoulders. "What has that to do with it? Because the manwas rich he was not justified in ill-treating his wife. Did he not bringfalse accusations against her, in order that he might rob her after hisdeath of all that of which you think so much? Did he not hear falsewitness against her, to his own dishonor?"

"She has got the money, I think--and the beautiful house. "

"But her name has been covered with lies. "

"What can I do? Why do you ask me? I know nothing. Look here, Mr. Clavering, if you want to make any inquiry you had better go to mysister. I don't see what good it will do, but she will talk to you bythe hour together, if you wish it. Let us smoke. "

"Your sister?"

"Yes, my sister. Madame Gordeloup is her name. Has not Lady Ongarmentioned my sister? They are inseparables. My sister lives in MountStreet. "

"With you?"

"No, not with me; I do not live in Mount Street. I have my addresssometimes at her house. "

"Madame Gordeloup?"

"Yes, Madame Gordeloup. She is Lady Ongar's friend. She will talk toyou. "

"Will you introduce me, Count Pateroff?"

"Oh, no; it is not necessary. You can go to Mount Street, and she willbe delighted. There is the card. And now we will smoke. "

Harry felt that he could not, with good-breeding, detain the count anylonger, and, therefore, rising from his chair, led the way into thesmoking-room. When there, the man of the world separated himself fromhis young friend, of whose enthusiasm he had perhaps had enough, and wassoon engaged in conversation with sundry other men of his own standing. Harry soon perceived that his guest had no further need of hiscountenance, and went home to Bloomsbury Square by no means satisfiedwith his new acquaintance. 

On the next day he dined in Onslow Crescent with the Burtons, and whenthere he said nothing about Lady Ongar or Count Pateroff. He was notaware that he had any special reason for being silent on the subject, but he made up his mind that the Burtons were people so far removed intheir sphere of life from Lady Ongar, that the subject would not besuitable in Onslow Crescent. It was his lot in life to be concerned withpeople of the two classes. He did not at all mean to say--even tohimself--that he liked the Ongar class better; but still, as such washis lot, he must take it as it came, and entertain both subjects ofinterest, without any commingling of them one with another. Of LadyOngar and his early love he had spoken to Florence at some length, buthe did not find it necessary in his letters to tell her anything ofCount Pateroff and his dinner at the Beaufort. Nor did he mention thedinner to his dear friend Cecilia. On this occasion he made himself veryhappy in Onslow Crescent, playing with the children, chatting with hisfriend, and enduring, with a good grace, Theodore Burton's sarcasm, whenthat ever-studious gentleman told him that he was only fit to go abouttied to a woman's apron-string. 

Chapter XV

Madame Gordeloup

On the afternoon of the day following his dinner at the Beaufort withCount Pateroff Harry Clavering called on the Count's sister in MountStreet. He had doubted much as to this, thinking at any rate he ought, in the first place, to write and ask permission. But at last he resolvedthat he would take the count at his word, and presenting himself at thedoor, he sent up his name. Madame Gordeloup was at home, and in a fewmoments he found himself in the room in which the lady was sitting, andrecognized her whom he had seen with Lady Ongar in Bolton Street. Shegot up at once, having glanced at the name upon the card, and seemed toknow all about him. She shook hands with him cordially, almost squeezinghis hand, and bade him sit down near her on the sofa. "She was so gladto see him, for her dear Julie's sake. Julie, as of course he knew, wasat 'Ongere' Park. Oh! so happy"--which, by the by, he did not know--"andwould be up in the course of next week. So many things to do, of course, Mr. Clavering. The house, and the servants, and the park, and thebeautiful things of a large country establishment! But it wasdelightful, and Julie was quite happy!"

No people could be more unlike to each other than this brother and hissister. No human being could have taken Madame Gordeloup for anEnglish-woman, though it might be difficult to judge, either from herlanguage or her appearance, of the nationality to which she belonged. She spoke English with great fluency, but every word uttered declaredher not to be English. And when she was most fluent she was mostincorrect in her language. She was small, eager, and quick, and appearedquite as anxious to talk as her brother had been to hold his tongue. Shelived in a small room on the first floor of a small house; and it seemedto Harry that she lived alone. But he had not been long there before shehad told him all her history, and explained to him most of hercircumstances. That she kept back something is probable; but how manyare there who can afford to tell everything?

Her husband was still living, but he was at St. Petersburg. He was aFrenchman by family, but had been born in Russia. He had been attachedto the Russian embassy in London, but was now attached to diplomacy ingeneral in Russia. She did not join him, because she loved England--oh, so much! And, perhaps, her husband might come back again some day. Shedid not say that she had not seen him for ten years, and was not quitesure whether he was dead or alive; but had she made a clean breast inall things, she might have done so. She said that she was a good dealstill at the Russian embassy; but she did not say that she herself was apaid spy. Nor do I say so now, positively; but that was the charactergiven to her by many who knew her. She called her brother Edouard, asthough Harry had known the count all his life; and always spoke of LadyOngar as Julie. She uttered one or two little hints which seemed toimply that she knew everything that had passed between "Julie" and HarryClavering in early days; and never mentioned Lord Ongar without someterm of violent abuse. 

"Horrid wretch!" she said, pausing over all the r's in the name she hadcalled him. "It began, you know, from the very first. Of course he hadbeen a fool. An old roue is always a fool to marry. What does he get, you know, for his money? A pretty face. He's tired of that as soon asit's his own. Is it not so, Mr. Clavering? But other people ain't tiredof it, and then he becomes jealous. But Lord Ongar was not jealous. Hewas not man enough to be jealous. Hor-r-rid wr-retch!" She then went ontelling many things which, as he listened, almost made Harry Clavering'shair stand on end, and which must not be repeated here. She herself hadmet her brother in Paris, and had been with him when they encounteredthe Ongars in that capital. According to her showing, they had, all ofthem, been together nearly from that time to the day of Lord Ongar's'death. But Harry soon learned to feel that he could not believe allthat the little lady told him. 

"Edouard was always with him. Poor Edouard!" she said. "There was somemoney matter between them about ecarte. When that wr-retch got to be sobad, he did not like parting with his money--not even when he had lostit! And Julie had been so good always! Julie and Edouard had doneeverything for the nasty wr-retch. " Harry did not at all like thismingling of the name of Julie and Edouard, though it did not for amoment fill his mind with any suspicion as to Lady Ongar. It made himfeel, however, that this woman was dangerous, and that her tongue mightbe very mischievous if she talked to others as she did to him. As helooked at her--and being now in her own room she was not dressed withscrupulous care--and as he listened to her, he could not conceive whatLady Ongar had seen in her that she should have made a friend of her. Her brother, the count, was undoubtedly a gentleman in his manners andway of life, but he did not know by what name to call this woman, whocalled Lady Ongar Julie. She was altogether unlike any ladies whom hehad known. 

"You know that Julie will be in town next week?"

"No; I did not know when she was to return. "

"Oh, yes; she has business with those people in South Audley Street onThursday. Poor dear! Those lawyers are so harassing! But when peoplehave seven--thousand--pounds a year, they must put up with lawyers. " Asshe pronounced those talismanic words, which to her were almostcelestial, Harry perceived for the first time that there was some sortof resemblance between her and the count. He could see that they werebrother and sister. "I shall go to her directly she comes, and of courseI will tell her how good you have been to come to me. And Edouard hasbeen dining with you? How good of you. He told me how charming youare"--Harry was quite sure then that she was fibbing--"and that it wasso pleasant! Edouard is very much attached to Julie; very much. Though, of course, all that was mere nonsense; just lies told by that wickedlord. Bah! what did he know?" Harry by this time was beginning to wishthat he had never found his way to Mount Street. 

"Of course they were lies, " he said roughly. 

"Of course, mon cher. Those things always are lies, and so wicked! Whatgood do they do?"

"Lies never do any good, " said Harry. 

To so wide a proposition as this madame was not prepared to give anunconditional assent; she therefore shrugged her shoulders, and onceagain looked like her brother. 

"Ah!" she said. "Julie is a happy woman now. Seven--thousand--pounds ayear! One does not know how to believe it; does one?"

"I never heard the amount of her income, " said Harry. 

"It is all that, " said the Franco-Pole, energetically; "every franc ofit, beside the house! I know it. She told me herself. Yes. What womanwould risk that, you know; and his life, you may say, as good as gone?Of course they were lies. "

"I don't think you understand her, Madame Gordeloup. "

"Oh, yes; I know her, so well. And love her--oh, Mr. Clavering, I loveher so dearly! Is she not charming? So beautiful, you know, and grand. Such a will, too! That is what I like in a woman. Such a courage! Shenever flinched in those horrid days, never. And when he called her--youknow what--she only looked at him, just looked at him, miserable object. Oh, it was beautiful!" And Madame Gordeloup, rising in her energy fromher seat for the purpose, strove to throw upon Harry such another glanceas the injured, insulted wife had thrown upon her foul-tongued, dyinglord. 

"She will marry, " said Madame Gordeloup, changing her tone with asuddenness that made Harry start; "yes, she will marry, of course. YourEnglish widows always marry if they have money. They are wrong, and shewill be wrong; but she will marry. "

"I do not know how that may be, " said Harry, looking foolish. 

"I tell you I know she will marry, Mr. Clavering; I told Edouard soyesterday. He merely smiled. It would hardly do for him, she has so muchwill. Edouard has a will also. "

"All men have, I suppose. "

"Ah, yes; but there is a difference. A sum of money down, if a man is tomarry, is better than a widow's dower. If she dies, you know, he looksso foolish. And she is grand and will want to spend everything. Is shemuch older than you, Mr. Clavering? Of course I know Julie's age, thoughperhaps you do not. What will you give me to tell?" And the woman leeredat him with a smile which made Harry think that she was almost more thanmortal. He found himself quite unable to cope with her in conversation, and soon after this got up to take his leave. "You will come again, " shesaid. "Do. I like you so much. And when Julie is in town, we shall beable to see her together, and I will be your friend. Believe me. "

Harry was very far from believing her, and did not in the least requireher friendship. Her friendship, indeed! How could any decent English manor woman wish for the friendship of such a creature as that? It was thusthat he thought of her as he walked away from Mount Street, making heavyaccusations, within his own breast, against Lady Ongar as he did so. Julia! He repeated the name over to himself a dozen times, thinking thatthe flavor of it was lost since it had been contaminated so often bythat vile tongue. But what concern was it of his? Let her be Julia towhom she would, she could never be Julia again to him. But she was hisfriend--Lady Ongar, and he told himself plainly that his friend had beenwrong in having permitted herself to hold any intimacy with such a womanas that. No doubt Lady Ongar had been subjected to very trying troublesin the last months of her husband's life, but no circumstances couldjustify her, if she continued to endorse the false cordiality of thathorribly vulgar and evil-minded little woman. As regarded the gravecharges brought against Lady Ongar, Harry still gave no credit to them, still looked upon them as calumnies, in spite of the damning advocacy ofSophie and her brother; but he felt that she must have dabbled in verydirty water to have returned to England with such claimants on herfriendship as these. He had not much admired the count, but the count'ssister had been odious to him. "I will be your friend. Believe me. "Harry Clavering stamped upon the pavement as he thought of the littlePole's offer to him. She be his friend! No, indeed; not if there were noother friend for him in all London. 

Sophie, too, had her thoughts about him. Sophie was very anxious in thismatter, and was resolved to stick as close to her Julie as possible. "Iwill be his friend or his enemy; let him choose. " That had been Sophie'sreflection on the matter when she was left alone. 

Ten days after his visit in Mount Street, Harry received the note whichLady Ongar had written to him on the night of her arrival in London. Itwas brought to Mr. Beilby's office by her own footman early in themorning; but Harry was there at the time, and was thus able to answerit, telling Lady Ongar that he would come as she had desired. She hadcommenced her letter "Dear Harry, " and he well remembered that when shehad before written she had called him "Dear Mr. Clavering. " And thoughthe note contained only half-a-dozen ordinary words, it seemed to him tobe affectionate, and almost loving. Had she not been eager to see him, she would hardly thus have written to him on the very instant of herreturn. "Dear Lady Ongar, " he wrote, "I shall dine at my club, and bewith you about eight. Yours always, H. C. " After that he could hardlybring himself to work satisfactorily during the whole day. Since hisinterview with the Franco-Polish lady he had thought a good deal abouthimself and had resolved to work harder and to love Florence Burton moredevotedly than ever. The nasty little woman had said certain words tohim which had caused him to look into his own breast and to tell himselfthat this was necessary. As the love was easier than the work, he beganhis new tasks on the following morning by writing a long and veryaffectionate letter to his own Flo, who was still staying at Claveringrectory--a letter so long and so affectionate that Florence, in herecstasy of delight, made Fanny read it, and confess that, as alove-letter, it was perfect. 

"It's great nonsense, all the same, " said Fanny. 

"It isn't nonsense at all, " said Florence; "and if it were it would notsignify. Is it true? That's the question. "

"I'm sure it's true, " said Fanny. 

"And so am I, " said Florence. "I don't want any one to tell me that. "

"Then why did you ask, you simpleton?" Florence indeed was having ahappy time of it at Clavering rectory. When Fanny called her asimpleton, she threw her arms round Fanny's neck and kissed her. 

And Harry kept his resolve about the work too, investigating plans witha resolution to understand them which was almost successful. Duringthose days he would remain at his office till past four o'clock, andwould then walk away with Theodore Burton, dining sometimes in OnslowCrescent, and going there sometimes in the evening after dinner. Andwhen there he would sit and read; and once when Cecilia essayed to talkto him, he told her to keep her apron-strings to herself. Then Theodorelaughed and apologized, and Cecilia said that too much work made Jack adull boy; and then Theodore laughed again, stretching out his legs andarms as he rested a moment from his own study, and declared that, underthose circumstances, Harry never would be dull. And Harry, on thoseevenings, would be taken up-stairs to see the bairns in their cots; andas he stood with their mother looking down upon the children, prettywords would be said about Florence and his future life; and all wasgoing merry as a marriage bell. But on that morning, when the note hadcome from Lady Ongar, Harry could work no more to his satisfaction. Hescrawled upon his blotting-paper, and made no progress whatsoever towardthe understanding of anything. It was the day on which, in due course, he would write to Florence; and he did write to her. But Florence didnot show this letter to Fanny, claiming for it any need of godlikeperfection. It was a stupid, short letter, in which he declared that hewas very busy and that his head ached. In a postscript he told her thathe was going to see Lady Ongar that evening. This he communicated to herunder an idea that by doing so he made everything right. And I thinkthat the telling of it did relieve his conscience. 

He left the office soon after three, having brought himself to believein the headache, and sauntered down to his club. He found men playingwhist there, and, as whist might be good for his head, he joined them. They won his money, and scolded him for playing badly till he was angry, and then he went out for a walk by himself. As he went along Piccadilly, he saw Sophie Gordeloup coming toward him, trotting along, with herdress held well up over her ankles, eager, quick, and, as he said tohimself clearly intent upon some mischief. He endeavored to avoid her byturning up the Burlington Arcade, but she was too quick for him, and waswalking up the arcade by his side before he had been able to make up hismind as to the best mode of ridding himself of such a companion. 

"Ah, Mr. Clavering, I am so glad to see you. I was with Julie lastnight. She was fagged, very much fagged; the journey, you know, and thebusiness. But yet so handsome! And we talked of you. Yes, Mr. Clavering;and I told her how good you had been in coming to me. She said you werealways good; yes, she did. When shall you see her?"

Harry Clavering was a bad hand at fibbing, and a bad hand also atleaving a question unanswered. When questioned in this way he did notknow what to do but to answer the truth. He would much rather not havesaid that he was going to Bolton Street that evening, but he could findno alternative. "I believe I shall see her this evening, " he said, simply venturing to mitigate the evil of making the communication byrendering it falsely doubtful. There are men who fib with so bad a graceand with so little tact that they might as well not fib at all. They notonly never arrive at success, but never even venture to expect it. 

"Ah, this evening. Let me see. I don't think I can be there to-night;Madame Berenstoff receives at the embassy. "

"Good afternoon, " said Harry, turning into Truefit's, the hairdresser's, shop. 

"Ah, very well, " said Sophie to herself; "just so. It will be better, much better. He is simply one lout, and why should he have it all? MyGod, what fools, what louts, are these Englishmen!" in having readSophie's thoughts so far, we will leave her to walk up the remainder ofthe arcade by herself. 

I do not know that Harry's visit to Truefit's establishment had been inany degree caused by his engagement for the evening. I fancy that he hadsimply taken to ground at the first hole, as does a hunted fox. But nowthat he was there he had his head put in order, and thought that helooked the better for the operation. He then went back to his club, andwhen he sauntered into the card-room one old gentleman looked askance athim, as though inquiring angrily whether he had come there to make freshmisery. "Thank you; no--I won't play again, " said Harry. Then the oldgentleman was appeased, and offered him a pinch of snuff. "Have you seenthe new book about whist?" said the old gentleman. "It is veryuseful--very useful. I'll send you a copy if you will allow me. " ThenHarry left the room, and went down to dinner. 

Chapter XVI

An Evening In Bolton Street

It was a little past eight when Harry knocked at Lady Ongar's door. Ifear he had calculated that if he were punctual to the moment, she wouldthink that he thought the matter to be important. It was important tohim, and he was willing that she should know that it was so. But thereare degrees in everything, and therefore he was twenty minutes late. Hewas not the first man who has weighed the diplomatic advantage of beingafter his time. But all those ideas went from him at once when she methim almost at the door of the room, and, taking him by the hand, saidthat she was "so glad to see him--so very glad. Fancy, Harry, I haven'tseen an old friend since I saw you last. You don't know how hard allthat seems. "

"It is hard, " said he; and when he felt the pressure of her hand and sawthe brightness of her eye, and when her dress rustled against him as hefollowed her to her seat, and he became sensible of the influence of herpresence, all his diplomacy vanished, and he was simply desirous ofdevoting himself to her service. Of course, any such devotion was to begiven without detriment to that other devotion which he owed to FlorenceBurton. But this stipulation, though it was made, was made quickly, andwith a confused brain. 

"Yes--it is hard, " she said. "Harry, sometimes I think I shall go mad. It is more than I can bear. I could bear it if it hadn't been my ownfault--all my own fault. "

There was a suddenness about this which took him quite by surprise. No doubt it had been her own fault. He also had told himself that;though, of course, he would make no such charge to her. "You have notrecovered yet, " he said, "from what you have suffered lately. Things willlook brighter to you after a while. "

"Will they? Ah--I do not know. But come, Harry; come and sit down, andlet me get you some tea. There is no harm, I suppose, in having youhere--is there ?"

"Harm, Lady Ongar?"

"Yes--harm, Lady Ongar. " As she repeated her own name after him, nearlyin his tone, she smiled once again; and then she looked as she used inthe old days, when she would be merry with him. "It is hard to know whata woman may do, and what she may not. When my husband was ill and dying, I never left his bedside. From the moment of my marrying him till hisdeath, I hardly spoke to a man but in his presence; and when once I did, it was he that had sent him. And for all that people have turned theirbacks upon me. You and I were old friends, Harry, and something moreonce--were we not? But I jilted you, as you were man enough to tell me. How I did respect you when you dared to speak the truth to me. Men don'tknow women, or they would be harder to them. "

"I did not mean to be hard to you. "

"If you had taken me by the shoulders and shaken me, and have declaredthat before God you would, not allow such wickedness, I should haveobeyed you. I know I should. " Harry thought of Florence, and could notbring himself to say that he wished it had been so. "But where would youhave been then, Harry? I was wrong and false and a beast to marry thatman; but I should not, therefore, have been right to marry you and ruinyou. It would have been ruin, you know, and we should simply have beenfools. "

"The folly was very pleasant, " said he. 

"Yes, yes; I will not deny that. But then the wisdom and the prudenceafterward! Oh, Harry, that was not pleasant. That was not pleasant! Butwhat was I saying? Oh! about the propriety of your being here. It is sohard to know what is proper. As I have been married, I suppose I mayreceive whom I please. Is not that the law?"

"You may receive me, I should think. Your sister is my cousin's wife. "Harry's matter-of-fact argument did as well as anything else, for itturned her thought at the moment. 

"My sister, Harry! If there was nothing to make us friends but ourconnection through Sir Hugh Clavering, I do not know that I should beparticularly anxious to see you. How unmanly he has been, and howcruel. "

"Very cruel, " said Harry. Then he thought of Archie and Archie's suit. "But he is willing to change all that now. Hermione asked me the otherday to persuade you to go to Clavering. "

"And have you come here to use your eloquence for that purpose? I willnever go to Clavering again, Harry, unless it should be yours and yourwife should offer to receive me. Then I'd pack up for the dear, dull, solemn old place though I was on the other side of Europe. "

"It will never be mine. "

"Probably not, and probably, therefore, I shall never be there again. No; I can forgive an injury, but not an insult--not an insult such asthat. I will not go to Clavering; so, Harry, you may save youreloquence. Hermione I shall be glad to see whenever she will come to me. If you can persuade her to that, you will persuade her to a charity. "

"She goes nowhere, I think, without his--his--"

"Without his permission. Of course she does not. That, I suppose, is allas it should be. And he is such a tyrant that he will give no suchpermission. He would tell her, I suppose, that her sister was no fitcompanion for her. "

"He could not say that now, as he has asked you there. "

"Ah, I don't know that. He would say one thing first and another after, just as it would suit him. He has some object in wishing that I shouldgo there, I suppose. " Harry, who knew the object, and who was toofaithful to betray Lady Clavering, even though he was altogether hostileto his cousin Archie's suit, felt a little proud of his position, butsaid nothing in answer to this. "But I shall not go; nor will I see him, or go to his house when he comes up to London. When do they come, Harry?"

"He is in town, now. "

"What a nice husband, is he not? And when does Hermione come?"

"I do not know; she did not say. Little Hughy is ill, and that may keepher. "

"After all, Harry, I may have to pack up and go to Clavering evenyet--that is, if the mistress of the house will have me. "

"Never in the way you mean, Lady Ongar. Do not propose to kill all myrelations in order that I might have their property. Archie intends tomarry, and have a dozen children. "

"Archie marry! Who will have him? But such men as he are often in theway by marrying some cookmaid at last. Archie is Hugh's body-slave. Fancy being body-slave to Hugh Clavering! He has two, and poor Hermy isthe other; only he prefers not to have Hermy near him, which is luckyfor her. Here is some tea. Let us sit down and be comfortable, and talkno more about our horrid relations. I don't know what made me speak ofthem. I did not mean it. "

Harry sat down and took the cup from her hand, as she had bidden theservant to leave the tray upon the table. 

"So you saw Count Pateroff, " she said. 

"Yes, and his sister. "

"So she told me. What do you think of them?" To this question Harry madeno immediate answer. "You may speak out. Though I lived abroad with suchas them for twelve months, I have not forgotten the sweet scent of ourEnglish hedgerows, nor the wholesomeness of English household manners. What do you think of them?"

"They are not sweet or wholesome, " said he. 

"Oh, Harry, you are so honest! Your honesty is beautiful. A spade willever be a spade with you. "

He thought that she was laughing at him, and colored. 

"You pressed me to speak, " he said, "and I did but use your own words. "

"Yes, but you used them with such straightforward violence! Well, youshall use what words you please, and how you please, because a word oftruth is so pleasant after living in a world of lies. I know you willnot lie to me, Harry. You never did. "

He felt that now was the moment in which he should tell her of hisengagement, but he let the moment pass without using it. And, indeed, itwould have been hard for him to tell. In telling such a story he wouldhave been cautioning her that it was useless for her to love him--andthis he could not bring himself to do. And he was not sure even now thatshe had not learned the fact from her sister. "I hope not, " he said. Inall that he was saying he knew that his words were tame and impotent incomparison with hers, which seemed to him to mean so much. But then hisposition was so unfortunate! Had it not been for Florence Burton hewould have been long since at her feet; for, to give Harry Clavering hisdue, he could be quick enough at swearing to a passion. He was one ofthose men to whom love-making comes so readily that it is a pity thatthey should ever marry. He was ever making love to women, usuallymeaning no harm. He made love to Cecilia Burton over her children'sbeds, and that discreet matron liked it. But it was a love-makingwithout danger. It simply signified on his part the pleasure he had inbeing on good terms with a pretty woman. He would have liked to havemade love in the same way to Lady Ongar; but that was impossible, and inall love-making with Lady Ongar there must be danger. There was a pauseafter the expression of his last hopes, during which he finished histea, and then looked at his boots. 

"You do not ask me what I have been doing at my country-house. "

"And what have you been doing there?"

"Hating it. "

"That is wrong. "

"Everything is wrong that I do; everything must be wrong. That is thenature of the curse upon me. "

"You think too much of all that now. "

"Ah, Harry, that is so easily said. People do not think of such thingsif they can help themselves. The place is full of him and his memories;full of him, though I do not as yet know whether he ever put his foot init. Do you know, I have a plan, a scheme, which would, I think, make mehappy for one half-hour. It is to give everything back to the family. Everything! money, house, and name; to call myself Julia Brabazon, andlet the world call me what it pleases. Then I would walk out into thestreets, and beg some one to give me my bread. Is there one in all thewide world that would give me a crust? Is there one, except yourself, Harry--one, except yourself?"

Poor Florence! I fear it fared badly with her cause at this moment. Howwas it possible that he should not regret, that he should not look backupon Stratton with something akin to sorrow? Julia had been his firstlove, and to her he could have been always true. I fear he thought ofthis now. I fear that it was a grief to him that he could not placehimself close at her side, bid her do as she had planned, and then cometo him, and share all his crusts. Had it been open to him to play thatpart, he would have played it well, and would have gloried in thethoughts of her poverty. The position would have suited him exactly. ButFlorence was in the way, and he could not do it. How was he to answerLady Ongar? It was more difficult now than ever to tell her of FlorenceBurton. 

His eyes were full of tears, and she accepted that as his excuse for notanswering her. "I suppose they would say that I was a romantic fool. When the price has been taken one cannot cleanse oneself of the stain. With Judas, you know, it was not sufficient that he gave back the money. Life was too heavy for him, and so he went out and hanged himself. "

"Julia, " he said, getting up from his chair, and going over to where shesat on a sofa, "Julia, it is horrid to hear you speak of yourself inthat way. I will not have it. You are not such a one as the Iscariot. "And as he spoke to her, he found her hand in his. 

"I wish you had my burden, Harry, for one half day, so that you mightknow its weight. "

"I wish I could bear it for you--for life. "

"To be always alone, Harry; to have none that come to me and scold me, and love me, and sometimes make me smile! You will scold me at any rate;will you not? It is terrible to have no one near one that will speak toone with the old easiness of familiar affection. And then the pretenceof it where it does not, cannot, could not, exist! Oh, that woman, Harry; that woman who comes here and calls me Julie! And she has got meto promise too that I would call her Sophie! I know that you despise mebecause she comes here. Yes; I can see it. You said at once that she wasnot wholesome, with your dear outspoken honesty. "

"It was your word. "

"And she is not wholesome, whosever word it was. She was there, hangingabout him when he was so bad, before the worst came. She read novels tohim--books that I never saw, and played ecarte with him for what shecalled gloves. I believe in my heart she was spying me, and I let hercome and go as she would, because I would not seem to be afraid of her. So it grew. And once or twice she was useful to me. A woman, Harry, wants to have a woman near her sometimes--even though it be such anunwholesome creature as Sophie Gordeloup. You must not think too badlyof me on her account. "

"I will not; I will not think badly of you at all. "

"He is better, is he not? I know little of him or nothing, but he has amore reputable outside than she has. Indeed I liked him. He had knownLord Ongar well; and though he did not toady him nor was afraid of him, yet he was gentle and considerate. Once to me he said words that I wascalled on to resent; but he never repeated them, and I know that he wasprompted by him who should have protected me. It is too bad, Harry, isit not? Too bad almost to be believed by such as you. "

"It is very bad, " said Harry. 

"After that he was always courteous; and when the end came and thingswere very terrible, he behaved well and kindly. He went in and outquietly, and like an old friend. He paid for everything, and was useful. I know that even this made people talk--yes, Harry, even at such amoment as that! But in spite of the talking I did better with him thenthan I could have done without him. "

"He looks like a man who could be kind if he chooses. "

"He is one of those, Harry, who find it easy to be good-natured, and whoare soft by nature, as cats are--not from their heart, but throughinstinctive propensity to softness. When it suits them, they scratch, even though they have been ever so soft before. Count Pateroff is a cat. You, Harry, I think are a dog. " She perhaps expected that he wouldpromise to her that he would be her dog--a dog in constancy andaffection; but he was still mindful in part of Florence, and restrainedhimself. 

"I must tell you something further, " she said. "And indeed it is thisthat I particularly want to tell you. I have not seen him, you know, since I parted with him at Florence. "

"I did not know, " said Harry. 

"I thought I had told you. However, so it is. And now, listen: He camedown to Ongar Park the other day while I was there, and sent in hiscard. When I refused to receive him, he wrote to me pressing his visit. I still declined, and he wrote again. I burned his note, because I didnot choose that anything from him should be in my possession. He told mesome story about papers of Lord Ongar. I have nothing to do with LordOngar's papers. Everything of which I knew was sealed up in the count'spresence and in mine, and was sent to the lawyers for the executors. Ilooked at nothing; not at one word in a single letter. What could hehave to say to me of Lord Ongar's papers?"

"Or he might have written?"

"At any rate he should not have come there, Harry. I would not see him, nor, if I can help it, will I see him here. I will be open with you, Harry. I think that perhaps it might suit him to make me his wife. Suchan arrangement, however, would not suit me. I am not going to befrightened into marrying a man, because he has been falsely called mylover. If I cannot escape the calumny in any other way, I will notescape it in that way. "

"Has he said anything?"

"No; not a word. I have not seen him since the day after Lord Ongar'sfuneral. But I have seen his sister. "

"And has she proposed such a thing?"

"No, she has not proposed it. But she talks of it, saying that it wouldnot do. Then when I tell her that of course it would not do, she showsme all that would make it expedient. She is so sly and so false, thatwith all my eyes open I cannot quite understand her, or quite know whatshe is doing. I do not feel sure that she wishes it herself. "

"She told me that it would not do. "

"She did, did she? If she speaks of it again, tell her that she isright, that it will never do. Had he not come down to Ongar Park, Ishould not have mentioned this to you. I should not have thought that hehad in truth any such schemes in his head. He did not tell you that hehad been there?"

"He did not mention it. Indeed, he said very little about you at all. "

"No, he would not. He is cautious. He never talks of anybody to anybody. He speaks only of the outward things of the world. Now, Harry, what youmust do for me is this. " As she was speaking to him she was leaningagain upon the table, with her forehead resting upon her hands. Hersmall widow's cap had become thus thrust back, and was now nearly offher head, so that her rich brown hair was to be seen in its fullluxuriance, rich and lovely as it had ever been. Could it be that shefelt--half thought, half felt, without knowing that she thought it--thatwhile the signs of her widowhood were about her, telling in their tooplain language the tale of what she had been, he could not dare to speakto her of his love? She was indeed a widow, but not as are other widows. She had confessed, did hourly confess to herself, the guilt which shehad committed in marrying that man; but the very fact of suchconfessions, of such acknowledgment, absolved her from the necessity ofany show of sorrow. When she declared how she had despised and hated herlate lord, she threw off mentally all her weeds. Mourning, theappearance even of mourning, became impossible to her, and the cap uponher head was declared openly to be a sacrifice to the world'srequirements. It was now pushed back, but I fancy that nothing like athought on the matter had made itself plain to her mind. "What you mustdo for me is this, " she continued. "You must see Count Pateroff again, and tell him from me--as my friend--that I cannot consent to see him. Tell him that if he will think of it, he must know the reason why. "

"Of course he will know. "

"Tell him what I say, all the same; and tell him that as I have hithertohad cause to be grateful to him for his kindness, so also I hope he willnot put an end to that feeling by anything now, that would not be kind. If there be papers of Lord Ongar's, he can take them either to mylawyers, if that be fit, or to those of the family. You can tell himthat, can you not?"

"Oh, yes; I can tell him. "

"And have you any objection?"

"None for myself. But would it not come better from some one else?"

"Because you are a young man, you mean? Whom else can I trust, Harry? Towhom can I go? Would you have me to ask Hugh to do this? Or, wouldArchie Clavering be a proper messenger? Whom else have I?"

"Would not his sister be better?"

"How should I know that she had told him? She would tell him her ownstory--what she herself wished. And whatever story she told, he wouldnot believe it. They know each other better than you and I know them. Itmust be you, Harry, if you will do it. "

"Of course I will. I will try to-morrow. Where does he live?"

"How should I know? Perhaps nobody knows; no one, perhaps, of all thosewith whom he associates constantly. They do not live after our fashion, do they, these foreigners? But you will find him at his club, or hear ofhim at the house in Mount Street. You will do it; eh, Harry?"

"I will. "

"That is my good Harry. But I suppose you would do anything I asked you. Ah, well; it is good to have one friend, if one has no more. Look, Harry! if it is not near eleven o'clock! Did you know that you had beenhere nearly three hours? And I have given you nothing but a cup of tea!"

"What else do you think I have wanted?"

"At your club you would have had cigars and brandy-and-water, andbilliards, and broiled bones, and oysters, and tankards of beer. I knowall about it. You have been very patient with me. If you go quickperhaps you will not be too late for the tankards and the oysters. "

"I never have any tankards or any oysters. "

"Then it is cigars and brandy-and-water. Go quick, and perhaps you maynot be too late. "

"I will go, but not there. I cannot change my thoughts so suddenly. "

"Go, then; and do not change your thoughts. Go and think of me, and pityme. Pity me for what I have got, but pity me most for what I have lost. "Harry silently took her hand, and kissed it, and then left her. 

Pity her for what she had lost! What had she lost! What did she mean bythat? He knew well what she meant by pitying her for what she had got. What had she lost? She had lost him. Did she intend to evoke his pityfor that loss? She had lost him. Yes, indeed. Whether or no the loss wasone to regret, he would not say to himself; or rather, he, of course, declared that it was not; but such as it was, it had been incurred. Hewas now the property of Florence Burton, and, whatever happened, hewould be true to her. 

Perhaps he pitied himself also. If so, it is to be hoped that Florencemay never know of such pity. Before he went to bed, when he was prayingon his knees, he inserted it in his prayers that God in whom he believedmight make him true in his faith to Florence Burton. 

Chapter XVII

The Rivals

Lady Ongar sat alone, long into the night, when Harry Clavering had lefther. She sat there long, getting up occasionally from her seat, once ortwice attempting to write at her desk, looking now and then at a paperor two, and then at a small picture which she had, but passing the longhours in thinking--in long, sad, solitary thoughts. What should she dowith herself--with herself, her title, and her money? Would it be stillwell that she should do something, that she should make some attempt; orshould she, in truth, abandon all, as the arch-traitor did, andacknowledge that for her foot there could no longer be a resting-placeon the earth? At six-and-twenty, with youth, beauty and wealth at hercommand, must she despair? But her youth had been stained, her beautyhad lost its freshness, and as for her wealth, had she not stolen it?Did not the weight of the theft sit so heavy on her, that her brightestthought was one which prompted her to abandon it?

As to that idea of giving up her income and her house, and callingherself again Julia Brabazon, though there was something in the poetryof it which would now and again for half an hour relieve her, yet shehardly proposed such a course to herself as a reality. The world inwhich she had lived had taught her to laugh at romance, to laugh at iteven while she liked its beauty; and she would tell herself that forsuch a one as her to do such a thing as this, would be to insure forherself the ridicule of all who knew her name. What would Sir Hugh say, and her sister? What Count Pateroff and the faithful Sophie? What allthe Ongar tribe, who would reap the rich harvest of her insanity? Theselatter would offer to provide her a place in some convenient asylum, andthe others would all agree that such would be her fitting destiny. Shecould bear the idea of walking forth, as she had said, penniless intothe street, without a crust; but she could not bear the idea of beinglaughed at when she got there. 

To her, in her position, her only escape was by marriage. It was thesolitude of her position which maddened her: its solitude, or thenecessity of breaking that solitude by the presence of those who wereodious to her. Whether it were better to be alone, feeding on thebitterness of her own thoughts, or to be comforted by the fulsomeflatteries and odious falsenesses of Sophie Gordeloup, she could nottell. She hated herself for her loneliness, but she hated herself almostworse for submitting herself to the society of Sophie Gordeloup. Why notgive all that she possessed to Harry Clavering--herself, her income, herrich pastures and horses and oxen, and try whether the world would notbe better to her when she had done so. 

She had learned to laugh at romance, but still she believed in love. While that bargain was going on as to her settlement, she had laughed atromance, and had told herself that in this world worldly prosperity waseverything. Sir Hugh then had stood by her with truth, for he had wellunderstood the matter, and could enter into it with zest. Lord Ongar, inhis state of health, had not been in a position to make closestipulations as to the dower in the event of his proposed wife becominga widow. "No, no; we wont stand that, " Sir Hugh had said to the lawyers. "We all hope, of course, that Lord Ongar may live long; no doubt he'llturn over a new leaf and die at ninety. But in such a case as this thewidow must not be fettered. " The widow had not been fettered, and Juliahad been made to understand the full advantage of such an arrangement. But still she had believed in love when she had bade farewell to Harryin the garden. She had told herself then, even then, that she would havebetter liked to have taken him and his love--if only she could haveafforded it. He had not dreamed that in leaving him she had gone fromhim to her room, and taken out his picture--the same that she had withher now in Bolton Street--and had kissed it, bidding him farewell therewith a passion which she could not display in his presence. And she hadthought of his offer about the money over and over again. "Yes, " shewould say, "that man loved me. He would have given me all he had torelieve me, though nothing was to come to him in return. " She had, atany rate been loved once; and she almost wished that she had taken themoney, that she might now have an opportunity of repaying it. 

And she was again free, and her old lover was again by her side. Hadthat fatal episode in her life been so fatal that she must now regardherself as tainted and unfit for him? There was no longer anything toseparate them--anything of which she was aware, unless it was that. Andas for his love--did he not look and speak as though he loved her still?Had he not pressed her hand passionately, and kissed it, and once morecalled her Julia? How should it be that he should not love her? In sucha case as his, love might have been turned to hatred or to enmity; butit was not so with him. He called himself her friend. How could there befriendship between them without love?

And then she thought how much with her wealth she might do for him. Withall his early studies and his talent, Harry Clavering was not the man, she thought, to make his way in the world by hard work; but with such anincome as she could give him, he might shine among the proud ones of hisnation. He should go into Parliament, and do great things. He should belord of all. It should all be his without a word of reserve. She hadbeen mercenary once, but she would atone for that now by open-handed, undoubting generosity. She herself had learned to hate the house andfields and widespread comforts of Ongar Park. She had walked among itall alone, and despised. But it would be a glory to her to see him goforth, with Giles at his heels, boldly giving his orders, changing thisand improving that. He would be rebuked for no errors, let him do withEnoch Gubby and the rest of them what he pleased! And then the parson'swife would be glad enough to come to her, and the house would be full ofsmiling faces. And it might be that God would be good to her, and thatshe would have treasures, as other women had them, and that the flavorwould come back to the apples, and, that the ashes would cease to gratebetween her teeth. 

She loved him, and why should it not be so? She could go before God'saltar with him without disgracing herself with a lie. She could put herhand in his, and swear honestly that she would worship him and obey him. She had been dishonest; but if he would pardon her for that, could shenot reward him richly for such pardon? And it seemed to her that he hadpardoned her. He had forgiven it all and was gracious to her--coming ather beck and call, and sitting with her as though he liked her presence. She was woman enough to understand this, and she knew that he liked it. Of course he loved her. How could it be otherwise?

But yet he spoke nothing to her of his love. In the old days there hadbeen with him no bashfulness of that kind. He was not a man to trembleand doubt before a woman. In those old days he had bean ready enough--soready, that she had wondered that one who had just come from his booksshould know so well how to make himself master of a girl's heart. Naturehad given him that art, as she does give it to some, withholding it frommany. But now he sat near her, dropping once and again half words oflove, hearing her references to the old times; and yet he said nothing. 

But how was he to speak of love to one who was a widow but of fourmonths' standing? And with what face could he now again ask for herhand, knowing that it had been filled so full since last it was refusedto him? It was thus she argued to herself when she excused him in thathe did not speak to her. As to her widowhood, to herself it was a thingof scorn. Thinking of it, she cast her weepers from her, and walkedabout the room, scorning the hypocrisy of her dress. It needed that sheshould submit herself to this hypocrisy before the world; but he mightknow--for had she not told him?--that the clothes she wore were no indexof her feeling or of her heart. She had been mean enough, base enough, vile enough, to sell herself to that wretched lord. Mean, base, and vileshe had been, and she now confessed it; but she was not false enough topretend that she mourned the man as a wife mourns. Harry might have seenenough to know, have understood enough to perceive, that he need notregard her widowhood. 

And as to her money! if that were the stumbling-block, might it not bewell that the first overture should come from her? Could she not findwords to tell him that it might all be his? Could she not say to him, "Harry Clavering, all this is nothing in my hands. Take it into yourhands, and it will prosper. " Then, it was that she went to her desk, andattempted to write to him. She did write to him a completed note, offering herself and all that was hers for his acceptance. In doing so, she strove hard to be honest and yet not over bold; to be affectionateand yet not unfeminine. Long she sat, holding her head with one hand, while the other attempted to use the pen which would not move over thepaper. At length, quickly it flew across the sheet, and a few lines werethere for her to peruse. 

"Harry Clavering, " she had written, "I know I am doing what men andwomen say no woman should do. You may, perhaps, say so of me now; but ifyou do, I know you so well, that I do not fear that others will be ableto repeat it. Harry, I have never loved any one but you. Will you be myhusband? You well know that I should not make you this offer if I didnot intend that everything I have should be yours. It will be pleasantto me to feel that I can make some reparation for the evil I have done. As for love, I have never loved any one but you. You yourself must knowthat well. Yours, altogether, if you will have it so--JULIA. "

She took the letter with her back across the room to her seat by thefire, and took with her at the same time the little portrait; and thereshe sat, looking at the one and reading the other. At last she slowlyfolded the note up into a thin wisp of paper, and, lighting the end ofit, watched it till every shred of it was burnt to an ash. "If he wantsme, " she said, "he can come and take me--as other men do. " It was afearful attempt, that which she had thought of making. How could shehave looked him in the face again had his answer to her been a refusal?

Another hour went by before she took herself to her bed, during whichher cruelly used maiden was waiting for her half asleep in the chamberabove; and during that time she tried to bring herself to some steadyresolve. She would remain in London for the coming months, so that hemight come to her if he pleased. She would remain there, even though shewere subject to the daily attacks of Sophie Gordeloup. She hardly knewwhy, but in part she was afraid of Sophie. She had done nothing of whichSophie knew the secret. She had no cause to tremble because Sophie mightbe offended. The woman had seen her in some of her saddest moments, andcould indeed tell of indignities which would have killed some women. Butthese she had borne, and had not disgraced herself in the bearing ofthem. But still she was afraid of Sophie, and felt that she could notbring herself absolutely to dismiss her friend from her house. Nevertheless, she would remain; because Harry Clavering was in Londonand could come to her there. To her house at Ongar Park she would nevergo again, unless she went as his wife. The place had become odious toher. Bad as was her solitude in London, with Sophie Gordeloup to breakit, and, perhaps, with Sophie's brother to attack her, it was not so badas the silent desolation of Ongar Park. Never again would she go there, unless she went there, in triumph--as Harry's wife. Having so farresolved, she took herself at last to her room, and dismissed her drowsyPhoebe to her rest. 

And now the reader must be asked to travel down at once into thecountry, that he may see how Florence Burton passed the same evening atClavering Rectory. It was Florence's last night there, and on thefollowing morning she was to return to her father's house at Stratton. Florence had not as yet received her unsatisfactory letter from Harry. That was to arrive on the following morning. At present she was, asregarded her letters, under the influence of that one which had beensatisfactory in so especial a degree. Not that the coming letter--theone now on its route--was of a nature to disturb her comfortpermanently, or to make her in any degree unhappy. "Dear fellow; he mustbe careful, he is overworking himself. " Even the unsatisfactory letterwould produce nothing worse than this from her; but now, at the momentof which I am writing, she was in a paradise of happy thoughts. 

Her visit to Clavering had been in every respect successful. She hadbeen liked by every one, and every one in return had been liked by her. Mrs. Clavering had treated her as though she were a daughter. The Rectorhad made her pretty presents, had kissed her, and called her his child. With Fanny she had formed a friendship which was to endure for ever, letdestiny separate them how it might. Dear Fanny! She had had a wonderfulinterview respecting Fanny on this very day, and was at this momentdisquieting her mind because she could not tell her friend what hadhappened without a breach of confidence! She had learned a great deal atClavering, though in most matters of learning she was a betterinstructed woman than they were whom she had met. In general knowledgeand in intellect she was Fanny's superior, though Fanny Clavering was nofool; but Florence, when she came thither, had lacked something whichliving in such a house had given to her; or, I should rather say, something had been given to her of which she would greatly feel thewant, if it could be again taken from her. Her mother was as excellent awoman as had ever sent forth a family of daughters into the world, and Ido not know that any one ever objected to her as being ignorant, orspecially vulgar; but the house in Stratton was not like ClaveringRectory in the little ways of living, and this Florence Burton had beenclever enough to understand. She knew that a sojourn under such a roof;with such a woman as Mrs. Clavering, must make her fitter to be Harry'swife; and, therefore, when they pressed her to come again in the Autumn, she said that she thought she would. She could understand, too, thatHarry was different in many things from the men who had married hersisters, and she rejoiced that it was so. Poor Florence! Had he beenmore like them it might have been safer for her. 

But we must return for a moment to the wonderful interview which hasbeen mentioned. Florence, during her sojourn at Clavering, had becomeintimate with Mr. Saul, as well as with Fanny. She had given herself forthe time heartily to the schools, and matters had so far progressed withher that Mr. Saul had on one occasion scolded her soundly. "It's a greatsign that he thinks well of you, " Fanny had said. "It was the only signhe ever gave me, before he spoke to me in that sad strain. " On theafternoon of this, her last day at Clavering, she had gone over toCumberly Green with Fanny, to say farewell to the children, and walkedback by herself; as Fanny had not finished her work. When she was stillabout half a mile from the Rectory, she met Mr. Saul, who was on his wayout to the Green. 

"I knew I should meet you, " he said, "so that I might say good-by. "

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Saul--for I am going, in truth, to-morrow. "

"I wish you were staying. I wish you were going to remain with us. Having you here is very pleasant, and you do more good here, perhaps, than you will elsewhere. "

"I will not allow that. You forget that I have a father and mother. "

"Yes; and you will have a husband soon. "

"No, not soon; some day, perhaps, if all goes well. But I mean to beback here often before that. I mean to be here in October, just for alittle visit, if mamma can spare. "

"Miss Burton, " he said, speaking in a very serious tone--. All his toneswere serious, but that which he now adopted was more solemn than usual. "I wish to consult you on a certain matter, if you can give me fiveminutes of your time. "

"To consult me, Mr. Saul?"

"Yes, Miss Burton. I am hard pressed at present, and I know no one elseof whom I can ask a certain question, if I cannot ask it of you. I thinkthat you will answer me truly, if you answer me at all. I do not thinkyou would flatter me, or tell me an untruth. "

"Flatter you! How could I flatter you?"

"By telling me--; but I must ask you my question first. You and FannyClavering are dear friends now. You tell each other everything. "

"I do not know, " said Florence, doubting as to what she might best say, but guessing something of that which was coming. 

"She will have told you, perhaps, that I asked her to be my wife. Didshe ever tell you that?" Florence looked into his face for a few momentswithout answering him, not knowing how to answer such a question. "Iknow that she has told you, " said he. "I can see that it is so. "

"She has told me, " said Florence. 

"Why should she not? How could she be with you so many hours, and nottell you that of which she could hardly fail to have the remembranceoften present with her. If I were gone from here, if I were not beforeher eyes daily, it might be otherwise; but seeing me as she does fromday to day, of course she has spoken of me to her friend. "

"Yes, Mr. Saul; she has told me of it. "

"And now, will you tell me whether I may hope. "

"Mr. Saul!"

"I want you to betray no secret, but I ask you for your advice. Can Ihope that she will ever return my love?"

"How am I to answer you?"

"With the truth. Only with the truth. "

"I should say that she thinks that you have forgotten it. "

"Forgotten it! No, Miss Burton; she cannot think that. Do you believethat men or women can forget such things as that? Can you ever forgether brother? Do you think people ever forget when they have loved? No, Ihave not forgotten her. I have not forgotten that walk which we had downthis lane together. There are things which men never forget. " Then hepaused for an answer. 

Florence was by nature steady and self-collected, and she at once feltthat she was bound to be wary before she gave him any answer. She hadhalf fancied once or twice that Fanny thought more of Mr. Saul than sheallowed even herself to know. And Fanny, when she had spoken of theimpossibility of such a marriage, had always based the impossibility onthe fact that people should not marry without the means of living--areason which to Florence, with all her prudence, was not sufficient. Fanny might wait as she also intended to wait. Latterly, too, Fanny haddeclared more than once to Florence her conviction that Mr. Saul'spassion had been a momentary insanity which had altogether passed away;and in these declarations Florence had half fancied that she discoveredsome tinge of regret. If it were so, what was she now to say to Mr. Saul?

"You think then, Miss Burton, " he continued, "that I have no chance ofsuccess? I ask the question because if I felt certain that this was soquite certain--I should be wrong to remain here. It has been my firstand only parish, and I could not leave it without bitter sorrow. But ifI were to remain here hopelessly, I should become unfit for my work. Iam becoming so, and shall be better away. "

"But why ask me, Mr. Saul?"

"Because I think that you can tell me. "

"But why not ask herself? Who can tell you so truly as she can do?"

"You would not advise me to do that if you were sure that she wouldreject me?"

"That is what I would advise. "

"I will take your advice, Miss Burton. Now, good-by, and may God blessyou. You say you will be here in the Autumn; but before the Autumn Ishall probably have left Clavering. If so our farewells will be for verylong, but I shall always remember our pleasant intercourse here. " Thenhe went on toward Cumberly Green; and Florence, as she walked into thevicarage grounds was thinking that no girl had ever been loved by a moresingle-hearted, pure-minded gentleman than Mr. Saul. 

As she sat alone in her bed-room, five or six hours after thisinterview, she felt some regret that she should leave Clavering withouta word to Fanny on the subject. Mr. Saul had exacted no promise ofsecresy from her; he was not a man to exact such promises. But she feltnot the less that she would be betraying confidence to speak, and itmight even be that her speaking on the matter would do more harm thangood. Her sympathies were doubtless with Mr. Saul, but she could nottherefore say that she, thought Fanny ought to accept his love. It wouldbe best to say nothing of the matter, and to allow Mr. Saul to fight hisown battle. 

Then she turned to her own matters, and there she found that everythingwas pleasant. How good the world had been to her to give her such alover as Harry Clavering! She owned with all her heart the excellence ofbeing in love when a girl might be allowed to call such a man her own. She could not but make comparisons between him and Mr. Saul, though sheknew that she was making them on points that were hardly worthy of herthoughts. Mr. Saul was plain, uncouth, with little that was bright abouthim except the brightness of his piety. Harry was like the morning star. He looked and walked and spoke as though he were something more godlikethan common men. His very voice created joy, and the ring of hislaughter was to Florence as the music of the heavens. What woman wouldnot have loved Harry Clavering? Even Julia Brabazon--a creature so basethat she had sold herself to such a thing as Lord Ongar for money and atitle, but so grand in her gait and ways, so Florence had been told, that she seemed to despise the earth on which she trod--even she hadloved him. Then as Florence thought of what Julia Brabazon might havehad and of what she had lost, she wondered that there could be womenborn so sadly vicious. 

But that woman's vice had given her her success, her joy, her greattriumph! It was surely not for her to deal hardly with the faults ofJulia Brabazon--for her who was enjoying all the blessings of whichthose faults had robbed the other! Julia Brabazon had been her very goodfriend. 

But why had this perfect lover come to her, to one so small, sotrifling, so little in the world's account as she, and given to her allthe treasure of his love? Oh, Harry--dear Harry! what could she do forhim that would be a return good enough for such great goodness? Then shetook out his last letter, that satisfactory letter, that letter that hadbeen declared to be perfect, and read it and read it again. No; she didnot want Fanny or any one else to tell her that he was true. Honesty andtruth were written on every line of his face, were to be heard in everytone of his voice, could be seen in every sentence that came from hishand. Dear Harry; dearest Harry! She knew well that he was true. 

Then she also sat down and wrote to him, on that her last night beneathhis father's roof--wrote to him when she had nearly prepared herself forher bed; and honestly, out of her full heart, thanked him for his love. There was no need that she should be coy with him now, for she was hisown. "Dear Harry, when I think of all that you have done for me inloving me and choosing me for your wife, I know that I can never pay youall that I owe you. "

Such were the two rival claimants for the hand of Harry Clavering. 

Chapter XVIII

"Judge Not That Ye Be Not Judged"

A week had passed since the evening which Harry had spent in BoltonStreet, and he had not again seen Lady Ongar. He had professed tohimself that his reason for not going there was the non-performance ofthe commission which Lady Ongar had given him with reference to CountPateroff. He had not yet succeeded in catching the Count, though he hadtwice asked for him in Mount Street and twice at the club in Pall Mall. It appeared that the Count never went to Mount Street, and was veryrarely seen at the club. There was some other club which he frequented, and Harry did not know what club. On both the occasions of Harry'scalling in Mount Street, the servant had asked him to go up and seemadame; but he had declined to do so, pleading that he was hurried. Hewas, however, driven to resolve that he must go direct to Sophie, asotherwise he could find no means of doing as he had promised. Sheprobably might put him on the scent of her brother. 

But there had been another reason why Harry had not gone to BoltonStreet, though he had not acknowledged it to himself. He did not dare totrust himself with Lady Ongar. He feared that he would be led on tobetray himself and to betray Florence--to throw himself at Julia's feetand sacrifice his honesty, in spite of all his resolutions to thecontrary. He felt when there as the accustomed but repentantdram-drinker might feel, when, having resolved to abstain, he is calledupon to sit with the full glass offered before his lips. From suchtemptations as that the repentant dram-drinker knows that he must fly. But though he did not go after the fire-water of Bolton Street, neitherwas he able to satisfy himself with the cool fountain of OnslowCrescent. He was wretched at this time--ill-satisfied with himself andothers--and was no fitting companion for Cecilia Burton. The world, hethought, had used him ill. He could have been true to Julia Brabazonwhen she was well-nigh penniless. It was not for her money that he hadregarded her. Had he been now a free man--free from those chains withwhich he had fettered himself at Stratton--he would again have askedthis woman for her love, in spite of her past treachery; but it wouldhave been for her love, and not for her money, that he would have soughther. Was it his fault that he had loved her, that she had been false tohim, and that she had now come back and thrown herself before him? orhad he been wrong because he had ventured to think that he loved anotherwhen Julia had deserted him? Or could he help himself if he now foundthat his love in truth belonged to her whom he had known first? Theworld had been very cruel to him, and he could not go to OnslowCrescent, and behave there prettily, hearing the praises of Florencewith all the ardor of a discreet lover. 

He knew well what would have been his right course, and yet he did notfollow it. Let him but once communicate to Lady Ongar the fact of hisengagement, and the danger would be over, though much, perhaps, of themisery might remain. Let him write to her, and mention the fact, bringing it up as some little immaterial accident, and she wouldunderstand what he meant. But this he abstained from doing. Though heswore to himself that he would not touch the dram, he would not dashdown the full glass that was held to his lips. He went about the townvery wretchedly, looking for the Count, and regarding himself as a manspecially marked out for sorrow by the cruel hand of misfortune. LadyOngar, in the meantime, was expecting him, and was waxing angry andbecoming bitter toward him because he came not. 

Sir Hugh Clavering was now in London, and with him was his brotherArchie. Sir Hugh was a man who strained an income, that was handsome andsufficient for a country gentleman, to the very utmost, wanting to getout of it more than it could be made to give. He was not a man to be indebt, or indulge himself with present pleasures to be paid for out ofthe funds of future years. He was possessed of a worldly wisdom whichkept him from that folly, and taught him to appreciate fully the valueof independence. But he was ever remembering how many shillings thereare in a pound, and how many pence in a shilling. He had a great eye todiscount, and looked closely into his bills. He searched for cheapshops; and some men began to say of him that he had found a cheapestablishment for such wines as he did not drink himself! In playingcards and in betting, he was very careful, never playing high, neverrisking much, but hoping to turn something by the end of the year, andangry with himself if he had not done so. An unamiable man he was, butone whose heir would probably not quarrel with him--if only he would diesoon enough. He had always had a house in town--a moderate house inBerkeley Square, which belonged to him, and had belonged to his fatherbefore him. Lady Clavering had usually lived there during the season;or, as had latterly been the case, during only a part of the season. Andnow it had come to pass, in this year, that Lady Clavering was not tocome to London at all, and that Sir Hugh was meditating whether thehouse in Berkeley Square might not be let. The arrangement would makethe difference of considerably more than a thousand a year to him. Forhimself, he would take lodgings. He had no idea of giving up London inthe Spring and early Summer. But why keep up a house in Berkeley Square, as Lady Clavering did not use it?

He was partly driven to this by a desire to shake off the burden of hisbrother. When Archie chose to go to Clavering, the house was open tohim. That was the necessity of Sir Hugh's position, and he could notavoid it unless he made it worth his while to quarrel with his brother. Archie was obedient, ringing the bell when he was told, looking afterthe horses, spying about, and perhaps saving as much money as he cost. But the matter was very different in Berkeley Square. No elder brotheris bound to find breakfast and bed for a younger brother in London. Andyet, from his boyhood upward, Archie had made good his footing inBerkeley Square. In the matter of the breakfast, Sir Hugh had indeed, oflate, got the better of him. The servants were kept on board wages, andthere were no household accounts. But there was Archie's room, and SirHugh felt this to be a hardship. 

The present was not the moment for actually driving forth the intruder, for Archie was now up in London, especially under his brother'sauspices. And if the business on which Captain Clavering was now intentcould be brought to a successful issue, the standing in the world ofthat young man would be very much altered. Then he would be a brother ofwhom Sir Hugh might be proud--a brother who would pay his way, andsettle his points at whist if he lost them, even to a brother. If Archiecould induce Lady Ongar to marry him, he would not be called upon anylonger to ring the bells and look after the stable. He would have bellsof his own, and stables, too, and perhaps some captain of his own toring them and look after them. The expulsion, therefore, was not to takeplace till Archie should have made his attempt upon Lady Ongar. 

But Sir Hugh would admit of no delay, whereas Archie himself seemed tothink that the iron was not yet quite hot enough for striking. It wouldbe better, he had suggested, to postpone the work till Julia could becoaxed down to Clavering in the Autumn. He could do the work better, hethought; down at Clavering than in London. But Sir Hugh was altogetherof a different opinion. Though he had already asked his sister-in-law toClavering, when the idea had first come up, he was glad that she haddeclined the visit. Her coming might be very well, if she acceptedArchie; but he did not want to be troubled with any renewal of hisresponsibility respecting her, if, as was more probable, she shouldreject him. The world still looked askance at Lady Ongar, and Hugh didnot wish to take up the armor of a paladin in her favor. If Archiemarried her, Archie would be the paladin; though, indeed, in that case, no paladin would be needed. 

"She has only been a widow, you know, four months, " said Archie, pleading for delay. "It won't be delicate, will it?"

"Delicate!" said Sir Hugh. "I don't know whether there is much ofdelicacy in it at all. "

"I don't see why she isn't to be treated like any other woman. If youwere to die, you'd think it very odd if any fellow came up to Hermybefore the season was over. 

"Archie, you are a fool, " said Sir Hugh; and Archie could see, by hisbrother's brow, that Hugh was angry. "You say things that, for folly andabsurdity, are beyond belief. If you can't see the peculiarities ofJulia's position, I am not going to point them out to you. "

"She is peculiar, of course--having so much money, and that place nearGuilford, all her own for her life. Of course it's peculiar. But fourmonths, Hugh!"

"If it had been four days it need have made no difference. A home, withsome one to support her, is everything to her. If you wait till lots offellows are buzzing around her you won't have a chance. You'll find thatby this time next year she'll be the top of the fashion; and if notengaged to you, she will be to some one else. I shouldn't be surprisedif Harry were after her again. "

"He's engaged to that girl we saw down at Clavering. "

"What of that? Engagements can be broken as well as made. You have thisgreat advantage over every one, except him, that you can go to her atonce without doing anything out of the way. That girl that Harry has intow may perhaps keep him away for some time. "

"I tell you what, Hugh, you might as well call with me the first time. "

"So that I may quarrel with her, which I certainly should do--or, rather, she with me. No, Archie; if you're afraid to go alone, you'dbetter give it up. "

"Afraid! I'm not afraid!"

"She can't eat you. Remember that with her you needn't stand on your p'sand q's, as you would with another woman. She knows what she is about, and will understand what she has to get as well as what she is expectedto give. All I can say is, that if she accepts you, Hermy will consentthat she shall go to Clavering as much as she pleases till the marriagetakes place. It couldn't be done, I suppose, till after a year; and inthat case she shall be married at Clavering. "

Here was a prospect for Julia Brabazon--to be led to the same altar, atwhich she had married Lord Ongar, by Archie Clavering, twelve month'safter her first husband's death, and little more than two years afterher first wedding! The peculiarity of the position did not quite makeitself apparent either to Hugh or to Archie; but there was one pointwhich did suggest itself to the younger brother at that moment. 

"I don't suppose there was anything really wrong, eh?"

"Can't say, I'm sure, " said Sir Hugh. 

"Because I shouldn't like--"

"If I were you I wouldn't trouble myself about that. Judge not, that yoube not judged. "

"Yes, that's true, to be sure, " said Archie; and on that point he wentforth satisfied. 

Chapter XIX

Let Her Know That You're There

The job before him, in his attempt to win Lady Ongar, was a peculiarjob, and that Archie well knew. In some inexplicable manner he puthimself into the scales and weighed himself, and discovered his ownweight with fair accuracy. And he put her into the scales, and he foundthat she was much the heavier of the two. How he did this--how such menas Archie Clavering do do it--I cannot say; but they do weighthemselves, and know their own weight, and shove themselves aside asbeing too light for any real service in the world. This they do, thoughthey may fluster with their voices, and walk about with their noses inthe air, and swing their canes, and try to look as large as they may. They do not look large, and they know it; and, consequently, they ringthe bells, and look after the horses, and shove themselves on one side, so that the heavier weights may come forth and do the work. ArchieClavering, who had duly weighed himself, could hardly bring himself tobelieve that Lady Ongar would be fool enough to marry him! Seventhousand a year, with a park and farm in Surrey, and give it all tohim--him, Archie Clavering, who had, so to say, no weight at all! ArchieClavering, for one, could not bring himself to believe it. 

But yet Hermy, her sister, thought it possible; and though Hermy was, asArchie had found out by his invisible scales, lighter than Julia, stillshe must know something of her sister's nature. And Hugh, who was by nomeans light--who was a man of weight, with money and position, and firmground beneath his feet--he also thought that it might be so. "Faintheart never won a fair lady, " said Archie to himself a dozen times, ashe walked down to the Rag. The Rag was his club, and there was a friendthere whom he could consult confidentially. No; faint heart never won afair lady; but they who repeat to themselves that adage, trying therebyto get courage, always have faint hearts for such work. Harry Claveringnever thought of the proverb when he went a-wooing. 

But Captain Boodle of the Rag--for Captain Boodle always lived at theRag when he was not at Newmarket, or at other race-courses, or in theneighborhood of Market Harborough--Captain Boodle knew a thing or two, and Captain Boodle was his fast friend. He would go to Boodle andarrange the campaign with him. Boodle had none of that hectoring, domineering way which Hugh never quite threw off in his intercourse withhis brother. And Archie, as he went along, resolved that when LadyOngar's money was his, and when he had a countess for his wife, he wouldgive his elder brother a cold shoulder. 

Boodle was playing pool at the Rag, and Archie joined him; but pool is agame which hardly admits of confidential intercourse as to proposedwives, and Archie was obliged to remain quiet on that subject all theafternoon. He cunningly, however, lost a little money to Boodle, forBoodle liked to win, and engaged himself to dine at the same table withhis friend. Their dinner they ate almost in silence--unless when theyabused the cook, or made to each other some pithy suggestion as to theexpediency of this or that delicacy--bearing always steadily in view thecost as well as desirability of the viands. Boodle had no shame in nothaving this or that because it was dear. To dine with the utmost luxuryat the smallest expense was a proficiency belonging to him, and of whichhe was very proud. 

But after a while the cloth was gone, and the heads of the two men werebrought near together over the small table. Boodle did not speak a wordtill his brother captain had told his story, had pointed out all theadvantages to be gained, explained in what peculiar way the course layopen to himself, and made the whole thing clear to his friend's eye. 

"They say she's been a little queer, don't they?" said the friendlycounsellor. 

"Of course people talk, you know. "

"Talk, yes; they're talking a doosed sight, I should say. There's nomistake about the money, I suppose?"

"Oh, none, " said Archie, shaking his head vigorously. "Hugh managed allthat for her, so I know it. "

"She don't lose any of it because she enters herself for running again, does she?"

"Not a shilling. That's the beauty of it. "

"Was you ever sweet on her before?"

"What! before Ongar took her? O laws, no. She hadn't a rap, you know;and knew how to spend money as well as any girl in London. "

"It's all to begin then, Clavvy; all the up-hill work to be done?"

"Well, yes; I don't know about up-hill, Doodles. What do you mean byup-hill?"

"I mean that seven thousand a year ain't usually to be picked up merelyby trotting easy along the fiat. And this sort of work is very up-hill, generally, I take it--unless, you know, a fellow has a fancy for it. Ifa fellow is really sweet on a girl, he likes it, I suppose. "

"She's a doosed handsome woman, you know, Doodles. "

"I don't know anything about it, except that I suppose Ongar wouldn'thave taken her if she hadn't stood well on her pasterns, and had somebreeding about her. I never thought much of her sister--your brother'swife, you know--that is, in the way of looks. No doubt she runsstraight, and that's a great thing. She won't go the wrong side of thepost. "

"As for running straight, let me alone for that. "

"Well, now, Clavvy, I'll tell you what my ideas are. When a man's tryinga young filly, his hands can't be too light. A touch too much will bringher on her haunches, or throw her out of her step. She should hardlyfeel the iron in her mouth. That's the sort of work which requires a manto know well what he's about. But when I've got to do with a trainedmare, I always choose that she shall know that I'm there! Do youunderstand me?"

"Yes; I understand you, Doodles. "

"I always choose that she shall know that I'm there. " And CaptainBoodle, as he repeated these manly words with a firm voice, put out hishands as though he were handling the horse's rein. "Their mouths arenever so fine then, and they generally want to be brought up to the bit, d'ye see?--up to the bit. When a mare has been trained to her work, andknows what she's at in her running, she's all the better for feeling afellow's hands as she's going. She likes it rather. It gives herconfidence, and makes her know where she is. And look here, Clavvy, whenshe comes to her fences, give her her head; but steady her first, andmake her know that you're there. Damme, whatever you do, let her knowthat you're there. There's nothing like it. She'll think all the more ofthe fellow that's piloting her. And look here, Clavvy; ride her withspurs. Always ride a trained mare with spurs. Let her know that they'reon; and if she tries to get her head, give 'em her. Yes, by George, give'em her. " And Captain Boodle, in his energy, twisted himself in hischair, and brought his heel round, so that it could be seen by Archie. Then he produced a sharp click with his tongue, and made the peculiarjerk with the muscle of his legs, whereby he was accustomed to evoke theagility of his horses. After that, he looked triumphantly at his friend. "Give 'em her, Clavvy, and she'll like you the better for it. She'llknow, then, that you mean it. "

It was thus that Captain Boodle instructed his friend Archie Claveringhow to woo Lady Ongar; and Archie, as he listened to his friend's wordsof wisdom, felt that he had learned a great deal. "That's the way I'lldo it, Doodles, " he said, "and upon my word I'm very much obliged toyou. "

"That's the way, you may depend on it. Let her know that you'rethere--let her know that you're there. She's done the filly work before, you see; and it's no good trying that again. "

Captain Clavering really believed that he had learned a good deal, andthat he now knew the way to set about the work before him. What sort ofspurs he was to use, and how he was to put them on, I don't think he didknow; but that was a detail as to which he did not think it necessary toconsult his adviser. He sat the whole evening in the smoking-room, verysilent, drinking slowly iced gin-and-water; and the more he drank, themore assured he felt that he now understood the way in which he was toattempt the work before him. "Let her know I'm there, " he said tohimself, shaking his head gently, so that no one should observe him;"yes, let her know I'm there. " At this time Captain Boodle--or Doodles, as he was familiarly called--had again ascended to the billiard-room, and was hard at work. "Let her know that I'm there, " repeated Archie, mentally. Everything was contained in, that precept. And he, with hishands before him on his knees, went through the process of steadying ahorse with the snaffle-rein, just touching the curb, as he did so, forsecurity. It was but a motion of his fingers, and no one could see it;but it made him confident that he had learned his lesson. "Up to thebit, " he repeated; "by George, yes, up to the bit. There's nothing likeit for a trained mare. Give her head, but steady her. " And Archie, asthe words passed across his memory, and were almost pronounced, seemedto be flying successfully over some prodigious fence. He leaned himselfback a little in the saddle, and seemed to hold firm with his legs. Thatwas the way to do it. 

And then the spurs! He would not forget the spurs. She should know thathe wore a spur, and that, if necessary, he would use it. Then he, too, gave a little click with his tongue, and an acute observer might haveseen the motion of his heel. 

Two hours after that he was still sitting in the smoking-room, chewingthe end of a cigar, when Doodles came down victorious from thebilliard-room. Archie was half asleep, and did not notice the entranceof his friend. "Let her know that you're there, " said Doodles, closeinto Archie Clavering's ear; "damme, let her know that you're there. "Archie started, and did not like the surprise, or the warm breath in hisear; but he forgave the offence for the wisdom of the words that hadbeen spoken. 

Then he walked home by himself, repeating again and again the invaluableteachings of his friend. 

During breakfast on the following day--which means from the hour of onetill two, for the glasses of iced gin-and-water had been many--ArchieClavering was making up his mind that he would begin at once. He wouldgo to Bolton Street on that day, and make an attempt to be admitted. Ifnot admitted to-day, he would make another attempt to-morrow; and, ifstill unsuccessful, he would write a letter--not a letter containing anoffer, which, according to Archie's ideas, would not be letting her knowthat he was there in a manner sufficiently potential; but a letter inwhich he would explain that he had very grave reasons for wishing to seehis near and dear connection, Lady Ongar. Soon after two he sallied out, and he also went to a hairdresser's. He was aware that in doing so hewas hardly obeying his friend to the letter, as this sort of operationwould come rather under the head of handling a filly with a light touch;but he thought that he could in this way, at any rate, do no harm, if hewould only remember the instructions he had received when in thepresence of the trained mare. 

Chapter XX

Captain Clavering Makes His First Attempt

It was nearly three when Archie Clavering found himself in BoltonStreet, having calculated that Lady Ongar might be more probably foundat home then than at a later hour. But when he came to the door, insteadof knocking, he passed by it. He began to remember that he had not yetmade up his mind by what means he would bring it about that she shouldcertainly know that he was there. So he took a little turn up thestreet, away from Piccadilly, through a narrow passage that there is inthose parts, and by some stables, and down into Piccadilly, and again toBolton Street, during which little tour he had made up his mind that itcould hardly become his duty to teach her that great lesson on thisoccasion. She must undoubtedly be taught to know that he was there, butnot so taught on this, his first visit. That lesson should quicklyprecede his offer; and, although he had almost hoped, in the intervalbetween two of his beakers of gin-and-water on the preceding evening, that he might ride the race and win it altogether during this verymorning visit he was about to make, in his cooler moments he had begunto reflect that that would hardly be practicable. The mare must get agallop before she would be in a condition to be brought out. So Archieknocked at the door, intending merely to give the mare a gallop if heshould find her in to-day. 

He gave his name, and was shown at once up into Lady Ongar'sdrawing-room. Lady Ongar was not there, but she soon came down, andentered the room with a smile on her face and with an outstretched hand. Between the man-servant who took the captain's name, and themaid-servant who carried it up to her mistress, but who did not see thegentleman before she did so, there had arisen some mistake; and LadyOngar, as she came down from her chamber above, expected that she was tomeet another man. Harry Clavering, she thought, had come to her at last. "I'll be down at once, " Lady Ongar had said, dismissing the girl, andthen standing for a moment before her mirror as she smoothed her hair, obliterated, as far as it might be possible, the ugliness of her cap, and shook out the folds of her dress. A countess, a widow, a woman ofthe world who had seen enough to make her composed under allcircumstances, one would say--a trained mare, as Doodles had calledher--she stood before her glass, doubting and trembling like a girl, when she heard that Harry Clavering was waiting for her below. We maysurmise that she would have spared herself some of this trouble had sheknown the real name of her visitor. Then, as she came slowly down thestairs, she reflected how she would receive him. He had stayed away fromher, and she would be cold to him--cold and formal as she had been onthe railway platform. She knew well how to play that part. Yes, it washis turn now to show some eagerness of friendship, if there was ever tobe anything more than friendship between them. But she changed all thisas she put her hand upon the look of the door. She would be honest tohim--honest and true. She was, in truth, glad to see him, and he shouldknow it. What cared she now for the common ways of women and the usualcoyness of feminine coquetry? She told herself also, in languagesomewhat differing from that which Doodles had used, that her filly dayswere gone by, and that she was now a trained mare. All this passedthrough her mind as her hand was on the door, and then she opened it, with a smiling face and ready hand, to find herself in the presenceof--Captain Archie Clavering. 

The captain was sharp-sighted enough to observe the change in hermanner. The change, indeed, was visible enough, and was such that it atonce knocked out of Archie's breast some portion of the courage withwhich his friend's lessons had inspired him. The outstretched hand fellslowly to her side, the smile gave place to a look of composed dignity, which made Archie at once feel that the fate which called upon him towoo a countess was in itself hard. And she walked slowly into the roombefore she spoke to him, or he to her. 

"Captain Clavering!" she said at last, and there was much more ofsurprise than of welcome in her words as she uttered them. 

"Yes, Lady On--, Julia, that is; I thought I might as well come andcall, as I found we weren't to see you at Clavering when we were allthere at Easter. " When she had been living in his brother's house as oneof the family, he had called her Julia as Hugh had done. The connectionbetween them had been close, and it had come naturally to him to do so. He had thought much of this since his present project had beeninitiated, and had strongly resolved not to lose the advantage of hisformer familiarity. He had very nearly broken down at the onset, but, as the reader will have observed, had recovered himself. 

"You are very good, " she said; and then, as he had been some timestanding with his right hand presented to her, she just touched it withher own. 

"There's nothing I hate so much as stuff and nonsense, " said Archie. Tothis remark she simply bowed, remaining awfully quiet. Captain Claveringfelt that her silence was in truth awful. She had always been good attalking, and he had paused for her to say something; but when she bowedto him in that stiff manner--"doosed stiff she was; doosed stiff, andimpudent, too, " he told Doodles afterward--he knew that he must go onhimself. "Stuff and nonsense is the mischief, you know. " Then she bowedagain. "There's been something the matter with them all down atClavering since you came home, Julia; but hang me if I can find out whatit is!" Still she was silent. "It ain't Hermy; that I must say. Hermyalways speaks of you as though there had never been anything wrong. "This assurance, we may say, must have been flattering to the lady whomhe was about to court. 

"Hermy was always too good to me, " said Lady Ongar, smiling. 

"By George, she always does. If there's anything wrong it's been withHugh; and, by George, I don't know what it is he was up to when youfirst came home. It wasn't my doing--of course you know that. "

"I never thought that anything was your doing, Captain Clavering. "

"I think Hugh had been losing money; I do indeed. He was like a bearwith a sore head just at that time. There was no living in the housewith him. I daresay Hermy may have told you all about that. "

"Hermione is not by nature so communicative as you are, CaptainClavering. "

"Isn't she? I should have thought between sisters--; but of coursethat's no business of mine. " Again she was silent, awfully silent, andhe became aware that he must either get up and go away or carry on theconversation himself. To do either seemed to be equally difficult, andfor a while he sat there almost gasping in his misery. He was quiteaware that as yet he had not made her know that he was there. He was notthere, as he well knew, in his friend Doodles' sense of the word. "Atany rate there isn't any good in quarrelling, is there, Julia?" he saidat last. Now that he had asked a question, surely she must speak. 

"There is great good sometimes, I think, " said she, "in people remainingapart and not seeing each other. Sir Hugh Clavering has not quarrelledwith me, that I am aware. Indeed, since my marriage there have been nomeans of quarrelling between us. But I think it quite as well that heand I should not come together. "

"But he particularly wants you to go to Clavering. "

"Has he sent you here as his messenger?"

"Sent me! oh dear no; nothing of that sort. I have come altogether on myown hook. If Hugh wants a messenger he must find some one else. But youand I were always friends you know"--at this assertion she opened herlarge eyes widely, and simply smiled--"and I thought that perhaps youmight be glad to see me if I called. That was all. "

"You are very good, Captain Clavering. "

"I couldn't bear to think that you should be here in London, and thatone shouldn't see anything of you or know anything about you. Tell menow; is there anything I can do for you? Do you want anybody to settleanything for you in the city?"

"I think not, Captain Clavering; thank you very much. "

"Because I should be so happy; I should indeed. There's nothing I shouldlike so much as to make myself useful in some way. Isn't there anythingnow? There must be so much to be looked after--about money and allthat. "

"My lawyer does all that, Captain Clavering. "

"Those fellows are such harpies. There is no end to their charges; andall for doing things that would only be a pleasure to me. "

"I'm afraid I can't employ you in any matter that would suit yourtastes. "

"Can't you indeed, now?" Then again there was a silence, and CaptainClavering was beginning to think that he must go. He was willing to workhard at talking or anything else; but he could not work if no ground forstarting were allowed to him. He thought he must go, though he was awarethat he had not made even the slightest preparation for future obedienceto his friend's precepts. He began to feel that he had commencedwrongly. He should have made her know that he was there from the firstmoment of her entrance into the room. He must retreat now in order thathe might advance with more force on the next occasion. He had just madeup his mind to this and was doubting how he might best get himself outof his chair with the purpose of going, when sudden relief came in theshape of another visitor. The door was thrown open and Madam Gordeloupwas announced. 

"Well, my angel, " said the little woman, running up to her friend andkissing her on either side of her face. Then she turned round as thoughshe had only just seen the strange gentleman, and curtseyed to him. Captain Clavering, holding his hat in both his hands, bowed to thelittle woman. 

"My sister's brother-in-law, Captain Clavering, " said Lady Ongar. "MadamGordeloup. "

Captain Clavering bowed again. "Ah, Sir Oo's brother, " said MadamGordeloup. "I am very glad to see Captain Clavering; and is your sistercome?"

"No; my sister is not come. "

"Lady Clavering is not in town this Spring, " said the captain. 

"Ah, not in town! Then I do pity her. There is only de one place to livein, and that is London, for April, May, and June. Lady Clavering is notcoming to London?"

"Her little boy isn't quite the thing, " said the captain. 

"Not quite de ting?" said the Franco-Pole in an inquiring voice, notexactly understanding the gentleman's language. 

"My little nephew is ill, and my sister does not think it wise to bringhim to London. "

"Ah; that is a pity. And Sir Oo? Sir Oo is in London?"

"Yes, " said the captain; "my brother has been up some time. "

"And his lady left alone in the country? Poor lady! But your Englishladies like the country. They are fond of the fields and the daisies. Sothey say; but I think often they lie. Me; I like the houses, and thepeople, and the pave. The fields are damp, and I love not rheumatism atall. " Then the little woman shrugged her shoulders and shook herself. "Tell us the truth, Julie; which do you like best, the town or thecountry?"

"Whichever I'm not in, I think. "

"Ah, just so. Whichever you are not in at present. That is because youare still idle. You have not settled yourself!" At this reference to thepossibility of Lady Ongar settling herself, Captain Clavering pricked uphis ears, and listened eagerly for what might come next. He only knew ofone way in which a young woman without a husband could settle herself. "You must wait, my dear, a little longer, just a little longer, till thetime of your trouble has passed by. "

"Don't talk such nonsense, Sophie, " said the countess. 

"Ah, my dear, it is no nonsense. I am always telling her, CaptainClavering, that she must go through this black, troublesome time asquick as she can; and then nobody will enjoy the town so much as de richand beautiful Lady Ongar. Is it not so, Captain Clavering?"

Archie thought that the time had now come for him to say somethingpretty, so that his love might begin to know that he was there. "ByGeorge, yes, there'll be nobody so much admired when she comes outagain. There never was anybody so much admired before--before--that is, when you were Julia Brabazon, you know; and I shouldn't wonder if youdidn't come out quite as strong as ever. "

"As strong!" said the Franco-Pole. "A woman that has been married isalways more admired than a meess. "

"Sophie, might I ask you and Captain Clavering to be a little lesspersonal?"

"There is noting I hate so much as your meeses, " continued MadamGordeloup; "noting! Your English meesses give themselves such airs. Nowin Paris, or in dear Vienna, or in St. Petersburg, they are not likethat at all. There they are nobodies--they are nobodies; but then theywill be something very soon, which is to be better. Your English meessis so much and so grand; she never can be greater and grander. So whenshe is a mamma, she lives down in the country by herself, and looksafter de pills and de powders. I don't like that. I don't like that atall. No; if my husband had put me into the country to look after depills and de powders, he should have had them all, all--himself, when hecame to see me. " As she said this with great energy, she opened her eyeswide, and looked full into Archie's face. 

Captain Clavering, who was sitting with his hat in his two hands betweenhis knees, stared at the little foreigner. He had heard before of womenpoisoning their husbands, but never had heard a woman advocate thesystem as expedient. Nor had he often heard a woman advocate any systemwith the vehemence which Madam Gordeloup now displayed on this matter, and with an allusion which was so very pointed to the special positionof his own sister-in-law. Did Lady Ongar agree with her? He felt asthough he should like to know his Julia's opinion on that matter. 

"Sophie, Captain Clavering will think that you are in earnest, " said thecountess, laughing. 

"So I aim--in earnest. It is all wrong. You boil all the water out of depot before you put the gigot into it. So the gigot is no good, is toughand dry, and you shut it up in an old house in the country. Then, tomake matters pretty, you talk about de fields and de daisies. I know. 'Thank you, ' we should say. 'De fields and de daisies are so nice and sogood! Suppose you go down, my love, and walk in de fields, and pick dedaisies, and send them up to me by de railway!' Yes, that is what Iwould say. "

Captain Clavering was now quite in the dark, and began to regard thelittle woman as a lunatic. When she spoke of the pot and the gigot hevainly endeavored to follow her; and now that she had got among thedaisies he was more at a loss than ever. Fruit, vegetables, and cutflowers came up, he knew, to London regularly from Clavering, when thefamily was in town--but no daisies. In France it must, he supposed, bedifferent. He was aware, however, of his ignorance, and said nothing. 

"No one ever did try to shut you up, Sophie!"

"No, indeed; M. Gordeloup knew better. What would he do if I were shutup? And no one will ever shut you up, my dear. If I were you, I wouldgive no one a chance. "

"Don't say that, " said the captain, almost passionately; "don't saythat. "

"Ha, ha! but I do say it. Why should a woman who has got everythingmarry again? If she wants de fields and de daisies she has got them ofher own--yes, of her own. If she wants de town, she has got that, too. Jewels--she can go and buy them. Coaches--there they are. Parties--one, two, three, every night, as many as she please. Gentlemen, who will beher humble slaves; such a plenty--all London. Or, if she want to bealone, no one can come near her. Why should she marry? No. "

"But she might be in love with somebody, " said the captain, in asurprised but humble tone. 

"Love! Bah! Be in love, so that she may be shut up in an old barrackwith de powders!" The way in which that word barrack was pronounced, andthe middle letters sounded, almost lifted the captain off his seat. "Love is very pretty at seventeen, when the imagination is telling aparcel of lies, and when life is one dream. To like people--oh, yes; tobe very fond of your friend;--oh, yes; to be most attached--as I am tomy Julie"--here she got hold of Lady Ongar's hand--"it is the salt oflife! But what you call love, booing and cooing, with rhymes and versesabout de moon, it is to go back to pap and panade, and what you callbibs. No; if a woman wants a house, and de something to live on, let hermarry a husband; or if a man want to have children, let him marry awife. But to be shut up in a country house, when everything you have gotof your own--I say it is bad"

Captain Clavering was heartily sorry that he had mentioned the fact ofhis sister-in-law being left at home at Clavering Park. It was mostunfortunate. How could he make it understood that if he were married hewould not think of shutting his wife up at Ongar Park? "Lady Clavering, you know, does come to London generally, " he said. 

"Bah!" exclaimed the little Franco-Pole. 

"And as for me, I never should be happy, if I were married, unless I hadmy wife with me everywhere, " said Captain Clavering. 

"Bah-ah-ah!" ejaculated the lady. 

Captain Clavering could not endure this any longer. He felt that themanner of the lady was, to say the least of it, unpleasant, and heperceived that he was doing no good to his own cause. So he rose fromhis chair and muttered some words with the intention of showing hispurpose of departure. 

"Good-by, Captain Clavering, " said Lady Ongar. "My love to my sisterwhen you see her. "

Archie shook hands with her and then made his bow to Madam Gordeloup. "Au revoir, my friend, " she said, "and you remember all I say. It is notgood for de wife to be alone in the country, while de husband walk aboutin the town and make an eye to every lady he see. " Archie would nottrust himself to renew the argument, but bowing again, made his way off. 

"He was come for one admirer, " said Sophie, as soon as the door wasclosed. 

"An admirer of whom?"

"Not of me; oh, no; I was not in danger at all. "

"Of me? Captain Clavering! Sophie, you get your head full of thestrangest nonsense. "

"Ah; very well. You see. What will you give me if I am right? Will youbet? Why had he got on his new gloves, and had his head all smellingwith stuff from de hair-dresser? Does he come always perfumed like that?Does he wear shiny little boots to walk about in de morning, and make aneye always? Perhaps yes. "

"I never saw his boots or his eyes. "

"But I see them. I see many things. He come to have Ongere Park for hisown. I tell you, yes. Ten thousand will come to have Ongere Park. Whynot? To have Ongere Park and all de money a man will make himself smella great deal. "

"You think much more about all that than is necessary. "

"Do I, my dear? Very well. There are three already. There is Edouard, and there is this Clavering, who you say is a captain; and there is theother Clavering who goes with his nose in the air, and who thinkshimself a clever fellow because he learned his lesson at school and didnot get himself whipped. He will be whipped yet some day--perhaps. "

"Sophie, hold your tongue. Captain Clavering is my sister'sbrother-in-law, and Harry Clavering is my friend. "

"Ah, friend! I know what sort of friend he wants to be. How much betterto have a park and plenty of money than to work in a ditch and make arailway! But he do not know the way with a woman. Perhaps he may be moreat home, as you say, in the ditch. I should say to him, 'My friend, youwill do well in de ditch if you work hard; suppose you stay there. '"

"You don't seem to like my cousin, and, if you please, we will talk nomore about him. "

"Why should I not like him? He don't want to get any money from me. "

"That will do, Sophie. "

"Very well; it shall do for me. But this other man that come hereto-day. He is a fool. "

"Very likely. "

"He did not learn his lesson without whipping. "

"Nor with whipping either. "

"No; he have learned nothing. He does not know what to do with his hat. He is a fool. Come, Julie, will you take me out for a drive. It ismelancholy for you to go alone; I came to ask you for a drive. Shall wego?" And they did go, Lady Ongar and Sophie Gordeloup together. LadyOngar, as she submitted, despised herself for her submission; but whatwas she to do? It is sometimes very difficult to escape from the meshesof friendship. 

Captain Clavering, when he left Bolton Street, went down to his club, having first got rid of his shining boots and new gloves. He saunteredup into the billiard-room knowing that his friend would be there, andthere he found Doodles with his coat off, the sleeves of his shirtturned back, and armed with his cue. His brother captain, the momentthat he saw him, presented the cue at his breast. "Does she know you'rethere, old fellow; I say, does she know you're there?" The room was fullof men, and the whole thing was done so publicly that Captain Claveringwas almost offended. 

"Come, Doodles, you go on with your game, " said he; "it's you toplay. " Doodles turned to the table, and scientifically pocketed the ballon which he played; then laid his own ball close under the cushion, picked up a shilling and put it into his waistcoat pocket, holding alighted cigar in his mouth the while, and then he came back to hisfriend. "Well, Clavvy, how has it been?"

"Oh, nothing as yet, you know. "

"Haven't you seen her?"

"Yes, I've seen her, of course. I'm not the fellow to let the grass growunder my feet. I've only just come from her house. "

"Well, well?"

"That's nothing much to tell the first day, you know. "

"Did you let her know you were there? That's the chat. Damme, did youlet her know you were there?"

In answer to this Archie attempted to explain that he was not as yetquite sure that he had been successful in that particular; but in themiddle of his story Captain Doodles was called off to exercise his skillagain, and on this occasion to pick up two shillings. "I'm sorry foryou, Griggs, " he said, as a very young lieutenant, whose last life hehad taken, put up his cue with a look of ineffable disgust, and whoseshilling Doodles had pocketed; "I'm sorry for you, very; but a fellowmust play the game, you know. " Whereupon Griggs walked out of the roomwith a gait that seemed to show that he had his own ideas upon thatmatter, though he did not choose to divulge them. Doodles instantlyreturned to his friend. "With cattle of that kind it's no use trying thewaiting dodge, " said he. "You should make your running at once, andtrust to bottom to carry you through. "

"But there was a horrid little Frenchwoman came in!"

"What; a servant?"

"No; a friend. Such a creature! You should have heard her talk. A kindof confidential friend she seemed, who called her Julie. I had to goaway and leave her there, of course. "

"Ah! you'll have to tip that woman. "

"What, with money?"

"I shouldn't wonder. "

"It would come very expensive. "

"A tenner now and then, you know. She would do your business for you. Give her a brooch first, and then offer to lend her the money. You'dfind she'll rise fast enough, if you're any hand for throwing a fly. "

"Oh! I could do it, you know. "

"Do it then, and let 'em both know that you're there. Yes, Parkyns, I'lldivide. And, Clavvy, you can come in now in Griggs' place. " Then CaptainClavering stripped himself for the battle. 

Chapter XXI

The Blue Posts

"Oh; so you've come to see me. I am so glad. " With these words SophieGordeloup welcomed Harry Clavering to her room in Mount Street early onemorning not long after her interview with Captain Archie in Lady Ongar'spresence. On the previous evening Harry had received a note from LadyOngar, in which she upbraided him for having left unperformed hercommission with reference to Count Pateroff. The letter had begun quiteabruptly. "I think it unkind of you that you do not come to me. I askedyou, to see a certain person on my behalf, and you have not done so. Twice he has been here. Once I was in truth out. He came again the nextevening at nine, and I was then ill, and had gone to bed. You understandit all, and must know how this annoys me. I thought you would have donethis for me, and I thought I should have seen you. --J. "

This note he found at his lodgings when he returned home at night, andon the following morning he went in his despair direct to Mount Street, on his way to the Adelphi. It was not yet ten o'clock when he was showninto Madam Gordeloup's presence, and as regarded her dress, he did notfind her to be quite prepared for morning visitors. But he might well beindifferent on that matter, as the lady seemed to disregard thecircumstance altogether. On her head she wore what he took to be anightcap, though I will not absolutely undertake to say that she hadslept in that very head-dress. There were frills to it, and a certainattempt at prettinesses had been made; but then the attempt had beenmade so long ago, and the frills were so ignorant of starch and allfrillish propensities, that it hardly could pretend to decency. A greatwhite wrapper she also wore, which might not have been objectionable hadit not been so long worn that it looked like a university collegesurplice at the end of a long vacation. Her slippers had all the easewhich age could give them, and above the slippers, neatness, to say theleast of it, did not predominate. But Sophie herself seemed to be quiteat her ease in spite of these deficiencies, and received our hero withan eager, pointed welcome, which I can hardly describe as affectionate, and which Harry did not at all understand. 

"I have to apologize for troubling you, " he began. 

"Trouble, what trouble? Bah! You give me no trouble. It is you have thetrouble to come here. You come early and I have not got my crinoline. Ifyou are contented, so am I. " Then she smiled, and sat herself downsuddenly, letting herself almost fall into her special corner in thesofa. "Take a chair, Mr. Harry; then we can talk more comfortable. "

"I want especially to see your brother. Can you give me his address?"

"What? Edouard--certainly; Travellers' Club. "

"But he is never there. "

"He sends every day for his letters. You want to see him. Why?"

Harry was at once confounded, having no answer. "A little privatebusiness, " he said. 

"Ah; a little private business. You do not owe him a little money, I amafraid, or you would not want to see him. Ha, ha! You write to him, andhe will see you. There; there is paper and pen and ink. He shall getyour letter this day. "

Harry, nothing suspicious, did as he was bid, and wrote a note in whichhe simply told the count he was specially desirous of seeing him. 

"I will go to you anywhere, " said Harry, "if you will name a place"

We, knowing Madam Gordeloup's habits, may feel little doubt but that shethought it her duty to become acquainted with the contents of the notebefore she sent it out of her house, but we may also know that shelearned very little from it. 

"It shall go almost immediately, " said Sophie, when the envelope wasclosed. 

Then Harry got up to depart, having done his work. "What, you are goingin that way at once? You are in a hurry?"

"Well, yes; I am in a hurry, rather, Madam Gordeloup. I have got to beat my office, and I only just came up here to find out your brother'saddress. " Then he rose and went, leaving the note behind him. 

Then Madam Gordeloup, speaking to herself in French, called HarryClavering a lout, a fool, an awkward, overgrown boy, and a pig. Shedeclared him to be a pig nine times over, then shook herself in violentdisgust, and after that betook herself to the letter. 

The letter was at any rate duly sent to the count, for before Harry hadleft Mr. Beilby's chambers on that day, Pateroff came to him there. Harry sat in the same room with other men, and therefore went out to seehis acquaintance in a little antechamber that was used for suchpurposes. As he walked from one room to the other, he was conscious ofthe delicacy and difficulty of the task before him, and the color washigh in his face as he opened the door. But when he had done so, he sawthat the count was not alone. A gentleman was with him whom he did notintroduce to Harry, and before whom Harry could not say that which hehad to communicate. 

"Pardon me, " said the count, "but we are in a railroad hurry. Nobodyever was in such a haste as I and my friend. You are not engagedto-morrow? No, I see. You dine with me and my friend at the Blue Posts. You know the Blue Posts?"

Harry said he did not know the Blue Posts. 

"Then you shall know the Blue Posts. I will be your instructor. Youdrink claret. Come and see. You eat beefsteaks. Come and try. You loveone glass of port wine with your cheese. No. But you shall love it whenyou have dined with me at the Blue Posts. We will dine together afterthe English way--which is the best way in the world when it is quitegood. It is quite good at the Blue Posts--quite good! Seven o'clock. Youare fined when a minute late; an extra glass of port wine a minute. NowI must go. Ah; yes. I am ruined already. "

Then Count Pateroff, holding his watch in his hand, bolted out of theroom before Harry could say a word to him. 

He had nothing for it but to go to the dinner, and to the dinner hewent. On that same evening, the evening of the day on which he had seenSophie and her brother, he wrote to Lady Ongar, using to her the samemanner of writing that she had used to him, and telling her that he haddone his best; that he had now seen whom he had been desired to see, butthat he had not been able to speak to him. He was, however, to dine withhim on the following day, and would call in Bolton Street as soon aspossible after that interview. 

Exactly at seven o'clock, Harry, having the fear of the threatened finebefore his eyes, was at the Blue Posts; and there, standing in themiddle of the room, he saw Count Pateroff. With Count Pateroff was thesame gentleman whom Harry had seen at the Adelphi, and whom the countnow introduced as Colonel Schmoff; and also a little Englishman with aknowing eye and a bull-dog neck, and whiskers cut very short and trim--ahorsey little man, whom the count also introduced. "Captain Boodle sayshe knows a cousin of yours, Mr. Clavering. "

Then Colonel Schmoff bowed, never yet having spoken a word in Harry'shearing, and our friend Doodles with glib volubility told Harry howintimate he was with Archie, and how he knew Sir Hugh, and how he hadmet Lady Clavering, and how "doosed" glad he was to meet Harry himselfon this present occasion. 

"And now, my boys, we'll set down, " said the count. "There's just alittle soup, printanier; yes, they can make soup here; then a cut ofsalmon--and after that the beefsteak. Nothing more. Schmoff, my boy, canyou eat beefsteak?"

Schmoff neither smiled nor spoke, but simply bowed his head gravely, andsitting down, arranged with slow exactness his napkin over his waistcoatand lap. 

"Captain Boodle, can you eat beefsteak, " said the count; "Blue Posts'beefsteak?"

"Try me, " said Doodles. "That's all. Try me. "

"I will try you, and I will try Mr. Clavering. Schmoff would eat a horseif he had not a bullock, and a piece of jackass if he had not a horse. "

"I did eat a horse in Hamboro' once. We was besieged. "

So much said Schmoff, very slowly, in a deep bass voice, speaking fromthe bottom of his chest, and frowning very heavily as he did so. Theexertion was so great that he did not repeat it for a considerable time. 

"Thank God we are not besieged now, " said the count, as the soup washanded round to them. "Ah, Albert, my friend, that is good soup; verygood soup. My compliments to the excellent Stubbs. Mr. Clavering, theexcellent Stubbs is the cook. I am quite at home here, and they do theirbest for me. You need not fear you will have any of Schmoff's horse. "

This was all very pleasant, and Harry Clavering sat down to his dinnerprepared to enjoy it; but there was a sense about him during the wholetime that he was being taken in and cheated, and that the count wouldcheat him and actually escape away from him on that evening without hisbeing able to speak a word to him. They were dining in a public room, ata large table which they had to themselves, while others were dining atsmall tables round them. Even if Schmoff and Boodle had not been there, he could hardly have discussed Lady Ongar's private affairs in such aroom as that. The count had brought him there to dine in this way with apremeditated purpose of throwing him over, pretending to give him themeeting that had been asked for, but intending that it should pass byand be of no avail. Such was Harry's belief; and he resolved that, though he might have to seize Pateroff by the tails of his coat, thecount should not escape him without having been forced at any rate tohear what he had to say. In the meantime the dinner went on verypleasantly. 

"Ah, " said the count, "there is no fish like salmon early in the year;but not too early. And it should come alive from Grove, and be cooked byStubbs. "

"And eaten by me, " said Boodle. 

"Under my auspices, " said the count, "and then all is well. Mr. Clavering, a little bit near the head? Not care about any particularpart? That is wrong. Everybody should always learn what is the best toeat of everything, and get it if they can. "

"By George, I should think so, " said Doodles. "I know I do. "

"Not to know the bit out of the neck of the salmon from any other bit, is not to know a false note from a true one. Not to distinguish a '51wine from a '58, is to look at an arm or a leg on the canvas, and tocare nothing whether it is in drawing, or out of drawing. Not to knowStubbs' beefsteak from other beefsteaks, is to say that every woman isthe same thing to you. Only, Stubbs will let you have his beefsteak ifyou will pay him--him or his master. With the beautiful woman it is notalways so--not always. Do I make myself understood?"

"Clear as mud, " said Doodles. "I'm quite along with you there. Whyshould a man be ashamed of eating what's nice? Everybody does it. "

"No, Captain Boodle; not everybody. Some cannot get it, and some do notknow it when it comes in their way. They are to be pitied. I do pitythem from the bottom of my heart. But there is one poor fellow I do pitymore even than they. "

There was something in the tone of the count's words--a simple pathos, and almost a melody, which interested Harry Clavering. No one knewbetter than Count Pateroff how to use all the inflexions of his voice, and produce from the phrases he used the very highest interest whichthey were capable of producing. He now spoke of his pity in a way thatmight almost have made a sensitive man weep. "Who is that you pity somuch?" Harry asked. 

"The man who cannot digest, " said the count, in a low, clear voice. Thenhe bent down his head over the morsel of food on his plate, as though hewere desirous of hiding a tear. "The man who cannot digest!" As herepeated the words he raised his head again, and looked round at alltheir faces. 

"Yes, yes; mein Gott, yes, " said Schmoff, and even he appeared as thoughhe were almost moved from the deep quietude of his inward indifference. 

"Ah; talk of blessings! What a blessing is digestion!" said the count. "I do not know whether you have ever thought of it, Captain Boodle? Youare young, and perhaps not. Or you, Mr. Clavering? It is a subjectworthy of your thoughts. To digest! Do you know what it means? It is tohave the sun always shining, and the shade always ready for you. It isto be met with smiles, and to be greeted with kisses. It is to hearsweet sounds, to sleep with sweet dreams, to be touched ever by gentle, soft, cool hands. It is to be in paradise. Adam and Eve were inparadise. Why? Their digestion was good. And then they took liberties, eat bad fruit--things they could not digest. They what we call, ruinedtheir constitutions, destroyed their gastric juices, and then they wereexpelled from paradise by an angel with a flaming sword. The angel withthe flaming sword, which turned two ways, was indigestion! There came agreat indigestion upon the earth because the cooks were bad, and theycalled it a deluge. Ah, I thank God there is to be no more deluges. Allthe evils come from this. Macbeth could not sleep. It was the supper, not the murder. His wife talked and walked. It was the supper again. Milton had a bad digestion because he is always so cross; and yourCarlyle must have the worst digestion in the world, because he neversays any good of anything. Ah, to digest is to be happy! Believe me, my friends, there is no other way not to be turned out of paradise bya fiery, two-handed turning sword. "

"It is true, " said Schmoff; "yes, it is true. "

"I believe you, " said Doodles. "And how well the count describes it, don't he, Mr. Clavering? I never looked at it in that light; but, afterall, digestion is everything. What is a horse worth, if he won't feed?"

"I never thought much about it, " said Harry. 

"That is very good, " said the great preacher. "Not to think about itever is the best thing in the world. You will be made to think about itif there be necessity. A friend of mine told, me he did not know whetherhe had a digestion. My friend, I said, you are like the husbandmen; youdo not know your own blessings. A bit more steak, Mr. Clavering; see, ithas come up hot, just to prove that you have the blessing. "

There was a pause in the conversation for a minute or two, during whichSchmoff and Doodles were very busy giving the required proof; and thecount was leaning back in his chair with a smile of conscious wisdom onhis face, looking as though he were in deep consideration of the subjecton which he had just spoken with so much eloquence. Harry did notinterrupt the silence, as, foolishly, he was allowing his mind to carryitself away from the scene of enjoyment that was present, and troubleitself with the coming battle which he would be obliged to fight withthe count. Schmoff was the first to speak. "When I was eating a horse atHamboro'--" he began. 

"Schmoff, " said the count, "if we allow you to get behind the rampartsof that besieged city, we shall have to eat that horse for the rest ofthe evening. Captain Boodle, if you will believe me, I eat that horseonce for two hours. Ah, here is the port wine. Now, Mr. Clavering, thisis the wine for cheese--'34. No man should drink above two glasses of'34. If you want port after that, then have '20. "

Schmoff had certainly been hardly treated. He had scarcely spoken a wordduring dinner, and should, I think, have been allowed to say somethingof the flavor of the horse. It did not, however, appear from hiscountenance that he had felt, or that he resented the interference;though he did not make any further attempt to enliven the conversation. 

They did not sit long over their wine, and the count, in spite of whathe had said about the claret, did not drink any. "Captain Boodle, " hesaid, "you must respect my weakness as well as my strength. I know whatI can do, and what I cannot. If I were a real hero, like youEnglish--which means, if I had an ostrich in my inside--I would drinktill twelve every night, and eat broiled bones till six every morning. But alas! the ostrich has not been given to me. As a common man I ampretty well, but I have no heroic capacities. We will have a littlechasse, and then we will smoke. "

Harry began to be very nervous. How was he to do it? It had becomeclearer and clearer to him through every ten minutes of the dinner, thatthe count did not intend to give him any moment for privateconversation. He felt that he was cheated and ill-used, and was waxingangry. They were to go and smoke in a public room, and he knew, orthought he knew, what that meant. The count would sit there till hewent, and had brought the Colonel Schmoff with him, so that he might besure of some ally to remain by his side and ensure silence. And thecount, doubtless, had calculated that when Captain Boodle went, as hesoon would go, to his billiards, he, Harry Clavering, would feel himselfcompelled to go also. No! It should not result in that way. Harryresolved that he would not go. He had his mission to perform and hewould perform it, even if he were compelled to do so in the presence ofColonel Schmoff. 

Doodles soon went. He could not sit long with the simple gratificationof a cigar, without gin-and-water or other comfort of that kind, eventhough the eloquence of Count Pateroff might be excited in his favor. Hewas a man, indeed, who did not love to sit still, even with the comfortof gin-and-water. An active little man was Captain Boodle, always doingsomething or anxious to do something in his own line of business. Smallspeculations in money, so concocted as to leave the risk against himsmaller than the chance on his side, constituted Captain Boodle's trade;and in that trade he was indefatigable, ingenious, and, to a certainextent, successful. The worst of the trade was this: that though heworked at it about twelve hours a day, to the exclusion of all otherinterests in life, he could only make out of it an income which wouldhave been considered a beggarly failure at any other profession. When henetted a pound a day he considered himself to have done very well; buthe could not do that every day in the week. To do it often requiredunremitting exertion. And then, in spite of all his care, misfortuneswould come. "A cursed garron, of whom nobody had ever heard the name! Ifa man mayn't take the liberty with such a brute as that, when is he totake a liberty?" So had he expressed himself plaintively, endeavoring toexcuse himself when on some occasion a race had been won by some outsidehorse which Captain Boodle had omitted to make safe in his betting-book. He was regarded by his intimate friends as a very successful man; but Ithink myself that his life was a mistake. To live with one's hands everdaubed with chalk from a billiard-table, to be always spying intostables and rubbing against grooms, to put up with the narrow lodgingswhich needy men encounter at race meetings, to be day after day on therails running after platers and steeple-chasers, to be conscious on alloccasions of the expediency of selling your beast when you are hunting, to be counting up little odds at all your spare moments--these things donot, I think, make a satisfactory life for a young man. And for a manthat is not young, they are the very devil! Better have no digestionwhen you are forty than find yourself living such a life as that!Captain Boodle would, I think, have been happier had he contrived to gethimself employed as a tax-gatherer or an attorney's clerk. 

On this occasion Doodles soon went, as had been expected, and Harryfound himself smoking with the two foreigners. Pateroff was no longereloquent, but sat with his cigar in his mouth as silent as ColonelSchmoff himself. It was evidently expected of Harry that he should go. 

"Count, " he said at last, "you got my note?" There were seven or eightpersons sitting in the room beside the party of three to which Harrybelonged. 

"Your note, Mr. Clavering! which note? Oh, yes; I should not have hadthe pleasure of seeing you here to-day but for that. "

"Can you give me five minutes in private?"

"What! now! here! this evening! after dinner? Another time I will talkwith you by the hour together. "

"I fear I must trouble you now. I need not remind you that I could notkeep you yesterday morning; you were so much hurried. "

"And now I am having my little moment of comfort! These special businessconversations after dinner are so bad for the digestion!"

"If I could have caught you before dinner, Count Pateroff, I would havedone so. "

"If it must be, it must. Schmoff, will you wait for me ten minutes? Iwill not be more than ten minutes. " And the count, as he made thispromise, looked at his watch. "Waiter, " he said, speaking in a sharptone which Harry had not heard before, "show this gentleman and me intoa private room. "

Harry got up and led the way out, not forgetting to assure himself thathe cared nothing for the sharpness of the count's voice. 

"Now, Mr. Clavering, what is it?" said the count, looking full intoHarry's eye. 

"I will tell you in two words. "

"In one if you can. "

"I came with a message to you from Lady Ongar. "

"Why are you a messenger from Lady Ongar?"

"I have known her long and she is connected with my family. "

"Why does she not send her messages by Sir Hugh--her brother-in-law?"

"It is hardly for you to ask that!"

"Yes; it is for me to ask that. I have known Lady Ongar well, and havetreated her with kindness. I do not want to have messages by anybody. But go on. If you are a messenger, give your message. "

"Lady Ongar bids me tell you that she cannot see you. "

"But she must see me. She shall see me!"

"I am to explain to you that she declines to do so. Surely, CountPateroff, you must understand--"

"Ah, bah; I understand everything--in such matters as these, better, perhaps, than you, Mr. Clavering. You have given your message. Now, asyou are a messenger, will you give mine?"

"That will depend altogether on its nature. "

"Sir, I never send uncivil words to a woman, though sometimes I may betempted to speak them to a man; when, for instance, a man interfereswith me; do you understand? My message is this: Tell her ladyship, withmy compliments, that it will be better for her to see me--better forher, and for me. When that poor lord died--and he had been, mind, myfriend for many years before her ladyship had heard his name--I was withhim; and there were occurrences of which you know nothing and need knownothing. I did my best then to be courteous to Lady Ongar, which shereturns by shutting her door in my face. I do not mind that. I am notangry with a woman. But tell her that when she has heard what I now sayto her by you, she will, I do not doubt, think better of it; andtherefore I shall do myself the honor of presenting myself at her dooragain. Good-night, Mr. Clavering; au revoir; we will have another ofStubbs' little dinners before long. " As he spoke these last words thecount's voice was again changed, and the old smile had returned to hisface. 

Harry shook hands with him, and walked away homeward, not without afeeling that the count had got the better of him, even to the end. Hehad, however, learned how the land lay, and could explain to Lady Ongarthat Count Pateroff now knew her wishes and was determined to disregardthem. 

Chapter XXII

Desolation

In the meantime there was grief down at the great house of Clavering;and grief, we must suppose also, at the house in Berkeley Square, assoon as the news from his country home had reached Sir Hugh Clavering. Little Hughy, his heir, was dead. Early one morning, Mrs. Clavering, atthe rectory, received a message from Lady Clavering, begging that shewould go up to the house, and, on arriving there, she found that thepoor child was very ill. The doctor was then at Clavering, and hadrecommended that a message should be sent to the father in London, begging him to come down. This message had been already despatched whenMrs. Clavering arrived. The poor mother was in a state of terribleagony, but at that time there was yet hope. Mrs. Clavering then remainedwith Lady Clavering for two or three hours; but just before dinner onthe same day another messenger came across to say that hope was past, and that the child had gone. Could Mrs. Clavering come over again, asLady Clavering was in a sad way?

"You'll have your dinner first?" said the rector. 

"No, I think not. I shall wish to make her take something, and I can doit better if I ask for tea for myself. I will go at once. Poor dearlittle boy. "

"It was a blow I always feared, " said the rector to his daughter as soonas his wife had left them. "Indeed, I knew that it was coming. "

"And she was always fearing it, " said Fanny. "But I do not think he did. He never seems to think that evil will come to him. "

"He will feel this, " said the rector. 

"Feel it papa! Of course he will feel it. "

"I do not think he would--not deeply, that is--if there were four orfive of them. He is a hard man; the hardest man I ever knew. Who eversaw him playing with his own child, or with any other? Who ever heardhim say a soft word to his wife? But he will feel it now, for this childwas his heir. He will be hit hard now, and I pity him. "

Mrs. Clavering went across the park alone, and soon found herself in thepoor bereaved mother's room. She was sitting by herself; having driventhe old house keeper away from her; and there were no traces of tearsthen on her face, though she had wept plentifully when Mrs. Claveringhad been with her in the morning. But there had come upon her suddenly alook of age, which nothing but such sorrow as this can produce. Mrs. Clavering was surprised to see that she had dressed herself carefullysince the morning, as was her custom to do daily, even when alone; andthat she was not in her bedroom, but in a small sitting room which shegenerally used when Sir Hugh was not at the Park. 

"My poor Hermione, " said Mrs. Clavering, coming up to her, and takingher by the hand. 

"Yes, I am poor; poor enough. Why have they troubled you to come acrossagain?"

"Did you not send for me? But it was quite right, whether you sent orno. Of course I should come when I heard it. It cannot be good for youto be all alone. "

"I suppose he will be here to-night?"

"Yes, if he got your message before three o'clock. "

"Oh, he will have received it, and I suppose he will come. You think hewill come, eh?"

"Of course he will come. "

"I do not know. He does not like coming to the country. "

"He will be sure to come now, Hermione. "

"And who will tell him? Some one must tell him before he comes to me. Should there not be some one to tell him? They have sent anothermessage. "

"Hannah shall be at hand to tell him. " Hannah was the old housekeeper, who had been in the family when Sir Hugh was born. "Or, if you wish it, Henry shall come down and remain here. I am sure he will do so, if itwill be a comfort. "

"No; he would, perhaps, be rough to Mr. Clavering. He is so very hard. Hannah shall do it. Will you make her understand?" Mrs. Claveringpromised that she would do this, wondering, as she did so, at thewretched, frigid immobility of the unfortunate woman before her. Sheknew Lady Clavering well; knew her to be in many things weak, to beworldly, listless, and perhaps somewhat selfish; but she knew also thatshe had loved her child as mothers always love. Yet, at this moment, itseemed that she was thinking more of her husband than of the bairn shehad lost. Mrs. Clavering had sat down by her and taken her hand, and wasstill so sitting in silence when Lady Clavering spoke again. "I supposehe will turn me out of his house now, " she said. 

"Who will do so? Hugh? Oh, Hermione, how can you speak in such a way?"

"He scolded me before because my poor darling was not strong. Mydarling! How could I help it? And he scolded me because there was noneother but he. He will turn me out altogether now. Oh, Mrs. Clavering, you do not know how hard he is. "

Anything was better than this, and therefore Mrs. Clavering asked thepoor woman to take her into the room where the little body lay in itslittle cot. If she could induce the mother to weep for the child, eventhat would be better than this hard, persistent fear as to what herhusband would say and do. So they both went and stood together over thelittle fellow whose short sufferings had thus been brought to an end. "My poor dear, what can I say to comfort you?" Mrs. Clavering, as sheasked this, knew well that no comfort could be spoken in words; but-ifshe could only make the sufferer weep!

"Comfort!" said the mother. "There is no comfort now, I believe, inanything. It is long since I knew any comfort; not since Julia went. "

"Have you written to Julia?"

"No; I have written to no one. I cannot write. I feel as though if itwere to bring him back again I could not write of it. My boy! my boy! myboy!" But still there was not a tear in her eye. 

"I will write to Julia, " said Mrs. Clavering; "and I will read to you myletter. "

"No, do not read it me. What is the use? He has made her quarrel withme. Julia cares nothing now for me, or for my angel. Why should shecare? When she came home we would not see her. Of course she will notcare. Who is there that will care for me?"

"Do not I care for you, Hermione?"

"Yes, because you are here; because of the nearness of the houses. Ifyou lived far away you would not care for me. It is just the custom ofthe thing. " There was something so true in this that Mrs. Claveringcould make no answer to it. Then they turned to go back into thesitting-room, and as they did so Lady Clavering lingered behind for amoment; but when she was again with Mrs. Clavering her cheek was stilldry. 

"He will be at the station at nine, " said Lady Clavering. "They mustsend the brougham for him, or the dog-cart. He will be very angry if heis made to come home in the fly from the public-house. " Then the elderlady left the room and gave orders that Sir Hugh should be met by hiscarriage. What must the wife think of her husband, when she feared thathe would be angered by little matters at such a time as this! "Do youthink it will make him very unhappy?" Lady Clavering asked. 

"Of course it will make him unhappy. How should it be otherwise?"

"He had said so often that the child would die. He will have got used tothe fear. "

"His grief will be as fresh now as though he had never thought so, andnever said so. "

"He is so hard; and then he has such will, such power. He will thrust itoff from him and determine that it shall not oppress him. I know him sowell. "

"We should all make some exertion like that in our sorrow, trusting toGod's kindness to relieve us. You too, Hermione, should determine also;but not yet, my dear. At first it is better to let sorrow have its way. "

"But he will determine at once. You remember when Meeny went. " Meeny hadbeen a little girl who had been born before the boy, and who had diedwhen little more than twelve months old. "He did not expect that; butthen he only shook his head, and went out of the room. He has neverspoken to me one word of her since that. I think he has forgotten Meenyaltogether--even that she was ever here. "

"He cannot forget the boy who was his heir. "

"Ah, that is where it is. He will say words to me which would make youweep if you could hear them. Yes, my darling was his heir. Archie willmarry now, and will have children, and his boy will be the heir. Therewill be more division and more quarrels, for Hugh will hate his brothernow. "

"I do not understand why. "

"Because he is so hard. It is a pity he should ever have married, for hewants nothing that a wife can do for him. He wanted a boy to come afterhim in the estate, and now that glory has been taken from him. Mrs. Clavering, I often wish that I could die. "

It would be bootless here to repeat the words of wise and loving counselwith which the elder of the two ladies endeavored to comfort theyounger, and to make her understand what were the duties which stillremained to her, and which, if they were rightly performed, would, intheir performance, soften the misery of her lot. Lady Clavering listenedwith that dull, useless attention which on such occasions sorrow alwaysgives to the prudent counsels of friendship; but she was thinking everand always of her husband, and watching the moment of his expectedreturn. In her heart she wished that he might not come on that evening. At last, at half-past nine, she exerted herself to send away hervisitor. 

"He will be here soon, if he comes to-night, " Lady Clavering said, "andit will be better that he should find me alone. "

"Will it be better?"

"Yes, yes. Cannot you see how he would frown and shake his head if youwere here? I would sooner be alone when he comes. Good-night. You havebeen very kind to me; but you are always kind. Things are done kindlyalways at your house, because there is so much love there. You willwrite to Julia for me. Good-night. " Then Mrs. Clavering kissed her andwent, thinking as she walked home in the dark to the rectory, how muchshe had to be thankful in that these words had been true which her poorneighbor had spoken. Her house was full of love. 

Chapter XXIII

Sir Hugh's Return

For the next half hour Lady Clavering sat alone listening with eager earfor the sound of her husband's wheels, and at last she had almost toldherself that the hour for his coming had gone by, when she heard therapid grating on the gravel as the dog-cart was driven up to the door. She ran out on to the corridor, but her heart sank within her as she didso, and she took tightly hold of the balustrade to support herself. Fora moment she had thought of running down to meet him; of trusting to thesadness of the moment to produce in him, if it were but for a minute, something of tender solicitude; but she remembered that the servantswould be there, and knew that he would not be soft before them. Sheremembered also that the housekeeper had received her instructions, andshe feared to disarrange the settled programme. So she went back to theopen door of the room, that her retreating step might not be heard byhim as he should come up to her, and standing there she still listened. The house was silent and her ears were acute with sorrow. She could hearthe movement of the old woman as she gently, tremblingly, as LadyClavering knew, made her way down the hall to meet her master. Sir Hughof course had learned his child's fate already from the servant who hadmet him; but it was well that the ceremony of such telling should beperformed. She felt the cold air come in from the opened front door, andshe heard her husband's heavy, quick step as he entered. Then she heardthe murmur of Hannah's voice; but the first word she heard was in herhusband's tones, "Where is Lady Clavering?" Then the answer was given, and the wife, knowing that he was coming, retreated to her chair. 

But still he did not come quite at once. He was pulling off his coat andlaying aside his hat and gloves. Then came upon her a feeling that atsuch a time any other husband and wife would have been at once in eachother's arms. And at the moment she thought of all that they had lost. To her her child had been all and everything. To him he had been hisheir and the prop of his house. The boy had been the only link that hadstill bound them together. Now he was gone, and there was no longer anylink between them. He was gone, and she had nothing left to her. He wasgone, and the father was so alone in the world, without any heir andwith no prop to his house. She thought of all this as she heard his stepcoming slowly up the stairs. Slowly he came along the passage, andthough she dreaded his coming, it almost seemed as though he would neverbe there. 

When he had entered the room she was the first to speak. "Oh, Hugh!" sheexclaimed, "oh, Hugh!" He had closed the door before he uttered a word, and then he threw himself into a chair. There were candles near to him, and she could see that his countenance also was altered. He had indeedbeen stricken hard, and his half-stunned face showed the violence of theblow. The harsh, cruel, selfish man had at last been made to suffer. Although he had spoken of it and had expected it, the death of his heirhit him hard, as the rector had said. 

"When did he die?" asked the father. 

"It was past four, I think. " Then there was again silence, and LadyClavering went up to her husband and stood close by his shoulder. Atlast she ventured to put her hand upon him. With all her own miseryheavy upon her, she was chiefly thinking at this moment how she mightsoothe him. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and by degrees shemoved it softly to his breast. Then he raised his own hand, and with itmoved hers from his person. He did it gently; but what was the use ofsuch nonsense as that?

"The Lord giveth, " said the wife, "and the Lord taketh away. " Hearingthis, Sir Hugh made with his head a gesture of impatience. "Blessed bethe name of the Lord, " continued Lady Clavering. Her voice was low andalmost trembling, and she repeated the words as though they were a taskwhich she had set herself. 

"That's all very well in its way, " said he, "but what's the special useof it now? I hate twaddle. One must bear one's misfortune as one bestcan. I don't believe that kind of thing ever makes it lighter. "

"They say it does, Hugh. "

"Ah, they say! Have they ever tried? If you have been living up to thatkind of thing all your life, it may be very well; that is as well at onetime as another. But it won't give me back my boy. "

"No, Hugh, he will never come back again; but we may think that he's inheaven. "

"If that is enough for you, let it be so. But don't talk to me of it. Idon't like it. It doesn't suit me. I had only one, and he has gone. Itis always the way. " He spoke of the child as having been his--not hisand hers. She felt this, and understood the want of affection which itconveyed; but she said nothing of it. 

"Oh, Hugh, what could we do? It was not our fault. "

"Who is talking of any fault? I have said nothing as to fault. He wasalways poor and sickly. The Claverings generally have been so strong. Look at myself and Archie, and my sisters. Well, it cannot be helped. Thinking of it will not bring him back again. You had better tell someone to get me something to eat. I came away, of course, without anydinner. "

She herself had eaten nothing since the morning, but she neither spokenor thought of that. She rang the bell, and going out into the passage, gave the servant the order on the stairs. "It is no good my stayinghere, " he said. "I will go and dress. It is the best not to think ofsuch things--much the best. People call that heartless, of course; butthen people are fools. If I were to sit still, and think of it for aweek together, what good could I do?"

"But how not to think of it? That is the thing. "

"Women are different, I suppose. I will dress, and then go down to thebreakfast-room. Tell Saunders to get me a bottle of champagne. You willbe better also if you will take a glass of wine. "

It was the first word he had spoken which showed any care for her, andshe was grateful for it. As he arose to go, she came close to him again, and put her hand very gently on his arm. "Hugh, " she said, "will you notsee him?"

"What good will that do?"

"I think you would regret it if you were to let them take him awaywithout looking at him. He is so pretty as he lies in his little bed. Ithought you would come with me to see him. " He was more gentle with herthan she had expected, and she led him away to the room which had beentheir own, and in which the child had died. 

"Why here?" he said, almost angrily, as he entered. 

"I have had him here with me since you went. "

"He should not be here now, " he said, shuddering. "I wish he had beenmoved before I came. I will not have this room any more; remember that. "She led him up to the foot of the little cot, which stood close by thehead of her own bed, and then she removed a handkerchief which lay uponthe child's face. 

"Oh, Hugh! oh, Hugh!" she said, and throwing her arms round his neck, she wept violently upon his breast. For a few moments he did not disturbher, but stood looking at his boy's face. "Hugh, Hugh, " she repeated, "will you not be kind to me? Do be kind to me. It is not my fault thatwe are childless. "

Still he endured her for a few moments longer. He spoke no word to her, but he let her remain there with her head upon his breast. 

"Dear Hugh, I love you so truly!"

"This is nonsense, " said he; "sheer nonsense. " His voice was low andvery hoarse. "Why do you talk of kindness now?"

"Because I am so wretched. "

"What have I done to make you wretched?"

"I do not mean that; but if you will be gentle with me, it will comfortme. Do not leave me here all alone, how my darling has been taken fromme. "

Then he shook her from him, not violently, but with a persistent action. 

"Do you mean that you want to go up to town?" he said. 

"Oh, no; not that. "

"Then what is it you want? Where would you live, if not here?"

"Anywhere you please, only that you should stay with me. "

"All that is nonsense. I wonder that you should talk of such things now. Come away from this, and let me go to my room. All this is trash andnonsense, and I hate it. " She put back with careful hands the piece ofcambric which she had moved, and then, seating herself on a chair, weptviolently, with her hands closed upon her face. "That comes of bringingme here, " he said. "Get up, Hermione. I will not have you so foolish. Get up, I say. I will have the room closed till the men come. "

"Oh, no!"

"Get up, I say, and come away. " Then she rose, and followed him out ofthe chamber; and when he went to change his clothes, she returned to theroom in which he had found her. There she sat and wept, while he wentdown and dined and drank alone. But the old housekeeper brought her up amorsel of food and a glass of wine, saying that her master desired thatshe would take it. 

"I will not leave you, my lady, till you have done so, " said Hannah. "Tofast so long must be bad always. "

Then she eat the food, and drank a drop of wine, and allowed the oldwoman to take her away to the bed that had been prepared for her. Of herhusband she saw no more for four days. On the next morning a note wasbrought to her, in which Sir Hugh told her that he had returned toLondon. It was necessary, he said, that he should see his lawyer and hisbrother. He and Archie would return for the funeral. With reference tothat he had already given orders. 

During the next three days, and till her husband's return, LadyClavering remained at the rectory; and in the comfort of Mrs. Clavering's presence, she almost felt that it would be well for her ifthose days could be prolonged. But she knew the hour at which herhusband would return, and she took care to be at home when he arrived. "You will come and see him?" she said to the rector, as she left theparsonage. "You will come at once--in an hour or two?" Mr. Claveringremembered the circumstances of his last visit to the house, and thedeclaration he had then made that he would not return there. But allthat could not now be considered. 

"Yes, " he said, "I will come across this evening. But you had bettertell him, so that he need not be troubled to see me if he would ratherbe alone. "

"Oh, he will see you. Of course he will see you. And you will notremember that he ever offended you?"

Mrs. Clavering had written both to Julia and to Harry, and the day ofthe funeral had been settled. Harry had already communicated hisintention of coming down; and Lady Ongar had replied to Mrs. Clavering'sletter, saying that she could not now offer to go to Clavering Park, butthat if her sister would go elsewhere with her--to some place, perhaps, on the sea-side--she would be glad to accompany her; and she used manyarguments in her letter to show that such an arrangement as this hadbetter be made. 

"You will be with my sister, " she had said; "and she will understand whyI do not write to her myself, and will not think that it comes fromcoldness. " This had been written before Lady Ongar saw Harry Clavering. 

Mr. Clavering, when he got to the great house, was immediately showninto the room in which the baronet and his younger brother were sitting. They had, some time since, finished dinner, but the decanters were stillon the table before them. "Hugh, " said the, rector, walking up to hiselder nephew briskly, "I grieve for you. I grieve, for you from thebottom of my heart. "

"Yes, " said Hugh, "it has been a heavy blow. Sit down, uncle. There is aclean glass there, or Archie will fetch you one. " Then Archie looked outa clean glass, and passed the decanter; but of this the rector took nodirect notice. 

"It has been a blow, my poor boy--a heavy blow, " said the rector. "Noneheavier could have fallen. But our sorrows come from Heaven, as do ourblessings, and must be accepted. "

"We are all like grass, " said Archie, "and must be cut down in ourturns. " Archie, in saying this, intended to put on his best behavior. Hewas as sincere as he knew how to be. 

"Come, Archie, none of that, " said his brother. "It is my uncle'strade. "

"Hugh, " said the rector, "unless you can think of it so, you will findno comfort. "

"And I expect none, so there is an end of that. Different people thinkof these things differently, you know, and it is of no more use for meto bother you than it is for you to bother me. My boy has gone, and Iknow that he will not come back to me. I shall never have another, andit is hard to bear. But, meaning no offence to you, I would sooner beleft to bear it in my own way. If I were to talk about grass, as Archiedid just now, it would be a humbug, and I hate humbug. No offence toyou. Take some wine, uncle. " But the rector could not drink wine in thatpresence, and therefore he escaped as soon as he could. He spoke oneword of intended comfort to Lady Clavering, and then returned to therectory. 

Chapter XXIV

Yes; Wrong--Certainly Wrong

Harry Clavering had heard the news of his little cousin's death beforehe went to Bolton Street to report the result of his negotiation withthe count. His mother's letter with the news had come to him in themorning, and on the same evening he called on Lady Ongar. She also hadthen received Mrs. Clavering's letter, and knew what had occurred at thepark. Harry found her alone, having asked the servant whether MadamGordeloup was with his mistress. Had such been the case he would havegone away, and left his message untold. 

As he entered the room his mind was naturally full of the tidings fromClavering. Count Pateroff and his message had lost some of theirimportance through this other event, and the emptiness of the childlesshouse was the first subject of conversation between him and Lady Ongar. "I pity my sister greatly, " said she. "I feel for her as deeply as Ishould have done had nothing occurred to separate us--but I cannot feelfor him. "

"I do, " said Harry. 

"He is your cousin, and perhaps has been your friend?"

"No, not especially. He and I have never pulled well together; but stillI pity him deeply. "

"He is not my cousin, but I know him better than you do, Harry. He willnot feel much himself, and his sorrow will be for his heir, not for hisson. He is a man whose happiness does not depend on the life or death ofany one. He likes some people, as he once liked me; but I do not thinkthat he ever loved any human being. He will get over it, and he willsimply wish that Hermy may die, that he may marry another wife. Harry, Iknow him so well!"

"Archie will marry now, " said Harry. 

"Yes; if he can get any one to have him. There are very few men whocan't get wives, but I can fancy Archie Clavering to be one of them. Hehas not humility enough to ask the sort of girl who would be glad totake him. Now, with his improved prospects, he will want a royalprincess or something not much short of it. Money, rank, and blood mighthave done before, but he'll expect youth, beauty, and wit now, as wellas the other things. He may marry after all, for he is just the man towalk out of a church some day with the cookmaid under his arm as hiswife. "

"Perhaps he may find something between a princess and a cookmaid. "

"I hope, for your sake, he may not--neither a princess nor a cookmaid, nor anything between. "

"He has my leave to marry to-morrow, Lady Ongar. If I had my wish, Hughshould have his house full of children. "

"Of course that is the proper thing to say, Harry. "

"I won't stand that from you, Lady Ongar. What I say, I mean; and no oneknows that better than you. "

"Won't you, Harry? From whom, then, if not from me? But come, I will doyou justice, and believe you to be simple enough to wish anything of thekind. The sort of castle in the air which you build, is not to be had byinheritance, but to be taken by storm. You must fight for it. "

"Or work for it. "

"Or win it in some way off your own bat; and no lord ever sat prouder inhis castle than you sit in those that you build from day to day in yourimagination. And you sally forth and do all manner of magnificent deeds. You help distressed damsels--poor me, for instance; and you attackenormous dragons--shall I say that Sophie Gordeloup is the latestdragon?--and you wish well to your enemies, such as Hugh and Archie; andyou cut down enormous forests, which means your coming miracles as anengineer--and then you fall gloriously in love. When is that last to be, Harry?"

"I suppose, according to all precedent, that must be done with thedistressed damsel, " he said--fool that he was. 

"No, Harry, no; you shall take your young, fresh, generous heart to abetter market than that; not but that the distressed damsel will everremember what might once have been. "

He knew that he was playing on the edge of a precipice--that he wasfluttering as a moth round a candle. He knew that it behooved him now atonce to tell her all his tale as to Stratton and Florence Burton--thatif he could tell it now, the pang would be over and the danger gone. Buthe did not tell it. Instead of telling it he thought of Lady Ongar'sbeauty, of his own early love, of what might have been his had he notgone to Stratton. I think he thought, if not of her wealth, yet of thepower and place which would have been his were it now open to him to askher for her hand. When he had declared that he did not want his cousin'sinheritance, he had spoken the simple truth. He was not covetous ofanother's money. Were Archie to marry as many wives as Henry, and haveas many children as Priam, it would be no offence to him. His desiresdid not lie in that line. But in this other case, the woman before himwho would so willingly have endowed him with all she possessed, had beenloved by him before he had ever seen Florence Burton. In all his lovefor Florence--so he now told himself, but so told himself falsely--hehad ever remembered that Julia Brabazon had been his first love, thelove whom he had loved with all his heart. But things had gone with himmost unfortunately--with a misfortune that had never been paralleled. Itwas thus he was thinking instead of remembering that now was the time inwhich his tale should be told. 

Lady Ongar, however, soon carried him away from the actual brink of theprecipice. "But how about the dragon, " said she, "or rather aboutthe dragon's brother, at whom you were bound to go and tilt on my behalf?Have you tilted, or are you a recreant knight?"

"I have tilted, " said he, "but the he-dragon professes that he will notregard himself as killed. In other words, he declares that he will seeyou. "

"That he will see me?" said Lady Ongar, and as she spoke there came anangry spot on each cheek. "Does he send me that message as a threat?"

"He does not send it as a threat, but I think he partly means it so. "

"He will find, Harry, that I will not see him; and that should he forcehimself into my presence, I shall know how to punish such an outrage. Ifhe sent me any message, let me know it. "

"To tell the truth, he was most unwilling to speak to me at all, thoughhe was anxious to be civil to me. When I had inquired for him some timein vain, he came to me with another man, and asked me to dinner. So Iwent, and as there were four of us, of course I could not speak to himthen. He still had the other man, a foreigner--"

"Colonel Schmoff, perhaps?"

"Yes; Colonel Schmoff. He kept Colonel Schmoff by him, so as to guardhim from being questioned. "

"That is so like him. Everything he does he does with some design--withsome little plan. Well, Harry, you might have ignored Colonel Schmofffor what I should have cared. "

"I got the count to come out into another room at last, and then he wasvery angry--with me, you know--and talked of what he would do to men whointerfered with him. "

"You will not quarrel with him, Harry? Promise me that there shall be nononsense of that sort--no fighting. "

"Oh, no; we were friends again very soon. But he bade me tell you thatthere was something important for him to say and for you to hear, whichwas no concern of mine, and which required an interview. "

"I do not believe him, Harry. "

"And he said that he had once been very courteous to you--"

"Yes; once insolent--and once courteous. I have forgiven the one for theother. "

"He then went on to say that you made him a poor return for his civilityby shutting your door in his face, but that he did not doubt you wouldthink better of it when you had heard his message. Therefore, he said, he should call again. That, Lady Ongar, was the whole of it. "

"Shall I tell you what his intention was, Harry?" Again her face becamered as she asked this question; but the color which now came to hercheeks was rather that of shame than of anger. 

"What was his intention?"

"To make you believe that I am in his power; to make you think that hehas been my lover; to lower me in your eyes, so that you might believeall that others have believed--all that Hugh Clavering has pretended tobelieve. That has been his object, Harry, and perhaps you will tell mewhat success he has had. "

"Lady Ongar!"

"You know the old story, that the drop which is ever dropping will wearthe stone. And after all why should your faith in me be as hard even asa stone?"

"Do you believe that what he said had any such effect?"

"It is very hard to look into another person's heart; and the dearer andnearer that heart is to your own, the greater, I think, is thedifficulty. I know that man's heart--what he calls his heart--but Idon't know yours. "

For a moment or two Clavering made no answer, and then, when he didspeak, he went back from himself to the count. 

"If what you surmise of him be true, he must be a very devil. He cannotbe a man--"

"Man or devil, what matters which he be? Which is the worst, Harry, andwhat is the difference? The Fausts of this day want no Mephistopheles toteach them guile or to harden their hearts. "

"I do not believe that there are such men. There may be one. "

"One, Harry! What was Lord Ongar? What is your cousin Hugh? What is thisCount Pateroff? Are they not all of the same nature--hard as stone, desirous simply of indulging their own appetites, utterly without onegenerous feeling, incapable even of the idea of caring for any one? Isit not so? In truth, this count is the best of the three I have named. With him a woman would stand a better chance than with either of theothers. "

"Nevertheless, if that was his motive, he is a devil. "

"He shall be a devil if you say so. He shall be anything you please, solong as he has not made you think evil of me. "

"No, he has not done that. "

"Then I don't care what he has done, or what he may do. You would nothave me see him, would you?" This she asked with a sudden energy, throwing herself forward from her seat with her elbows on the table, andresting her face on her hands, as she had already done more than oncewhen he had been there; so that the attitude, which became her well, wasnow customary in his eyes. 

"You will hardly be guided by my opinion in such a matter. "

"By whose, then, will I be guided? Nay, Harry, since you put me to apromise, I will make the promise. I will be guided by your opinion. Ifyou bid me see him, I will do it--though, I own, it would be distressingto me. "

"Why should you see him, if you do not wish it?"

"I know no reason. In truth there is no reason. What he says about LordOngar is simply some part of his scheme. You see what his scheme is, Harry?"

"What is his scheme?"

"Simply this--that I should be frightened into becoming his wife. Mydarling bosom friend Sophie, who, as I take it, has not quite managed tocome to satisfactory terms with her brother--and I have no doubt herprice for assistance has been high--has informed me more than once thather brother desires to do me so much honor. The count, perhaps, thinksthat he can manage such a bagatelle without any aid from his sister; andmy dearest Sophie seems to feel that she can do better with me herselfin my widowed state, than if I were to take another husband. They are sokind and so affectionate; are they not?"

At this moment tea was brought in, and Clavering sat for a time silentwith his cup in his hand. She, the meanwhile, had resumed the oldposition with her face upon her hands, which she had abandoned when theservant entered the room, and was now sitting looking at him as hesipped his tea with his eyes averted from her. "I cannot understand, " atlast he said, "why you should persist in your intimacy with such awoman. "

"You have not thought about it, Harry, or you would understand it. Itis, I think, very easily understood. "

"You know her to be treacherous, false, vulgar, covetous, unprincipled. You cannot like her. You say she is a dragon. "

"A dragon to you, I said. "

"You cannot pretend that she is a lady, and yet you put up with hersociety. "

"Exactly. And now tell me what you would have me do. "

"I would have you part from her. "

"But how? It is so easy to say, part. Am I to bar my door against herwhen she has given me no offence? Am I to forget that she did me greatservice, when I sorely needed such services? Can I tell her to her facethat she is all these things that you say of her, and that therefore Iwill for the future dispense with her company? Or do you believe thatpeople in this world associate only with those they love and esteem?"

"I would not have one for my intimate friend whom I did not love andesteem. "

"But, Harry, suppose that no one loved and esteemed you; that you had nohome down at Clavering with a father that admires you and a mother thatworships you; no sisters that think you to be almost perfect, nocomrades with whom you can work with mutual regard and emulation, noself-confidence, no high hopes of your own, no power of choosingcompanions whom you can esteem and love--suppose with you it was SophieGordeloup or none--how would it be with you then?"

His heart must have been made of stone if this had not melted it. He gotup, and coming round to her, stood over her. "Julia, " he said, "it isnot so with you. "

"But it is so with Julia, " she said. "That is the truth. How am I betterthan she, and why should I not associate with her?"

"Better than she! As women you are poles asunder. "

"But as dragons, " she said, smiling, "we come together. "

"Do you mean that you have no one to love you?"

"Yes, Harry; that is just what I do mean. I have none to love me. Inplaying my cards, I have won my stakes in money and rank, but have lostthe amount ten times told in affection, friendship, and that generalunpronounced esteem which creates the fellowship of men and women in theworld. I have a carriage and horses, and am driven about with grandservants; and people, as they see me, whisper and say that is LadyOngar, whom nobody knows. I can see it in their eyes till I fancy that Ican hear their words. "

"But it is all false. "

"What is false? It is not false that I have deserved this. I have donethat which has made me a fitting companion for such a one as SophieGordeloup, though I have not done that which perhaps these peoplethink. "

He paused again before he spoke, still standing near her on the rug. "Lady Ongar--" he said. 

"Nay, Harry; not Lady Ongar when we are together thus. Let me feel thatI have one friend who can dare to call me by my name--from whose mouth Ishall be pleased to hear my name. You need not fear that I shall thinkthat it means too much. I will not take it as meaning what it used tomean. " He did not know how to go on with his speech, or in truth what tosay to her. Florence Burton was still present to his mind, and fromminute to minute he told himself that he would not become a villain. Butnow it had come to that with him, that he would have given all that hehad in the world that he had never gone to Stratton. He sat down by herin silence, looking away from her at the fire, swearing to himself thathe would not become a villain, and yet wishing, almost wishing, that hehad the courage to throw his honor overboard. At last, half turninground toward her, he took her hand, or rather took her arm by the wristtill he could possess himself of her hand. As he did so he touched herhair and her cheek, and she let her hand drop till it rested in his. "Julia, " he said, "what can I do to comfort you?" She did not answerhim, but looked away from him as she sat, across the table into vacancy. "Julia, " he said again, "is there anything that will comfort you?" Butstill she did not answer him. 

He understood it all as well as the reader will understand it. He knewhow it was with her, and was aware that he was at that instant falsealmost equally to her and to Florence. He knew that the question he hadasked was one to which there could be made a true and satisfactoryanswer, but that his safety lay in the fact that that answer was all butimpossible for her to give. Could she say, "Yes, you can comfort me. Tell me that you yet love me, and I will be comforted?" But he had notdesigned to bring her into such difficulty as this. He had not intendedto be cruel. He had drifted into treachery unawares, and was torturingher, not because he was wicked, but because he was weak. He had held herhand now for some minute or two, but still she did not speak to him. Then he raised it and pressed it warmly to his lips. 

"No, Harry, " she said, jumping from her seat and drawing her handrapidly from him; "no; it shall not be like that. Let it be Lady Ongaragain if the sound of the other name brings back too closely the memoryof other days. Let it be Lady Ongar again. I can understand that it willbe better. " As she spoke she walked away from him across the room, andhe followed her. 

"Are you angry?" he asked her. 

"No, Harry; not angry. How should I be angry with you who alone are leftto me of my old friends? But, Harry, you must think for me, and spare mein my difficulty. "

"Spare you, Julia?"

"Yes, Harry, spare me; you must be good to me and considerate, and makeyourself like a brother to me. But people will know you are not abrother, and you must remember all that for my sake. But you must notleave me or desert me. Anything that people might say would be betterthan that. "

"Was I wrong to kiss your hand?"

"Yes, wrong, certainly wrong--that is, not wrong, but unmindful. "

"I did it, " he said, "because I love you. " As he spoke the tears stoodin both his eyes. 

"Yes; you love me, and I you; but not with love that may show itself inthat form. That was the old love, which I threw away, and which has beenlost. That was at an end when I--jilted you. I am not angry; but youwill remember that that love exists no longer? You will remember that, Harry?"

He sat himself down in a chair in the far part of the room, and twotears coursed their way down his cheeks. She stood over him and watchedhim as he wept. "I did not mean to make you sad, " she said. "Come, wewill be sad no longer. I understand it all. I know how it is with you. The old love is lost, but we shall not the less be friends. " Then herose suddenly from his chair, and taking her in his arms, and holdingher closely to his bosom, pressed his lips to hers. 

He was so quick in this that she had not the power, even if she had thewish, to restrain him. But she struggled in his arms, and held her facealoof from him as she gently rebuked his passion. "No, Harry, no; notso, " she said, "it must not be so. "

"Yes, Julia, yes; it shall be so; ever so--always so. " And he was stillholding her in his arms, when the door opened, and with stealthy, cat-like steps Sophie Gordeloup entered the room. Harry immediatelyretreated from his position, and Lady Ongar turned upon her friend, andglared upon her with angry eyes. 

"Ah, " said the little Franco-Pole, with an expression of infinitedelight on her detestable visage, "ah, my dears, is it not well that Ithus announce myself?"

"No, " said Lady Ongar, "it is not well. It is anything but well. "

"And why not well, Julie? Come, do not be foolish. Mr. Clavering is onlya cousin, and a very handsome cousin, too. What does it signify beforeme?"

"It signifies nothing before you, " said Lady Ongar. 

"But before the servant, Julie--?"

"It would signify nothing before anybody. "

"Come, come, Julie, dear; that is nonsense. "

"Nonsense or no nonsense, I would wish to be private when I please. Willyou tell me, Madam Gordeloup, what is your pleasure at the presentmoment?"

"My pleasure is to beg your pardon and to say you must forgive your poorfriend. Your fine man-servant is out, and Bessy let me in. I told BessyI would go up by myself, and that is all. If I have come too late I begpardon. "

"Not too late, certainly--as I am still up. "

"And I wanted to ask you about the pictures to-morrow? You said, perhapsyou would go to-morrow--perhaps not. "

Clavering had found himself to be somewhat awkwardly situated whileMadam Gordeloup was thus explaining the causes of her having comeunannounced into the room; as soon, therefore, as he found itpracticable, he took his leave. "Julia, " he said, "as Madam Gordeloup iswith you, I will now go. "

"But you will let me see you soon?"

"Yes, very soon; that is, as soon as I return from Clavering. I leavetown early to-morrow morning. "

"Good-by then, " and she put out her hand to him frankly, smiling sweetlyon him. As he felt the warm pressure of her hand he hardly knew whetherto return it or reject it. But he had gone too far now for retreat, andhe held it firmly for a moment in his own. She smiled again upon him, oh! so passionately, and nodded her head at him. He had never, hethought, seen a woman look so lovely, or move light of heart. Howdifferent was her countenance now from that she had worn when she toldhim, earlier on that fatal evening, of all the sorrows that made herwretched! That nod of hers said so much. "We understand each othernow--do we not? Yes; although this spiteful woman has for the momentcome between us, we understand each other. And is it not sweet? Ah! thetroubles of which I told you you, you have cured them all. " All that hadbeen said plainly in her farewell salutation, and Harry had not dared tocontradict it by any expression of his countenance. 

"By, by, Mr. Clavering, " said Sophie. 

"Good evening, Madam Gordeloup, " said Harry, turning upon her a look ofbitter anger. Then he went, leaving the two women together, and walkedhome to Bloomsbury Square--not with the heart of a joyous, thrivinglover. 

Chapter XXV

The Day of the Funeral

Harry Clavering, when he had walked away from Bolton Street after thescene in which he had been interrupted by Sophie Gordeloup, was not in ahappy frame of mind, nor did he make his journey down to Clavering withmuch comfort to himself. Whether or not he was now to be regarded as avillain, at any rate he was not a villain capable of doing his villainywithout extreme remorse and agony of mind. It did not seem to him to beeven yet possible that he should be altogether untrue to Florence. Ithardly occurred to him to think that he could free himself from thecontract by which he was bound to her: No; it was toward Lady Ongar thathis treachery must be exhibited toward the woman whom he had sworn tobefriend, and whom he now, in his distress, imagined to be the dearer tohim of the two. He should, according to his custom, have written toFlorence a day or two before he left London, and, as he went to BoltonStreet, had determined to do so that evening on his return home; butwhen he reached his rooms he found it impossible to write such a letter. What could he say to her that would not be false? How could he tell herthat he loved her, and speak as he was wont to do of his impatience, after that which had just occurred in Bolton Street?

But what was he to do in regard to Julia? He was bound to let her knowat once what was his position, and to tell her that in treating her ashe had treated her, he had simply insulted her. That look of gratifiedcontentment with which she had greeted him as he was leaving her, clungto his memory and tormented him. Of that contentment he must now robher, and he was bound to do so with as little delay as was possible. Early in the morning before he started on his journey he did make anattempt, a vain attempt, to write, not to Florence but to Julia. Theletter would not get itself written. He had not the hardihood to informher that he had amused himself with her sorrows, and that he had injuredher by the exhibition of his love. And then that horrid Franco-Pole, whose prying eyes Julia had dared to disregard, because she had beenproud of his love! If she had not been there, the case might have beeneasier. Harry, as he thought of this, forgot to remind himself that ifSophie had not interrupted him he would have floundered on from onedanger to another till he would have committed himself more thoroughlyeven than he had done, and have made promises which it would have beenas shameful to break as it would be to keep them. But even as it was, had he not made such promises? Was there not such a promise in thatembrace, in the half-forgotten word or two which he had spoken while shewas in his arms, and in the parting grasp of his hand? He could notwrite that letter then, on that morning, hurried as he was with thenecessity of his journey; and he started for Clavering resolving that itshould be written from his father's house. 

It was a tedious, sad journey to him, and he was silent and out ofspirits when he reached his home; but he had gone there for the purposeof his cousin's funeral, and his mood was not at first noticed, as itmight have been had the occasion been different. His father'scountenance wore that well-known look of customary solemnity which isfound to be necessary on such occasions, and his mother was stillthinking of the sorrows of Lady Clavering, who had been at the rectoryfor the last day or two. 

"Have you seen Lady Ongar since she heard of the poor child's death?"his mother asked. 

"Yes; I was with her yesterday evening. "

"Do you see her often?" Fanny inquired. 

"What do you call often? No; not often. I went to her last night becauseshe had given me a commission. I have seen her three or four timesaltogether. "

"Is she as handsome as she used to be?" said Fanny. 

"I cannot tell; I do not know. "

"You used to think her very handsome, Harry. "

"Of course she is handsome. There has never been a doubt about that; butwhen a woman is in deep mourning one hardly thinks about her beauty. "Oh, Harry, Harry, how could you be so false?

"I thought young widows were always particularly charming, " said Fanny;"and when one remembers about Lord Ongar one does not think of her beinga widow so much as one would do if he had been different. "

"I don't know anything about that, " said he. He felt that he was stupid, and that he blundered in every word, but he could not help himself. Itwas impossible that he should talk about Lady Ongar with propercomposure. Fanny saw that the subject annoyed him and that it made himcross, and she therefore ceased. "She wrote a very nice letter to yourmother about the poor child, and about her sister, " said the rector. "Iwish with all my heart that Hermione could go to her for a time. "

"I fear that he will not let her, " said Mrs. Clavering. "I do notunderstand it at all, but Hermione says that the rancor between Hugh andher sister is stronger now than ever. "

"And Hugh will not be the first to put rancor out of his heart, " saidthe rector. 

On the following day was the funeral, and Harry went with his father andcousins to the child's grave. When he met Sir Hugh in the dining-room inthe Great House the baronet hardly spoke to him. "A sad occasion; is itnot?" said Archie; "very sad; very sad. " Then Harry could see that Hughscowled at his brother angrily, hating his humbug, and hating it themore because in Archie's case it was doubly humbug. Archie was now heirto the property and to the title. 

After the funeral, Harry went to see Lady Clavering, and again had toendure a conversation about Lady Ongar. Indeed, he had been speciallycommissioned by Julia to press upon her sister the expediency of leavingClavering for a while. This had been early on that last evening inBolton Street, long before Madam Gordeloup had made her appearance. "Tell her from me, " Lady Ongar had said, "that I will go anywhere thatshe may wish if she will go with me--she and I alone; and, Harry, tellher this as though I meant it. I do mean it. She will understand why Ido not write myself. I know that he sees all her letters when he is withher. " This task Harry was now to perform, and the result he was bound tocommunicate to Lady Ongar. The message he might give; but delivering theanswer to Lady Ongar would be another thing. 

Lady Clavering listened to what he said, but when he pressed her for areply she shook her head. "And why not, Lady Clavering?"

"People can't always leave their houses and go away, Harry. "

"But I should have thought that you could have done so now; that is, before long. Will Sir Hugh remain here at Clavering?"

"He has not told me that he means to go. "

"If he stays, I suppose you will stay; but if he goes up to Londonagain, I cannot see why you and your sister should not go away together. She mentioned Tenby as being very quiet, but she would be guided by youin that altogether. "

"I do not think it will be possible, Harry. Tell her, with my love, thatI am truly obliged to her, but that I do not think it will be possible. She is free, you know, to do what she pleases. "

"Yes, she is free. But do you mean--?"

"I mean, Harry, that I had better stay where I am. What is the use of ascene, and of being refused at last? Do not say--more about it, but tellher that it cannot be so. " This Harry premised to do, and after a whilewas rising to go, when she suddenly asked him a question. "Do youremember what I was saying about Julia and Archie when you were herelast?"

"Yes; I remember. "

"Well, would he have a chance? It seems that you see more of her nowthan any one else. "

"No chance at all, I should say. " And Harry, as he answered, could notrepress a feeling of most unreasonable jealousy. 

"Ah, you have always thought little of Archie. Archie's position ischanged now, Harry, since my darling was taken from me. Of course hewill marry, and Hugh, I think, would like him to marry Julia. It was heproposed it. He never likes anything unless he has proposed it himself. "

"It was he proposed the marriage with Lord Ongar. Does he like that?"

"Well; you know Julia has got her money. " Harry, as he heard this, turned away, sick at heart. The poor baby whose mother was now speakingto him had only been buried that morning, and she was already makingfresh schemes for family wealth. Julia has got her money! That hadseemed to her, even in her sorrow, to be sufficient compensation for allthat her sister had endured and was enduring. Poor soul! Harry did notreflect as he should have done, that in all her schemes she was onlyscheming for that peace which might perhaps come to her if her husbandwere satisfied. "And why should not Julia take him?" she asked. 

"I cannot tell why, but she never will, " said Harry, almost in anger. Atthat moment the door was opened, and Sir Hugh came into the room. "I didnot know that you were here, " Sir Hugh said, turning to the visitor. 

"I could not be down here without saying a few words to Lady Clavering. "

"The less said the better, I suppose, just at present, " said Sir Hugh. But there was no offence in the tone of his voice, or in hiscountenance, and Harry took the words as meaning none. 

"I was telling Lady Clavering that as soon as she can, she would bebetter if she left home for a while. "

"And why should you tell Lady Clavering that?"

"I have told him that I would not go, " said the poor woman. 

"Why should she go, and where; and why have you proposed it? And howdoes it come to pass that her going or not going should be a matter ofsolicitude to you?" Now, as Sir Hugh asked these questions of hiscousin, there was much of offence in his tone--of intended offence--andin his eye, and in all his bearing. He had turned his back upon hiswife, and was looking full into Harry's face; "Lady Clavering, no doubt, is much obliged to you, " he said, "but why is it that you specially haveinterfered to recommend her to leave her home at such a time as this?"

Harry had not spoken as he did to Sir Hugh without having made somecalculation in his own mind as to the result of what he was about tosay. He did not, as regarded himself, care for his cousin or hiscousin's anger. His object at present was simply that of carrying outLady Ongar's wish, and he had thought that perhaps Sir Hugh might notobject to the proposal which his wife was too timid to make to him. 

"It was a message from her sister, " said Harry, "sent by me. "

"Upon my word she is very kind. And what was the message--unless it be asecret between you three?"

"I have had no secret, Hugh, " said his wife. 

"Let me hear what he has to say, " said Sir Hugh. 

"Lady Ongar thought that it might be well that her sister should leaveClavering for a short time, and has offered to go anywhere with her fora few weeks. That is all. "

"And why the devil should Hermione leave her own house? And if she wereto leave it, why should she go with a woman that has misconductedherself?"

"Oh, Hugh!" exclaimed Lady Clavering. 

"Lady Ongar has never misconducted herself--" said Harry. 

"Are you her champion?" asked Sir Hugh. 

"As far as that, I am. She has never misconducted herself; and what ismore, she has been cruelly used since she came home. "

"By whom? by whom?" said Sir Hugh, stepping close up to his cousin andlooking with angry eyes into his face. 

But Harry Clavering was not a man to be intimidated by the angry eyes ofany man. "By you, " he said, "her brother-in-law; by you, who made up herwretched marriage, and who, of all others, were the most bound toprotect her. "

"Oh, Harry, don't, don't!" shrieked Lady Clavering. 

"Hermione, hold your tongue, " said the imperious husband; "or, rather, go away and leave us. I have a word or two to say to Harry Clavering, which had better be said in private. "

"I will not go if you are going to quarrel. "

"Harry, " said Sir Hugh, "I will trouble you to go down stairs before me. If you will step into the breakfast-room I will come to you. "

Harry Clavering did as he was bid, and in a few minutes was joined byhis cousin in the breakfast-room. 

"No doubt you intended to insult me by what you said up stairs. " Thebaronet began in this way after he had carefully shut the door, and hadslowly walked up to the rug before the fire, and had there taken hisposition. 

"Not at all; I intended to take the part of an ill-used woman whom youhad calumniated. "

"Now look here, Harry, I will have no interference on your part in myaffairs, either here or elsewhere. You are a very fine fellow, no doubt, but it is not part of your business to set me or my house in order. After what you have just said before Lady Clavering, you will do wellnot to come here in my absence. "

"Neither in your absence nor in your presence. "

"As to the latter you may do as you please. And now, touching mysister-in-law, I will simply recommend you to look after your ownaffairs. "

"I shall look after what affairs I please. "

"Of Lady Ongar and her life since her marriage I dare say you know aslittle as anybody in the world, and I do not: suppose it likely that youwill learn much from her. She made a fool of you once, and it is on thecards that she may do so again. "

"You said just now that you would brook no interference in your affairs. Neither will I. "

"I don't know that you have any affairs in which any one can interfere. I have been given to understand that you are engaged to marry that younglady whom your mother brought here one day to dinner. If that be so, Ido not see how you can reconcile it to yourself to become the champion, as you called it, of Lady Ongar. "

"I never said anything of the kind. "

"Yes, you did. "

"No; it was you who asked me whether I was her champion. "

"And you said you were. "

"So far as to defend her name when I heard it traduced by you. "

"By heavens, your impudence is beautiful. Who knows her best, do youthink--you or I? Whose sister-in-law is she? You have told me I wascruel to her. Now to that I will not submit, and I require you toapologize to me. "

"I have no apology to make, and nothing to retract. "

"Then I shall tell your father of your gross misconduct, and shall warnhim that you have made it necessary for me to turn his son out of myhouse. You are an impertinent, overbearing puppy, and if your name werenot the same as my own, I would tell the grooms to horsewhip you off theplace. "

"Which order, you know, the grooms would not obey. They would a dealsooner horsewhip you. Sometimes I think they will, when I hear you speakto them. "

"Now go!"

"Of course I shall go. What would keep me here?"

Sir Hugh then opened the door, and Harry passed through it, not withouta cautious look over his shoulder, so that he might be on his guard ifany violence were contemplated. But Hugh knew better than that, andallowed his cousin to walk out of the room, and out of the house, unmolested. 

And this had happened on the day of the funeral! Harry Clavering hadquarrelled thus with the father within a few hours of the moment inwhich they two had stood together over the grave of that father's onlychild! As he thought of this while he walked across the park, he becamesick at heart. How vile, wretched and miserable was the world aroundhim! How terribly vicious were the people with whom he was dealing! Andwhat could he think of himself--of himself, who was engaged to FlorenceBurton, and engaged also, as he certainly was, to Lady Ongar? Even hiscousin had rebuked him for his treachery to Florence; but what would hiscousin have said had he known all? And then what good had he done; or, rather, what evil had he not done? In his attempt on behalf of LadyClavering, had he not, in truth, interfered without proper excuse, andfairly laid himself open to anger from his cousin? And he felt that hehad been an ass, a fool, a conceited ass, thinking that he could producegood, when his interference could be efficacious only for evil. Whycould he not have held his tongue when Sir Hugh came in, instead ofmaking that vain suggestion as to Lady Clavering? But even this troublewas but an addition to the great trouble that overwhelmed him. How washe to escape the position which he had made for himself in reference toLady Ongar? As he had left London he had promised to himself that hewould write to her that same night and tell her everything as toFlorence; but the night had passed, and the next day was nearly gone, and no such letter had been written. 

Chapter XXVI

Too Many, And Too Few

As he sat with his father that evening, he told the story of his quarrelwith his cousin. His father shrugged his shoulders and raised hiseyebrows. "You are a bolder man than I am, " he said. "I certainly shouldnot have dared to advise Hugh as to what he should do with his wife. "

"But I did not advise him. I only said that I had been talking to herabout it. If he were to say to you that he had been recommending mymother to do this or that, you would not take it amiss?"

"But Hugh is a peculiar man. "

"No man has a right to be peculiar. Every man is bound to accept suchusage as is customary in the world. "

"I don't suppose that it will signify much, " said the rector. "To haveyour cousin's doors barred against you, either here or in London, willnot injure you. "

"Oh, no; it will not injure me; but I do not wish you to think that Ihave been unreasonable. "

The night went by and so did the next day, and still the letter did notget itself written. On the third morning after the funeral he heard thatSir Hugh had gone away; but he, of course, did not go up to the house, remembering well that he had been warned by the master not to do so inthe master's absence. His mother, however, went to Lady Clavering, andsome intercourse between the families was renewed. He had intended tostay but one day after the funeral, but at the end of a week he wasstill at the rectory. It was Whitsuntide he said, and he might as welltake his holiday as he was down there. Of course they were glad that heshould remain with them, but they did not fail to perceive that thingswith him were not altogether right; nor had Fanny failed to perceivethat he had not once mentioned Florence's name since he had been at therectory. 

"Harry, " she said, "there is nothing wrong between you and Florence?"

"Wrong! what should there be wrong? What do you mean by wrong?"

"I had a letter from her to-day, and she asks where you are. "

"Women expect such a lot of letter-writing! But I have been remiss Iknow. I got out of my business way of doing things when I came down hereand have neglected it. Do you write to her to-morrow, and tell her thatshe shall hear from me directly I get back to town. "

"But why should you not write to her from here?"

"Because I can get you to do it for me. "

Fanny felt that this was not at all like a lover, and not at all likesuch a lover as her brother had been. While Florence had been atClavering he had been most constant with his letters, and Fanny hadoften heard Florence boast of them as being perfect in their way. Shedid not say anything further at the present moment, but she knew thatthings were not altogether right. Things were by no means right. He hadwritten neither to Lady Ongar nor to Florence, and the longer he put offthe task the more burdensome did it become. He was now telling himselfthat he would write to neither till he got back to London. 

On the day before he went, there came to him a letter from Stratton. Fanny was with him when he received it, and observed that he put it intohis pocket without opening it. In his pocket he carried it unopened halfthe day, till he was ashamed of his own weakness. At last, almost indespair with himself, he broke the seal and forced himself to read it. There was nothing in it that need have alarmed him. It contained hardlya word that was intended for a rebuke. 

"I wonder why you should have been two whole weeks without writing, " shesaid. "It seems so odd to me, because you have spoiled me by yourcustomary goodness. I know that other men when they are engaged do nottrouble themselves with constant letter-writing. Even Theodore, who, according to Cecilia, is perfect, would not write to her then veryoften; and now, when he is away, his letters are only three lines. Isuppose you are teaching me not to be exacting. If so, I will kiss therod like a good child; but I feel it the more because the lesson has notcome soon enough. "

Then she went on in her usual strain, telling him of what she had done, what she had read and what she had thought. There was no suspicion inher letters no fear, no hint at jealousy. And she should have no furthercause for jealousy! One of the two must be sacrificed, and it was mostfitting that Julia should be the sacrifice. Julia should besacrificed--Julia and himself! But still he could not write to Florencetill he had written to Julia. He could not bring himself to send soft, pretty, loving words to one woman while the other was still regardinghim as her affianced lover. 

"Was your letter from Florence this morning?" Fanny asked. 

"Yes; it was. "

"Had she received mine?"

"I don't know. Of course she had. If you sent it by post of course shegot it. "

"She might have mentioned it, perhaps. "

"I daresay she did. I don't remember. "

"Well, Harry you need not be cross with me because I love the girl whois going to be your wife. You would not like it if I did not care abouther. "

"I hate being called cross. "

"Suppose I were to say that I hated your being cross. I'm sure I do; andyou are going away to-morrow, too. You have hardly said a nice word tome since you have been home. "

Harry threw himself back into a chair almost in despair. He was notenough a hypocrite to say nice words when his heart within him was notat ease. He could not bring himself to pretend that things werepleasant. 

"If you are in trouble, Harry, I will not go on teasing you. "

"I am in trouble, " he said. 

"And cannot I help you?"

"No; you cannot help me. No one can help me. But do not ask anyquestions. "

"Oh, Harry! is it about money?"

"No, no; it has nothing to do with money. "

"You have not really quarrelled with Florence?"

"No; I have not quarrelled with her at all. But I will not answer morequestions. And, Fanny, do not speak of this to my father or mother. Itwill be over before long, and then, if possible, I will tell you. "

"Harry, you are not going to fight with Hugh?"

"Fight with Hugh! no. Not that I should mind it; but he is not foolenough for that. If he wanted fighting done, he would do it by deputy. But there is nothing of that kind. "

She asked him no more questions, and on the next morning he returned toLondon. On his table he found a note which he at once knew to be fromLady Ongar, and which had come only that afternoon. 

"Come to me at once; at once. " That was all that note contained. FannyClavering, while she was inquiring of her brother about his troubles, had not been without troubles of her own. For some days past she hadbeen aware--almost aware--that Mr. Saul's love was not among the thingsthat were past. I am not prepared to say that this conviction on herpart was altogether an unalloyed trouble, or that there might have beenno faint touch of sadness, of silent melancholy about her, had it beenotherwise. But Mr. Saul was undoubtedly a trouble to her; and Mr. Saulwith his love in activity would be more troublesome than Mr. Saul withhis love in abeyance. "It would be madness either in him or in me, "Fanny had said to herself very often; "he has not a shilling in theworld. " But she thought no more in these days of the awkwardness of hisgait, or of his rusty clothes, or his abstracted manner; and for hisdoings as a clergyman her admiration had become very great. Her mothersaw something of all this, and cautioned her; but Fanny's demure mannerdeceived Mrs. Clavering. "Oh, mamma, of course I know that anything ofthe kind must be impossible; and I'm sure he does not think of ithimself any longer. " When she had said this, Mrs. Clavering had believedthat it was all right. The reader must not suppose that Fanny had been ahypocrite. There had been no hypocrisy in her words to her mother. Atthat moment the conviction that Mr. Saul's love was not among pastevents had not reached her; and as regarded, herself; she was quitesincere when she said that anything of the kind must be impossible. 

It will be remembered that Florence Burton had advised Mr. Saul to tryagain, and that Mr. Saul had resolved that he would do so--resolving, also, that should he try in vain he must leave Clavering and seekanother home. He was a solemn, earnest, thoughtful man; to whom such amatter as this was a phase of life very serious, causing infinitepresent trouble, nay, causing tribulation, and, to the same extent, capable of causing infinite joy. From day to day he went about his work, seeing her amid his ministrations almost daily. And never during thesedays did he say a word to her of his love--never since that day in whichhe had plainly pleaded his cause in the muddy lane. To no one butFlorence Burton had he since spoken of it, and Florence had certainlybeen true to her trust; but, notwithstanding all that, Fanny'sconviction was very strong. 

Florence had counselled Mr. Saul to try again, and Mr. Saul was preparedto make the attempt; but he was a man who allowed himself to do nothingin a hurry. He thought much of the matter before he could preparehimself to recur to the subject; doubting, sometimes, whether he wouldbe right to do so without first speaking to Fanny's father; doubting, afterward, whether he might not best serve his cause by asking theassistance of Fanny's mother. But he resolved at last that he woulddepend on himself alone. As to the rector, if his suit to Fanny were afault against Mr. Clavering as Fanny's father, that fault had beenalready committed. But Mr. Saul would not admit himself that it was afault. I fancy that he considered himself to have, as a gentleman, aright to address himself to any lady with whom he was thrown into closecontact. I fancy that he ignored all want of worldly preparation--neverfor a moment attempting to place himself on a footing with men who werericher than himself; and, as the world goes, brighter, but still feelinghimself to be in no way lower than they. If any woman so lived as toshow that she thought his line better than their line, it was open tohim to ask such a woman to join her lot to his. If he failed, themisfortune was his; and the misfortune, as he well knew, was one whichit was hard to bear. And as to the mother, though he had learned to loveMrs. Clavering dearly--appreciating her kindness to all those aroundher, her conduct to her husband, her solicitude in the parish, all hergenuine goodness, still he was averse to trust to her for any part ofhis success. Though Mr. Saul was no knight, though he had nothingknightly about him, though he was a poor curate in very rusty clothesand with manner strangely unfitted for much communion with the outerworld, still he had a feeling that the spoil which he desired to winshould be won by his own spear, and that his triumph would lose half itsglory if it were not achieved by his own prowess. He was no coward, evenin such matters as this, or in any other. When circumstances demandedthat he should speak he could speak his mind freely, with manly vigor, and sometimes not without a certain manly grace. 

How did Fanny know that it was coming? She did know it, though he hadsaid nothing to her beyond his usual parish communications. He was oftenwith her in the two schools; often returned with her in the sweet Springevenings along the lane that led back to the rectory from CumberlyGreen; often inspected with her the little amounts of parish charitiesand entries of pence collected from such parents as could pay. He hadnever reverted to that other subject. But yet Fanny knew that it wascoming, and when she had questioned Harry about his troubles she hadbeen thinking also of her own. 

It was now the middle of May, and the Spring was giving way to the earlySummer almost before the Spring had itself arrived. It is so, I think, in these latter years. The sharpness of March prolongs itself almostthrough April, and then, while we are still hoping for the Spring, therefalls upon us suddenly a bright, dangerous, delicious gleam of Summer. The lane from Cumberly Green was no longer muddy, and Fanny could gobackward and forward between the parsonage and her distant schoolwithout that wading for which feminine apparel is so unsuited. Oneevening, just as she had finished her work, Mr. Saul's head appeared atthe school-door, and he asked her whether she were about to return home. As soon as she saw his eye and heard his voice, she feared that the daywas come. She was prepared with no new answer, and could only give theanswer that she had given before. She had always told herself that itwas impossible; and as to all other questions, about her own heart orsuch like, she had put such questions away from her as beingunnecessary, and, perhaps, unseemly. The thing was impossible, andshould therefore be put away out of thought, as a matter completed andat an end. But now the time was come, and she almost wished that she hadbeen more definite in her own resolutions. 

"Yes, Mr. Saul, I have just done. "

"I will walk with you, if you will let me. " Then Fanny spoke some wordsof experienced wisdom to two or three girls, in order that she mightshow to them, to him, and to herself that she was quite collected. Shelingered in the room for a few minutes, and was very wise and veryexperienced. "I am quite ready now, Mr. Saul. " So saying, she came forthupon the green lane, and he followed her. 

Chapter XXVII

Cumberly Lane Without The Mud

They walked on in silence for a little way, and then he asked her somequestion about Florence Burton. Fanny told him that she had heard fromStratton two days since, and that Florence was well. 

"I liked her very much, " said Mr. Saul. 

"So did we all. She is coming here again in the Autumn; so it will notbe very long before you see her again. "

"How that may be I cannot tell, but if you see her that will be of moreconsequence. "

"We shall all see her, of course. "

"It was here, in this lane, that I was with her last, and wished hergood-by. She did not tell you of my having parted with her, then?"

"Not especially, that I remember. "

"Ah, you would have remembered if she had told you; but she was quiteright not to tell you. " Fanny was now a little confused, so that shecould not exactly calculate what all this meant. Mr. Saul walked on byher side, and for some moments nothing was said. After a while herecurred again to his parting from Florence. "I asked her advice on thatoccasion, and she gave it me clearly--with a clear purpose and anassured voice. I like a person who will do that. You are sure then thatyou are getting the truth out of your friend, even if it be a simplenegative, or a refusal to give any reply to the question asked. "

"Florence Burton is always clear in what she says. "

"I had asked her if she thought that I might venture to hope for a morefavorable answer if I urged my suit to you again. "

"She cannot have said yes to that, Mr. Saul; she cannot have done so!"

"She did not do so. She simply bade me ask yourself. And she was right. On such a matter there is no one to whom I can with propriety addressmyself, but to yourself. Therefore I now ask you the question. May Iventure to have any hope?"

His voice was so solemn, and there was so much of eager seriousness inhis face that Fanny could not bring herself to answer him withquickness. The answer that was in her mind was in truth this: "How canyou ask me to try to love a man who has but seventy pounds a year in theworld, while I myself have nothing?" But there was something in hisdemeanor--something that was almost grand in its gravity--which made itquite impossible that she should speak to him in that tone. But he, having asked his question, waited for an answer; and she was well awarethat the longer she delayed it, the weaker became the ground on whichshe was standing. 

"It is quite impossible, " she said at last. 

"If it really be so--if you will say again that it is so after hearingme out to an end, I will desist. In that case I will desist and leaveyou--and leave Clavering. "

"Oh, Mr. Saul, do not do that--for papa's sake, and because of theparish. "

"I would do much for your father, and as to the parish I love it well. Ido not think I can make you understand how well I love it. It seems tome that I can never again have the same feeling for any place that Ihave for this. There is not a house, a field, a green lane, that is notdear to me. It is like a first love. With some people a first love willcome so strongly that it makes a renewal of the passion impossible. " Hedid not say that it would be so with himself; but it seemed to her thathe intended that she should so understand him. 

"I do not see why you should leave Clavering, " she said. 

"If you knew the nature of my regard for yourself, you would see why itshould be so. I do not say that there ought to be any such necessity. IfI were strong there would be no such need. But I am weak--weak in this;and I could not hold myself under such control as is wanted for the workI have to do. " When he had spoken of his love for the place--for theparish, there had been something of passion in his language; but now inthe words which he spoke of himself and of his feeling for her, he wascalm and reasonable and tranquil, and talked of his going away from heras he might have talked had some change of air been declared necessaryfor his health. She felt that this was so, and was almost angry withhim. 

"Of course you must know what will be best for yourself;" she said. 

"Yes; I know now what I must do, if such is to be your answer. I havemade up my mind as to that. I cannot remain at Clavering, if I am toldthat I may never hope that you will become my wife. "

"But, Mr. Saul--"

"Well; I am listening. But before you speak, remember how all-importantyour words will be to me. "

"No; they cannot be all-important. "

"As regards my present happiness and rest in this world they will be so. Of course I know that nothing you can say or do will hurt me beyondthat. But you might help me even to that further and greater bliss. Youmight help me too in that--as I also might help you. "

"But, Mr. Saul--" she began again, and then, feeling that she must goon, she forced herself to utter words which at the time she felt to becommonplace. "People cannot marry without an income. Mr. Fielding didnot think of such a thing till he had a living assured to him. "

"But, independently of that, might I hope?" She ventured for an instantto glance at his face, and saw that his eyes were glistening with awonderful brightness. 

"How can I answer you further? Is not that reason enough why such athing should not be even discussed?"

"No, Miss Clavering, it is not reason enough. If you were to tell methat you could never love me--me, personally--that you could neverregard me with affection, that would be reason why I should desist--whyI should abandon all my hope here, and go away from Clavering for ever. Nothing else can be reason enough. My being poor ought not to make youthrow me aside if you loved me. If it were so that you loved me, I thinkyou would owe it me to say so, let me be ever so poor. "

"I do not like you the less because you are poor. "

"But do you like me at all? Can you bring yourself to love me? Would youmake the effort if I had such an income as you thought necessary? If Ihad such riches, could you teach yourself to regard me as him whom youwere to love better than all the world beside? I call upon you to answerme that question truly; and if you tell me that it could be so, I willnot despair, and I will not go away. "

As he said this they came to a turn in the road which brought theparsonage gate within their view. Fanny knew that she would leave himthere and go in alone, but she knew also that she must say somethingfurther to him before she could thus escape. She did not wish to givehim an assurance of her positive indifference to him--and still less didshe wish to tell him that he might hope. It could not be possible thatsuch an engagement should be approved by her father, nor could she bringherself to think that she could be quite contented with a lover such asMr. Saul. When he had first proposed to her she had almost ridiculed hisproposition in her heart. Even now there was something in it that wasalmost ridiculous--and yet there was something in it also that touchedher as being sublime. The man was honest, good and true--perhaps thebest and truest man that she had ever known. She could not bring herselfto say to him any word that should banish him forever from the place heloved so well. 

"If you know your own heart well enough to answer me, you should do so, "he went on to say. "If you do not, say so, and I will be content to waityour own time. "

"It would be better, Mr. Saul, that you should not think of this anymore. "

"No, Miss Clavering; that would not be better--not for me, for it wouldprove me to be utterly heartless. I am not heartless. I love you dearly. I will not say that I cannot live without you; but it is my one greathope as regards this world, that I should have you at some future day asmy own. It may be that I am too prone to hope; but surely, if that werealtogether beyond hope, you would have found words to tell me so by thistime. " They had now come to the gateway, and he paused as she put hertrembling hand upon the latch. 

"I cannot say more to you now, " she said. 

"Then let it be so. But, Miss Clavering, I shall not leave this placetill you have said more than that. And I will speak the truth to you, even though it may offend you. I have more of hope now than I have everhad before--more hope that you may possibly learn to love me. In a fewdays I will ask you again whether I may be allowed to speak upon thesubject to your father. Now I will say farewell, and may God bless you;and remember this--that my only earthly wish and ambition is in yourhands. " Then he went on his way toward his own lodgings, and she enteredthe parsonage garden by herself. 

What should she now do, and how should she carry herself? She would havegone to her mother at once, were it not that she could not resolve whatwords she would speak to her mother. When her mother should ask her howshe regarded the man, in what way should she answer that question? Shecould not tell herself that she loved Mr. Saul; and yet if she surelydid not love him--if such love were impossible--why had she not said asmuch to him? We, however, may declare that that inclination to ridiculehis passion, to think of him as a man who had no right to love, was goneforever. She conceded to him clearly that right, and knew that he hadexercised it well. She knew that he was good and true and honest, andrecognized in him also manly courage and spirited resolution. She wouldnot tell herself that it was impossible that she should love him. 

She went up at last to her room doubting, unhappy and ill at ease. Tohave such a secret long kept from her mother would make her lifeunendurable to her. But she felt that, in speaking to her mother, onlyone aspect of the affair would be possible. Even though she loved him, how could she marry a curate whose only income was seventy pounds ayear?

Chapter XXVIII

The Russian Spy

When the baby died at Clavering Park, somebody hinted that Sir Hughwould certainly quarrel with his brother as soon as Archie should becomethe father of a presumptive heir to the title and property. That suchwould be the case those who best knew Sir Hugh would not doubt. ThatArchie should have that of which he himself had been robbed, would ofitself be enough to make him hate Archie. But, nevertheless, at thispresent time, he continued to instigate his brother in that matter ofthe proposed marriage with Lady Ongar. Hugh, as well as others, feltthat Archie's prospects were now improved, and that he could demand thehand of a wealthy lady with more of seeming propriety than would havebelonged to such a proposition while the poor child was living. No onewould understand this better than Lady Ongar, who knew so well all thecircumstances of the family. The day after the funeral the two brothersreturned to London together, and Hugh spoke his mind in the railwaycarriage. "It will be no good for you to hang on about Bolton Street, off and on, as though she were a girl of seventeen, " he said. 

"I'm quite up to that, " said Archie. "I must let her know I'm there, ofcourse. I understand all that. "

"Then why don't you do it? I thought you meant to go to her at once whenwe were talking about it before in London. "

"So I did go to her, and got on with her very well, too, consideringthat I hadn't been there long when another woman came. "

"But you didn't tell her what you had come about?"

"No; not exactly. You see it doesn't do to pop at once to a widow likeher. Ongar, you know, hasn't been dead six months. One has to be alittle delicate in these things. "

"Believe me, Archie, you had better give up all notions of beingdelicate, and tell her what you want at once--plainly and fairly. Youmay be sure that she will not think of her former husband, if youdon't. "

"Oh! I don't think about him at all. "

"Who was the woman you say was there?"

"That little Frenchwoman--the sister of the man--Sophie she calls her. Sophie Gordeloup is her name. They are bosom friends. "

"The sister of that count?"

"Yes; his sister. Such a woman for talking! She said ever so much aboutyour keeping Hermione down in the country. "

"The devil she did. What business was that of hers? That is Julia'sdoing. "

"Well; no, I don't think so. Julia didn't say a word about it. In fact, I don't know how it came up. But you never heard such a woman totalk--an ugly, old, hideous little creature! But the two are alwaystogether. "

"If you don't take care you'll find that Julia is married to the countwhile you are thinking about it. "

Then Archie began to consider whether he might not as well tell hisbrother of his present scheme with reference to Julia. Having discussedthe matter at great length with his confidential friend, Captain Boodle, he had come to the conclusion that his safest course would be to bribeMadam Gordeloup, and creep into Julia's favor by that lady's aid. Now, on his return to London, he was about at once to play that game, and hadalready provided himself with funds for the purpose. The parting withready money was a grievous thing to Archie, though in this case themisery would be somewhat palliated by the feeling that it was abona-fide sporting transaction. He would be lessening the odds againsthimself by a judicious hedging of his bets. "You must stand to losesomething always by the horse you mean to win, " Doodles had said to him, and Archie had recognized the propriety of the remark. He had, therefore, with some difficulty, provided himself with funds, and wasprepared to set about his hedging operations as soon as he could findMadam Gordeloup on his return to London. He had already ascertained heraddress through Doodles, and had ascertained by the unparalleledacuteness of his friend that the lady was--a Russian spy. It would havebeen beautiful to have seen Archie's face when this information waswhispered into his ear, in private, at the club. It was as though he hadthen been made acquainted with some great turf secret, unknown to thesporting world in general. 

"Ah!" he said, drawing a long breath, "no; by George, is she?"

The same story had been told everywhere in London of the little womanfor the last half dozen years, whether truly or untruly I am notprepared to say; but it had not hitherto reached Archie Clavering; andnow, on hearing it, he felt that he was becoming a participator in thedeepest diplomatic secrets of Europe. 

"By George, " said he, "is she really?"

And his respect for the little woman rose a thousand per cent. 

"That's what she is, " said Doodles, "and it's a doosed fine thing foryou, you know! Of course you can make her safe, and that will beeverything. "

Archie resolved at once that he would use the great advantage whichchance and the ingenuity of his friend had thrown in his way; but thatnecessity of putting money in his purse was a sore grievance to him, andit occurred to him that it would be a grand thing if he could induce hisbrother to help him in this special matter. If he could only make Hughsee the immense advantage of an alliance with the Russian spy, Hughcould hardly avoid contributing to the expense--of course on theunderstanding that all such moneys were to be repaid when the Russianspy's work had been brought to a successful result. Russian spy! Therewas in the very sound of the words something so charming that it almostmade Archie in love with the outlay. A female Russian spy too! SophieGordeloup certainly retained but very few of the charms of womanhood, nor had her presence as a lady affected Archie with any specialpleasure; but yet he felt infinitely more pleased with the affair thanhe would have been had she been a man spy. The intrigue was deeper. Hissense of delight in the mysterious wickedness of the thing was enhancedby an additional spice. It is not given to every man to employ theservices of a political Russian lady-spy in his love-affairs! As hethought of it in all its bearings, he felt that he was almost aTalleyrand, or, at any rate, a Palmerston. 

Should he tell his brother? If he could represent the matter in such alight to his brother as to induce Hugh to produce the funds forpurchasing the spy's services, the whole thing would be complete with acompleteness that has rarely been equalled. But he doubted. Hugh was ahard man--a hard, unimaginative man, and might possibly altogetherrefuse to believe in the Russian spy. Hugh believed in little but whathe himself saw, and usually kept a very firm grasp upon his money. 

"That Madam Gordeloup is always with Julia, " Archie said, trying theway, as it were, before he told his plan. 

"Of course she will help her brother's views. "

"I'm not so sure of that. Some of these foreign women ain't like otherwomen at all. They go deeper--a doosed sight deeper. "

"Into men's pockets, you mean. "

"They play a deep game altogether. What do you suppose she is, now?"This question Archie asked in a whisper, bending his head forward towardhis brother, though there was no one else in the carriage with them. 

"What she is? A thief of some kind, probably. I've no doubt she's up toany roguery. "

"She's a--Russian spy. "

"Oh, I've heard of that for the last dozen years. All the ugly oldFrenchwomen in London are Russian spies, according to what people say;but the Russians know how to use their money better than that. If theyemploy spies, they employ people who can spy something. "

Archie felt this to be cruel--very cruel, but he said nothing furtherabout it. His brother was stupid, pigheaded, obstinate, and quiteunfitted by nature for affairs of intrigue. It was, alas, certain thathis brother would provide no money for such a purpose as that he nowprojected; but, thinking of this, he found some consolation in thereflection that Hugh would not be a participator with him in his greatsecret. When he should have bought the Russian spy, he and Doodles wouldrejoice together in privacy without any third confederate. Triumvirimight be very well; Archie also had heard of triumviri; but two werecompany, and three were none. Thus he consoled himself when hispigheaded brother expressed his disbelief in the Russian spy. 

There was nothing more said between them in the railway carriage, and, as they parted at the door in Berkeley Square, Hugh swore to himselfthat this should be the last season in which he would harbor his brotherin London. After this he must have a house of his own there, or have nohouse at all. Then Archie went down to his club, and finally arrangedwith Doodles that the first visit to the spy should be made on thefollowing morning. After much consultation it was agreed between themthat the way should be paved by a diplomatic note. The diplomatic notewas therefore written by Doodles and copied by Archie. 

"Captain Clavering presents his compliments to Madam Gordeloup, andproposes to call upon her to-morrow morning at twelve o'clock, if thathour will be convenient. Captain Clavering is desirous of consultingMadam Gordeloup on an affair of much importance. " "Consult me!" saidSophie to herself, when she got the letter. "For what should he consultme? It is that stupid man I saw with Julie. Ah, well; never mind. Thestupid man shall come. " The commissioner, therefore, who had taken theletter to Mount Street, returned to the club with a note in which MadamGordeloup expressed her willingness to undergo the proposed interview. Archie felt that the letter--a letter from a Russian spy addressedpositively to himself--gave him already diplomatic rank, and he kept itas a treasure in his breast coat-pocket. 

It then became necessary that he and his friend should discuss themanner in which the spy should be managed. Doodles had his misgivingsthat Archie would be awkward, and almost angered his friend by therepetition of his cautions. "You mustn't chuck your money at her head, you know, " said Doodles. 

"Of course not; but when the time comes I shall slip the notes into herhand--with a little pressure perhaps. "

"It would be better to leave them near her on the table. "

"Do you think so?"

"Oh, yes; a great deal. It's always done in that way. "

"But perhaps she wouldn't see them--or wouldn't know where they camefrom. "

"Let her alone for that. "

"But I must make her understand what I want of her--in return, you know. I ain't going to give her twenty pounds for nothing. "

"You must explain that at first; tell her that you expect her aid, andthat she will find you a grateful friend--a grateful friend, say; mindyou remember that. "

"Yes; I'll remember that. I suppose it would be as good a way as any. "

"It's the only way, unless you want her to ring for the servant to kickyou out of the house. It's as well understood as A B C, among the peoplewho do these things. I should say take jewelry instead of money if shewere anything but a Russian spy; but they understand the thing so well, that you may go further with them than with others. "

Archie's admiration for Sophie became still higher as he heard this. "Ido like people, " said he, "who understand what's what, and no mistake. "

"But even with her you must be very careful. "

"Oh, yes; that's a matter of course. "

"When I was declaring for the last time that she would find me agrateful friend, just at the word grateful, I would put down the fourflyers on the table, smoothing them with my hand like that. " ThenDoodles acted the part, putting a great deal of emphasis on the word'grateful' as he went through the smoothing ceremony with two or threesheets of club note paper. "That's your game, you may be sure. If youput them into her hand she may feel herself obliged to pretend to beangry; but she can't be angry simply because you put your money on hertable. Do you see that, old fellow?" Archie declared that he did see itvery plainly. "If she does not choose to undertake the job, she'llmerely have to tell you that you have left something behind you. "

"But there's no fear of that, I suppose?"

"I can't say. Her hands may be full, you know, or she may think youdon't go high enough. "

"But I mean to tip her again, of course. "

"Again! I should think so. I suppose she must have about a couple ofhundred before the end of next month if she's to do any good. After abit you'll be able to explain that she shall have a sum down when themarriage has come off. "

"She won't take the money and do nothing; will she?"

"Oh, no; they never sell you like that. It would spoil their ownbusiness if they were to play that game. If you can make it worth herwhile, she'll do the work for you. But you must be careful; do rememberthat. " Archie shook his head, almost in anger, and then went home forhis night's rest. 

On the next morning he dressed himself in his best, and presentedhimself at the door in Mount Street, exactly as the clock struck twelve. He had an idea that these people were very punctilious as to time. Whocould say but that the French ambassador might have an appointment withMadam Gordeloup at half-past one--or perhaps some emissary from thePope! He had resolved that he would not take his left glove off hishand, and he had thrust the notes in under the palm of his glove, thinking he could get at them easier from there, should they be wantedin a moment, than he could do from his waistcoat pocket. He knocked atthe door, knowing that he trembled as he did so, and felt considerablerelief when he found himself to be alone in the room to which he wasshown. He knew that men conversant with intrigues always go to work withtheir eyes open, and, therefore, at once he began to look about him. Could he not put the money into some convenient hiding-place--now atonce? There, in one corner, was the spot in which she would seat herselfupon the sofa. He saw plainly enough, as with the eye of a Talleyrand, the marks thereon of her constant sitting. So he seized the moment toplace a chair suitable for himself, and cleared a few inches on thetable near to it, for the smoothing of the bank-notes--feeling, while soemployed, that he was doing great things. He had almost made up his mindto slip one note between the pages of a book, not with any well-definedplan as to the utility of such a measure, but because it seemed to besuch a diplomatic thing to do! But while this grand idea was stillflashing backward and forward across his brain, the door opened, and hefound himself in the presence of--the Russian spy. 

He at once saw that the Russian spy was very dirty, and that she wore anightcap, but he liked her the better on that account. A female Russianspy should, he felt, differ much in her attire from other women. Ifpossible, she should be arrayed in diamonds, and pearl ear-drops, withas little else upon her as might be; but failing that costume, whichmight be regarded as the appropriate evening spy costume, a tumblednightcap, and a dirty, white wrapper, old cloth slippers, andobjectionable stockings, were just what they should be. 

"Ah!" said the lady, "you are Captain Clavering. Yes, I remember. "

"I am Captain Clavering. I had the honor of meeting you at LadyOngar's. "

"And now you wish to consult me on an affair of great importance. Verywell. You may consult me. Will you sit down--there. " And Madam Gordeloupindicated to him a chair just opposite to herself, and far removed fromthat convenient spot which Archie had prepared for the smoothing of thebank-notes. Near to the place now assigned to him there was no tablewhatever, and he felt that he would in that position be so completelyraked by the fire of her keen eyes, that he would not be able to carryon his battle upon good terms. In spite, therefore, of the lady's veryplain instructions, he made an attempt to take possession of the chairwhich he had himself placed; but it was an ineffectual attempt, for thespy was very peremptory with him. "There, Captain Clavering; there;there; you will be best there. " Then he did as he was bid, and seatedhimself; as it were, quite out at sea, with nothing but an ocean ofcarpet around him, and with no possibility of manipulating his notesexcept under the raking fire of those terribly sharp eyes. "And now, "said Madam Gordeloup, "you can commence to consult me. What is thebusiness?"

Ah; what was the business? That was now the difficulty? In discussingthe proper way of tendering the bank-notes, I fear the two captains hadforgotten the nicest point of the whole negotiation. How was he to tellher what it was that he wanted to do himself, and what that she was tobe required to do for him? It behooved him above all things not to beawkward! That he remembered. But how not to be awkward? "Well!" shesaid; and there was something almost of crossness in her tone. Her time, no doubt, was valuable. The French ambassador might even now be coming. "Well?"

"I think, Madam Gordeloup, you know my brother's sister-in-law, LadyOngar?"

"What, Julie? Of course I know Julie. Julie and I are dear friends. "

"So I supposed. That is the reason why I have come to you. "

"Well--well--well?"

"Lady Ongar is a person whom I have known for a long times and for whomI have a great--I may say--a very deep regard. "

"Ah! yes. What a jointure she has! and what a park! Thousands andthousands of pounds--and so beautiful! If I was a man I should have avery deep regard, too. Yes. "

"A most beautiful creature, is she not?"

"Ah; if you had seen her in Florence, as I used to see her, in the longSummer evenings! Her lovely hair was all loose to the wind, and shewould sit hour after hour looking, oh, at the stars! Have you seen thestars in Italy?"

Captain Clavering couldn't say that he had, but he had seen themuncommon bright in Norway, when he had been fishing there. 

"Or the moon?" continued Sophie, not regarding his answer. "Ah; that isto live! And he, her husband, the rich lord, he was dying, in a littleroom just inside, you know. It was very melancholy, Captain Clavering. But when she was looking at the moon with her hair all dishevelled, " andSophie put her hands up to her own dirty nightcap--"she was just like aMagdalen; yes, just the same; just the same. "

The exact strength of the picture, and the nature of the comparisondrawn, were perhaps lost upon Archie; and, indeed, Sophie herselfprobably trusted more to the tone of her words, than to any idea whichthey contained; but their tone was perfect, and she felt that ifanything could make him talk, he would talk now. 

"Dear me! you don't say so. I have always admired her very much, MadamGordeloup. "

"Well?"

The French ambassador was probably in the next street already, and ifArchie was to tell his tale at all, he must do it now. 

"You will keep my secret if I tell it you?" he asked. 

"Is it me you ask that? Did you ever hear of me that I tell agentleman's secret? I think not. If you have a secret, and will trustme, that will be good; if you will not trust me--that will be goodalso. "

"Of course I will trust you. That is why I have come here. "

"Then out with it. I am not a little girl. You need not be bashful. Twoand two make four. I know that. But some people want them to make five. I know that, too. So speak out what you have to say. "

"I am going to ask Lady Ongar to--to--to--marry me. "

"Ah, indeed; with all the thousands of pounds and the beautiful park!But the beautiful hair is more than all the thousands of pounds. Is itnot so?"

"Well, as to that, they all go together, you know. "

"And that is so lucky! If they was to be separated, which would youtake?"

The little woman grinned as she asked this question, and Archie, had heat all understood her character, might at once have put himself on apleasant footing with her; but he was still confused and ill at ease, and only muttered something about the truth of his love for Julia. 

"And you want to get her to marry you?"

"Yes; that's just it. "

"And you want me to help you?

"That's just it again. "

"Well?"

"Upon my word, if you'll stick to me, you know, and see me through it, and all that kind of thing, you'll find in me a most grateful friend;indeed, a most grateful friend. " And Archie, as from his position he wasdebarred from attempting the smoothing process, began to work with hisright forefinger under the glove on his left hand. 

"What have you got there?" said Madam Gordeloup, looking at him with allher eyes. 

Captain Clavering instantly discontinued the work with his finger, andbecame terribly confused. Her voice on asking the question had becomevery sharp; and it seemed to him that if he brought out his money inthat awkward, barefaced way, which now seemed to be necessary, she woulddisplay all the wrath of which a Russian spy could be capable. Would itnot be better that he should let the money rest for the present, andtrust to his promise of gratitude? Ah, how he wished that he had slippedat any rate one note between the pages of a book. 

"What have you got there?" she demanded again, very sharply. 

"Oh, nothing. "

"It is not nothing. What have you got there? If you have got nothing, take off your glove. Come. "

Captain Clavering became very red in the face, and was altogether at aloss what to say or do. 

"Is it money you have got there?" she asked. "Let me see how much. Come. "

"It is just a few bank-notes I put in here to be handy, " he said. 

"Ah; that is very handy, certainly. I never saw that custom before. Letme look. " Then she took his hand, and with her own hooked finger clawedout the notes. "Ah! five, ten, fifteen, twenty pounds. Twenty pounds isnot a great deal, but it is very nice to have even that always handy. Iwas wanting so much money as that myself; perhaps you will make it handyto me. "

"Upon my word I shall be most happy. Nothing on earth would give me morepleasure. "

"Fifty pounds would give me more pleasure; just twice as much pleasure. "Archie had begun to rejoice greatly at the safe disposition of themoney, and to think how excellently well this spy did her business; butnow there came upon him suddenly an idea that spies perhaps might dotheir business too well. "Twenty pounds in this country goes a verylittle way; you are all so rich, " said the spy. 

"By George, I ain't. I ain't rich, indeed. "

"But you mean to be--with Julie's money?"

"Oh--ah--yes; and you ought to know, Madam Gordeloup, that I am now theheir to the family estate and title. "

"Yes; the poor little baby is dead, in spite of the pills and thepowders, the daisies and the buttercups! Poor little baby! I had a babyof my own once, and that died also. " Whereupon Madam Gordeloup, puttingup her hand to her eyes, wiped away a real tear with the bank-noteswhich she still held. "And I am to remind Julie that you will be theheir?"

"She will know all about that already. "

"But I will tell her. It will be something to say, at any rate--andthat, perhaps, will be the difficulty. "

"Just so! I didn't look at it in that light before. "

"And am I to propose it to her first?"

"Well; I don't know. Perhaps as you are so clever, it might be as well. "

"And at once?"

"Yes, certainly; at once. You see, Madam Gordeloup, there may be so manybuzzing about her. "

"Exactly; and some of them perhaps will have more than twenty poundshandy. Some will buzz better than that. "

"Of course I didn't mean that for anything more than just a littlecompliment to begin with. "

"Oh, ah; just a little compliment for beginning. And when will it bemaking a progress and going on?"

"Making a progress!"

"Yes; when will the compliment become a little bigger? Twenty pounds!Oh! it's just for a few gloves, you know; nothing more. "

"Nothing more than that, of course, " said poor Archie. 

"Well; when will the compliment grow bigger? Let me see. Julie has seventhousands of pounds, what you call, per annum. And have you seen thatbeautiful park? Oh! And if you can make her to look at the moon with herhair down--oh! When will that compliment grow bigger? Twenty pounds! Iam ashamed, you know. "

"When will you see her, Madam Gordeloup?"

"See her! I see her every day, always. I will be there to-day, andto-morrow, and the next day. "

"You might say a word then at once--this afternoon. "

"What! for twenty pounds! Seven thousands of pounds per annum; and yougive me twenty pounds! Fie, Captain Clavering. It is only just for me tospeak to you--this! That is all. Come; when will you bring me fifty?"

"By George--fifty!"

"Yes; fifty; for another beginning. What; seven thousands of pounds perannum, and make difficulty for fifty pounds! You have a handy way withyour glove. Will you come with fifty pounds to-morrow?" Archie, with thedrops of perspiration standing on his brow, and now desirous of gettingout again into the street, promised that he would come again on thefollowing day with the required sum. 

"Just for another beginning! And now, good-morning, Captain Clavering. Iwill do my possible with Julie. Julie is very fond of me, and I thinkyou have been right in coming here. But twenty pounds was too little, even for a beginning. " Mercenary wretch; hungry, greedy, ill-conditionedwoman--altogether of the harpy breed! As Archie Clavering looked intoher gray eyes, and saw there her greed and her hunger, his flesh creptupon his bones. Should he not succeed with Julia, how much would thisexcellent lady cost him?

As soon as he was gone the excellent lady made an intolerable grimace, shaking herself and shrugging her shoulders, and walking up and downthe room with her dirty wrapper held close round her. "Bah, " she said. "Bah!" And as she thought of the heavy stupidity of her late visitor sheshrugged herself and shook herself again violently, and clutched up herrobe still more closely. "Bah!" It was intolerable to her that a manshould be such a fool, even though she was to make money by him. Andthen, that such a man should conceive it to be possible that he shouldbecome the husband of a woman with seven thousand pounds a year! Bah!

Archie, as he walked away from Mount Street, found it difficult tocreate a triumphant feeling within his own bosom. He had been awkward, slow and embarrassed, and the spy had been too much for him. He wasquite aware of that, and he was aware also that even the sagaciousDoodles had been wrong. There had, at any rate, been no necessity formaking a difficulty about the money. The Russian spy had known herbusiness too well to raise troublesome scruples on that point. That shewas very good at her trade he was prepared to acknowledge; but a fearcame upon him that he would find the article too costly for his ownpurposes. He remembered the determined tone in which she had demandedthe fifty pounds merely as a further beginning. 

And then he could not but reflect how much had been said at theinterview about money--about money for her, and how very little had beensaid as to the assistance to be given--as to the return to be made forthe money. No plan had been laid down, no times fixed, no facilities formaking love suggested to him. He had simply paid over his twenty pounds, and been desired to bring another fifty. The other fifty he was to taketo Mount Street on the morrow. What if she were to require fifty poundsevery day, and declare that she could not stir in the matter for less?Doodles, no doubt, had told him that these first-class Russian spies didwell the work for which they were paid; and no doubt, if paid accordingto her own tariff, Madam Gordeloup would work well for him; but such atariff as that was altogether beyond his means! It would be imperativelynecessary that he should come to some distinct settlement with her as toprice. The twenty pounds, of course, were gone; but would it not bebetter that he should come to some final understanding with her beforehe gave her the further fifty? But then, as he thought of this, he wasaware that she was too clever to allow him to do as he desired. If hewent into that room with the fifty pounds in his pockets, or in hisglove, or, indeed, anywhere about his person, she would have it fromhim, let his own resolution to make a previous bargain be what it might. His respect for the woman rose almost to veneration, but with theveneration was mixed a strong feeling of fear. 

But, in spite of all this, he did venture to triumph a little when hemet Doodles at the club. He had employed the Russian spy, and had paidher twenty pounds, and was enrolled in the corps of diplomatic andmysterious personages, who do their work by mysterious agencies. He didnot tell Doodles anything about the glove, or the way in which the moneywas taken from him; but he did say that he was to see the spy againto-morrow, and that he intended to take with him another present offifty pounds. 

"By George, Clavey, you are going it. " said Doodles, in a voice that wasdelightfully envious to the ears of Captain Archie. When he heard thatenvious tone he felt that he was entitled to be triumphant. 

Chapter XXIX

What Would Men Say To You?

"Harry, tell me the truth--tell me all the truth. " Harry Clavering wasthus greeted when, in obedience to the summons from Lady Ongar, he wentto her almost immediately on his return to London. 

It will be remembered that he had remained at Clavering some days afterthe departure of Hugh and Archie, lacking the courage to face hismisfortunes boldly. But though his delay had been cowardly, it had notbeen easy to him to be a coward. He despised himself for not havingwritten with warm, full-expressed affection to Florence and with honest, clear truth to Julia. Half his misery rose from this feeling ofself-abasement, and from the consciousness that he was weak, piteouslyweak, exactly in that in which he had often boasted to himself that hewas strong. But such inward boastings are not altogether bad. Theypreserve men from succumbing, and make at any rate some attempt torealize themselves. The man who tells himself that he is brave, willstruggle much before he flies; but the man who never does so tellhimself, will find flying easy unless his heart be of nature very high. Now had come the moment either for flying or not flying; and Harry, swearing that he would stand his ground, resolutely took his hat andgloves, and made his way to Bolton Street with a sore heart. 

But as he went he could not keep himself from arguing the matter withinhis own breast. He knew what was his duty. It was his duty to stick toFlorence, not only with his word and his hand, but with his heart. Itwas his duty to tell Lady Ongar that, not only his word was at Stratton, but his heart also, and to ask her pardon for the wrong that he had doneher by that caress. For some ten minutes as he walked through thestreets his resolve was strong to do this manifest duty; but, gradually, as he thought of that caress, as he thought of the difficulties of thecoming interview, as he thought of Julia's high-toned beauty--perhapssomething also of her wealth and birth--and more strongly still as hethought of her love for him, false, treacherous, selfish argumentsoffered themselves to his mind--arguments which he knew to be false andselfish. Which of them did he love? Could it be right for him to givehis hand without his heart? Could it really be good for Florence--poorinjured Florence, that she should be taken by a man who had ceased toregard her more than all other women? Were he to marry her now, wouldnot that deceit be worse than the other deceit? Or, rather, would notthat be deceitful, whereas the other course would simply beunfortunate--unfortunate through circumstances for which he wasblameless? Damnable arguments! False, cowardly logic, by which all malejilts seek to excuse their own treachery to themselves and to others!

Thus during the second ten minutes of his walk, his line of conductbecame less plain to him, and as he entered Piccadilly he was rackedwith doubts. But instead of settling them in his mind he unconsciouslyallowed himself to dwell upon the words with which he would seek toexcuse his treachery to Florence. He thought how he would tell her--notto her face with spoken words, for that he could not do--but withwritten skill, that he was unworthy of her goodness, that his love forher had fallen off through his own unworthiness, and had returned to onewho was in all respects less perfect than she, but who in old days, asshe well knew, had been his first love. Yes! he would say all this, andJulia, let her anger be what it might, should know that he had said it. As he planned this, there came to him a little comfort, for he thoughtthere was something grand in such a resolution. Yes; he would do that, even though he should lose Julia also. 

Miserable clap-trap! He knew in his heart that all his logic was false, and his arguments baseless. Cease to love Florence Burton! He had notceased to love her, nor is the heart of any man made so like aweathercock that it needs must turn itself hither and thither, as thewind directs, and be altogether beyond the man's control. For Harry, with all his faults, and in spite of his present falseness, was a man. No man ceases to love without a cause. No man need cease to love withouta cause. A man may maintain his love, and nourish it, and keep it warmby honest, manly effort, as he may his probity, his courage, or hishonor. It was not that he had ceased to love Florence; but that theglare of the candle had been too bright for him and he had scorched hiswings. After all, as to that embrace of which he had thought so much, and the memory of which was so sweet to him and so bitter--it had simplybeen an accident. Thus, writing in his mind that letter to Florencewhich he knew, if he were an honest man, he would never allow himself towrite, he reached Lady Ongar's door without having arranged for himselfany special line of conduct. 

We must return for a moment to the fact that Hugh and Archie hadreturned to town before Harry Clavering. How Archie had been engaged ongreat doings, the reader, I hope, will remember; and he may as well beinformed here that the fifty pounds was duly taken to Mount Street, andwere extracted from him by the spy without much difficulty. I do notknow that Archie in return obtained any immediate aid or valuableinformation from Sophie Gordeloup; but Sophie did obtain someinformation from him which she found herself able to use for her ownpurposes. As his position with reference to love and marriage was beingdiscussed, and the position also of the divine Julia, Sophie hinted herfear of another Clavering lover. What did Archie think of his cousinHarry? "Why; he's engaged to another girl, " said Archie, opening widehis eyes and his mouth, and becoming very free with his information. This was a matter to which Sophie found it worth her while to attend, and she soon learned from Archie all that Archie knew about FlorenceBurton. And this was all that could be known. No secret had been made inthe family of Harry's engagement. Archie told his fair assistant thatMiss Burton had been received at Clavering Park openly as Harry's futurewife, and, "by Jove, you know, he can't be coming it with Julia afterthat, you know. " Sophie made a little grimace, but did not say much. She, remembering that she had caught Lady Ongar in Harry's arms, thoughtthat, "by Jove, " he might be coming it with Julia, even after MissBurton's reception at Clavering Park. Then, too, she remembered some fewwords that had passed between her and her dear Julia after Harry'sdeparture on the evening of the embrace, and perceived that Julia was inignorance of the very existence of Florence Burton, even though Florencehad been received at the Park. This was information worthhaving--information to be used! Her respect for Harry rose immeasurably. She had not given him credit for so much audacity, so much gallantry, and so much skill. She had thought him to be a pigheaded Clavering, likethe rest of them. He was not pigheaded; he was a promising young man;she could have liked him and perhaps aided him--only that he had shownso strong a determination to have nothing to do with her. Therefore theinformation should be used--and it was used. 

The reader will now understand what was the truth which Lady Ongardemanded from Harry Clavering. "Harry, tell me the truth; tell me allthe truth. " She had come forward to meet him in the middle of the roomwhen she spoke these words, and stood looking him in the face, nothaving given him her hand. 

"What truth?" said Harry. "Have I ever told you a lie?" But he knew wellwhat was the truth required of him. 

"Lies can be acted as well as told. Harry, tell me all at once. Who isFlorence Burton; who and what?" She knew it all, then, and things hadsettled themselves for him without the necessity of any action on hispart. It was odd enough that she should not have learned it before, butat any rate she knew it now. And it was well that she should have beentold--only how was he to excuse himself for that embrace? "At any ratespeak to me, " she said, standing quite erect, and looking as a Junomight have looked. "You will acknowledge at least that I have a right toask the question. Who is this Florence Burton?"

"She is the daughter of Mr. Burton of Stratton. "

"And is that all that you can tell me? Come, Harry, be braver than that. I was not such a coward once with you. Are you engaged to marry her?"

"Yes, Lady Ongar, I am. "

"Then you have had your revenge on me, and now we are quits. " So saying, she stepped back from the middle of the room, and sat herself down onher accustomed seat. He was left there standing, and it seemed as thoughshe intended to take no further notice of him. He might go if hepleased, and there would be an end of it all. The difficulty would beover, and he might at once write to Florence in what language he liked. It would simply be a little episode in his life, and his escape wouldnot have been arduous. 

But he could not go from her in that way. He could not bring himself toleave the room without some further word. She had spoken of revenge. Wasit not incumbent on him to explain to her that there had been norevenge; that he had loved, and suffered, and forgiven without onethought of anger--and that then he had unfortunately loved again? Musthe not find some words in which to tell her that she had been the light, and he simply the poor moth that had burned his wings. 

"No, Lady Ongar, " said he, "there has been no revenge. "

"We will call is justice, if you please. At any rate I do not mean tocomplain. "

"If you ever injured me--" he began. 

"I did injure you, " said she, sharply. 

"If you ever injured me, I forgave you freely. "

"I did injure you--" As she spoke she rose again from her seat, showinghow impossible to her was that tranquillity which she had attempted tomaintain. "I did injure you, but the injury came to you early in life, and sat lightly on you. Within a few months you had learned to love thisyoung lady at the place you went to--the first young lady you saw! I hadnot done you much harm, Harry. But that which you have done me cannot beundone. "

"Julia, " he said, coming up to her. 

"No; not Julia. When you were here before I asked you to call me so, hoping, longing, believing--doing more, so much more than I could havedone, but that I thought my love might now be of service to you. You donot think that I had heard of this then. "

"Oh, no. "

"No. It is odd that I should not have known it, as I now hear that shewas at my sister's house; but all others have not been as silent as youhave been. We are quits, Harry; that is all that I have to say. We arequits now. "

"I have intended to be true to you--to you and to her. "

"Were you true when you acted as you did the other night?" He could notexplain to her how greatly he had been tempted. "Were you true when youheld me in your arms as that woman came in? Had you not made me thinkthat I might glory in loving you, and that I might show her that Iscorned her when she thought to promise me her secresy--her secresy, asthough I were ashamed of what she had seen. I was not ashamed--not then. Had all the world known it I should not have been ashamed. 'I have lovedhim long, ' I should have said, 'and him only. He is to be my husband, and now at last I need not be ashamed. '" So much she spoke, standing up, looking at him with firm face, and uttering her syllables with a quickclear voice; but at the last word there came a quiver in her tone, andthe strength of her countenance quailed, and there was a tear which madedim her eye, and she knew that she could no longer stand before him. Sheendeavored to seat herself with composure; but the attempt failed, andas she fell back upon the sofa he just heard the sob which had cost herso great and vain an effort to restrain. In an instant he was kneelingat her feet, and grasping at the hand with which she was hiding her face. "Julia, " he said, "look at me; let us at any rate understand each otherat last. "

"No, Harry; there must be no more such knowledge--no more suchunderstanding. You must go from me, and come here no more. Had it notbeen for that other night, I would still have endeavored to regard youas a friend. But I have no right to such friendship. I have sinned andgone astray, and am a thing vile and polluted. I sold myself as a beastis sold, and men have treated me as I treated myself. "

"Have I treated you so?"

"Yes, Harry; you, you. How did you treat me when you took me in yourarms and kissed me--knowing, knowing that I was not to be your wife? OGod, I have sinned. I have sinned, and I am punished. "

"No, no, " said he, rising from his knees, "it was not as you say. "

"Then how was it, sir? Is it thus that you treat other women--yourfriends, those to whom you declare friendship? What did you mean me tothink?"

"That I loved you. "

"Yes; with a love that should complete my disgrace--that should finishmy degradation. But I had not heard of this Florence Burton; and, Harry, that night I was happy in my bed. And in that next week when you weredown there for that sad ceremony, I was happy here, happy and proud. Yes, Harry, I was so proud when I thought you still loved me--loved mein spite of my past sin, that I almost forgot that I was polluted. Youhave made me remember it, and I shall not forget it again. "

It would have been better for him had he gone away at once. Now he wassitting in a chair, sobbing violently, and pressing away the tears fromhis cheeks with his hands. How could he make her understand that he hadintended no insult when he embraced her? Was it not incumbent on him totell her that the wrong he then did was done to Florence Burton, and notto her? But his agony was too much for him at present, and he could findno words in which to speak to her. 

"I said to myself that you would come when the funeral was over, and Iwept for poor Hermy as I thought that my lot was so much happier thanhers. But people have what they deserve, and Hermy, who has done no suchwrong as I have done, is not crushed as I am crushed. It was just, Harry, that the punishment should come from you, but it has come veryheavily. "

"Julia, it was not meant to be so. "

"Well; we will let that pass. I cannot unsay, Harry, all that I havesaid--all that I did not say, but which you must have thought and knownwhen you were here last. I cannot bid you believe that I do not--loveyou. "

"Not more tenderly or truly than I love you. "

"Nay, Harry, your love to me can be neither true nor tender--nor will Ipermit it to be offered to me. You do not think that I would rob thatgirl of what is hers. Mine for you may be both tender and true; but, alas, truth has come to me when it can avail me no longer. "

"Julia, if you will say that you love me, it shall avail you. "

"In saying that, you are continuing to ill-treat me. Listen to me now. Ihardly know when it began, for, at first, I did not expect that youwould forgive me and let me be dear to you as I used to be; but as yousat here, looking up into my face in the old way, it came on megradually--the feeling that it might be so; and I told myself that ifyou would take me I might be of service to you, and I thought that Imight forgive myself at last for possessing this money if I could throwit into your lap, so that you might thrive with it in the world; and Isaid to myself that it might be well to wait awhile, till I should seewhether you really loved me; but then came that burst of passion, andthough I knew that you were wrong, I was proud to feel that I was stillso dear to you. It is all over. We understand each other at last, andyou may go. There is nothing to be forgiven between us. "

He had now resolved that Florence must go by the board. If Julia wouldstill take him she should be his wife, and he would face Florence andall the Burtons, and his own family, and all the world in the matter ofhis treachery. What would he care what the world might say? Histreachery to Florence was a thing completed. Now, at this moment, hefelt himself to be so devoted to Julia as to make him regard hisengagement to Florence as one which must, at all hazards, be renounced. He thought of his mother's sorrow, of his father's scorn--of the dismaywith which Fanny would hear concerning him a tale which she wouldbelieve to be so impossible; he thought of Theodore Burton, and thedeep, unquenchable anger of which that brother was capable, and ofCecilia and her outraged kindness; he thought of the infamy which wouldbe attached to him, and resolved that he must bear it all. Even if hisown heart did not move him so to act, how could he hinder himself fromgiving comfort and happiness to this woman who was before him? Injury, wrong, and broken-hearted wretchedness, he could not prevent; but, therefore, this part was as open to him as the other. Men would say thathe had done this for Lady Ongar's money; and the indignation with whichhe was able to regard this false accusation--for his mind declared suchaccusation to be damnably false--gave him some comfort. People might sayof him what they pleased. He was about to do the best within his power. Bad, alas, was the best, but it was of no avail now to think of that. 

"Julia, " he said, "between us at least there shall be nothing to beforgiven. "

"There is nothing, " said she. 

"And there shall be no broken love. I am true to you now--as ever. "

"And, what, then, of your truth to Miss Florence Burton?"

"It will not be for you to rebuke me with that. We have, both of us, played our game badly, but not for that reason need we both be ruinedand broken-hearted. In your folly you thought that wealth was betterthan love; and I, in my folly--I thought that one love blighted might bemended by another. When I asked Miss Burton to be my wife you were thewife of another man. Now that you are free again I cannot marry MissBurton. "

"You must marry her, Harry. "

"There shall be no must in such a case. You do not know her, and cannotunderstand how good, how perfect she is. She is too good to take a handwithout a heart. "

"And what would men say of you?"

"I must bear what men say. I do not suppose that I shall be allhappy--not even with your love. When things have once gone wrong theycannot be mended without showing the patches. But yet men stay the handof ruin for a while, tinkering here and putting in a nail there, stitching and cobbling; and so things are kept together. It must be sofor you and me. Give me your hand, Julia, for I have never deceived you, and you need not fear that I shall do so now. Give me your hand, and saythat you will be my wife. "

"No, Harry; not your wife. I do not, as you say, know that perfect girl, but I will not rob one that is so good. "

"You are bound to me, Julia. You must do as I bid you. You have told methat you love me; and I have told you--and I tell you now, that I lovenone other as I love you--have never loved any other as I loved you. Give me your hand. " Then, coming to her, he took her hand, while she satwith her face averted from him. "Tell me that you will be my wife. " Butshe would not say the words. She was less selfish than he, and wasthinking--was trying to think what might be best for them all, but, above all, what might be best for him. "Speak to me, " he said, "andacknowledge that you wronged me when you thought that the expression ofmy love was an insult to you. "

"It is easy to say, speak. What shall I say?"

"Say that you will be my wife. "

"No--I will not say it. " She rose again from her chair, and took herhand away from him. "I will not say it. Go now and think over all thatyou have done; and I also will think of it. God help me. What evil comeswhen evil has been done. But, Harry, I understand you now, and I atleast will blame you no more. Go and see Florence Burton; and if whenyou see her, you find that you can love her, take her to your heart, andbe true to her. You shall never hear another reproach from me. Go now, go; there is nothing more to be said. "

He paused a moment as though he were going to speak, but he left theroom without another word. As he went along the passage and turned onthe stairs he saw her standing at the door of the room, looking at him, and it seemed that her eyes were imploring him to be true to her inspite of the words that she had spoken. "And I will be true to her, " hesaid to himself. "She was the first that I ever loved, and I will betrue to her. "

He went out, and for an hour or two wandered about the town, hardlyknowing whither his steps were taking him. There had been a tragicseriousness in what had occurred to him this evening, which seemed tocover him with care, and make him feel that his youth was gone from him. At any former period of his life his ears would have tingled with prideto hear such a woman as Lady Ongar speak of her love for him in suchterms as she had used; but there was no room now for pride in his bosom. Now at least he thought nothing of her wealth or rank. He thought of heras a woman between whom and himself there existed so strong a passion asto make it impossible that he should marry another, even though his dutyplainly required it. The grace and graciousness of his life were over;but love still remained to him, and of that he must make the most. Allothers whom he regarded would revile him, and now he must live for thiswoman alone. She had said that she had injured him. Yes, indeed, she hadinjured him! She had robbed him of his high character, of his uncloudedbrow, of that self-pride which had so often told him that he was livinga life without reproach among men. She had brought him to a state inwhich misery must be his bedfellow, and disgrace his companion; butstill she loved him, and to that love he would be true. 

And as to Florence Burton--how was he to settle matters with her? Thatletter for which he had been preparing the words as he went to BoltonStreet, before the necessity for it had become irrevocable, did not nowappear to him to be very easy. At any rate he did not attempt it on thatnight. 

Chapter XXX

The Man Who Dusted His Boots With His Handkerchief

When Florence Burton had written three letters to Harry withoutreceiving a word in reply to either of them, she began to be seriouslyunhappy. The last of these letters, received by him after the scenedescribed in the last chapter, he had been afraid to read. It stillremained unopened in his pocket. But Florence, though she was unhappy, was not even yet jealous. Her fears did not lie in that direction, norhad she naturally any tendency to such uneasiness. He was ill, shethought; or if not ill in health, then ill at ease. Some troubleafflicted him of which he could not bring himself to tell her the facts, and as she thought of this she remembered her own stubbornness on thesubject of their marriage, and blamed herself in that she was not nowwith him, to comfort him. If such comfort would avail him anything now, she would be stubborn no longer. When the third letter brought no replyshe wrote to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Burton, confessing her uneasiness, and begging for comfort. Surely Cecilia could not but see himoccasionally--or at any rate have the power of seeing him. Or Theodoremight do so--as, of course, he would be at the office. If anything ailedhim would Cecilia tell her all the truth? But Cecilia, when she began tofear that something did ail him, did not find it very easy to tellFlorence all the truth. 

But there was jealousy at Stratton, though Florence was not jealous. OldMrs. Burton had become alarmed, and was ready to tear the eyes out ofHarry Clavering's head if Harry should be false to her daughter. Thiswas a misfortune of which, with all her brood, Mrs. Burton had as yetknown nothing. No daughter of hers had been misused by any man, and noson of hers had ever misused any one's daughter. Her children had goneout into the world steadily, prudently, making no brilliant marriages, but never falling into any mistakes. She heard of such misfortunesaround her--that a young lady here had loved in vain, and that a younglady there had been left to wear the willow; but such sorrows had nevervisited her roof; and she was disposed to think--and perhaps tosay--that the fault lay chiefly in the imprudence of mothers. What if atlast, when her work in this line had been so nearly brought to asuccessful close, misery and disappointment should come also upon herlamb! In such case Mrs. Burton, we may say, was a ewe who would not seeher lamb suffer without many bleatings and considerable exercise of hermaternal energies. 

And tidings had come to Mrs. Burton which had not as yet been allowed toreach Florence's ears. In the office at the Adelphi was one Mr. Walliker, who had a younger brother now occupying that desk in Mr. Burton's office which had belonged to Harry Clavering. Through BobWalliker Mrs. Burton learned that Harry did not come to the office evenwhen it was known that he had returned to London from Clavering--and shealso learned at last that the young men in the office were connectingHarry Clavering's name with that of a rich and noble widow, Lady Ongar. Then Mrs. Burton wrote to her son Theodore, as Florence had written toTheodore's wife. 

Mrs. Burton, though she had loved Harry dearly, and had, perhaps, inmany respects liked him better than any of her sons-in-law, had, nevertheless, felt some misgivings from the first. Florence wasbrighter, better educated and cleverer than her elder sisters, andtherefore when it had come to pass that she was asked in marriage by aman somewhat higher in rank and softer in manners than they who hadmarried her sisters, there had seemed to be some reason for thechange--but Mrs. Burton had felt that it was a ground for apprehension. High rank and soft manners may not always belong to a true heart. Atfirst she was unwilling to hint this caution even to herself; but atlast, as her suspicions grew, she spoke the words very frequently, notonly to herself, but also to her husband. Why, oh why, had she let intoher house any man differing in mode of life from those whom she hadknown to be honest and good? How would her gray hairs be made to go insorrow to the grave, if after all her old prudence and all her oldsuccess, her last pet lamb should be returned to the mother's side, ill-used, maimed, and blighted!

Theodore Burton, when he received his mother's letter, had not seenHarry since his return from Clavering. He had been inclined to be veryangry with him for his long and unannounced absence from the office. "Hewill do no good, " he had said to his wile. "He does not know what realwork means. " But his anger turned to disgust as regarded Harry, andalmost to despair as regarded his sister, when Harry had been a week intown and yet had not shown himself at the Adelphi. But at this timeTheodore Burton had heard no word of Lady Ongar, though the clerks inthe office had that name daily in their mouths. "Cannot you go to him, Theodore?" said his wife. "It is very easy to say go to him, " hereplied. "If I made it my business I could, of course, go to him, and nodoubt find him if I was determined to do so--but what more could I do? Ican lead a horse to the water, but I cannot make him drink. " "You couldspeak to him of Florence. " "That is such a woman's idea, " said thehusband. "When every proper incentive to duty and ambition has failedhim, he is to be brought into the right way by the mention of a girl'sname!" "May I see him?" Cecilia urged. "Yes--if you can catch him; but Ido not advise you to try. "

After that came the two letters for the husband and wife, each of whichwas shown to the other; and then for the first time did either of themreceive the idea that Lady Ongar with her fortune might be a cause ofmisery to their sister. "I don't believe a word of it, " said Cecilia, whose cheeks were burning, half with shame and half with anger. Harryhad been such a pet with her--had already been taken so closely to herheart as a brother! "I should not have suspected him of that kind ofbaseness, " said Theodore, very slowly. "He is not base, " said Cecilia. "He may be idle and foolish, but he is not base. "

"I must at any rate go after him now, " said Theodore. "I don't believethis--I won't believe it. I do not believe it. But if it should betrue--!"

"Oh, Theodore. "

"I do not think it is true. It is not the kind of weakness I have seenin him. He is weak and vain, but I should have said that he was true. "

"I am sure he is true. "

"I think so. I cannot say more than that I think so. "

"You will write to your mother?"

"Yes. "

"And may I ask Florence to come up? Is it not always better that peopleshould be near to each other when they are engaged?"

"You can ask her, if you like. I doubt whether she will come. "

"She will come if she thinks that anything is amiss with him. "

Cecilia wrote immediately to Florence, pressing her invitation in thestrongest terms that she could use. "I tell you the whole truth, " shesaid. "We have not seen him, and this of course, has troubled us verygreatly. I feel quite sure he would come to us if you were here; andthis, I think, should bring you, if no other consideration does so. Theodore imagines that he has become simply idle, and that he is ashamedto show himself here because of that. It may be that he has some troublewith reference to his own home, of which we know nothing. But if he hasany such trouble you ought to be made aware of it, and I feel sure thathe would tell you if you were here. " Much more she said, arguing in thesame way, and pressing Florence to come to London. 

Mr. Burton did not at once send a reply to his mother, but he wrote thefollowing note to Harry:

 ADELPHI--May, 186--

 My Dear Clavering:--I have been sorry to notice your continued absence from the office, and both Cecilia and I have been very sorry that you have discontinued coming to us. But I should not have written to you on this matter, not wishing to interfere in your own concerns, had I not desired to see you specially with reference to my sister. As I have that to say to you concerning her which I can hardly write, will you make an appointment with me here; or at my house? Or, if you cannot do that, will you say when I shall find you at home? If you will come and dine with us we shall like that best, and leave you to name an early day; to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after. "Very truly yours, "THEODORE BURTON. "

When Cecilia's letter reached Stratton, and another post came withoutany letter from Harry, poor Florence's heart sank low in her bosom. "Well, my dear, " said Mrs. Burton, who watched her daughter anxiouslywhile she was reading the letter. Mrs. Burton had not told Florence ofher own letter to her son; and now, having herself received no answer, looked to obtain some reply from that which her daughter-in-law hadsent. 

"Cecilia wants me to go to London, " said Florence. 

"Is there anything the matter that you should go just now?"

"Not exactly the matter, mamma; but you can see the letter. "

Mrs. Burton read it slowly, and felt sure that much was the matter. Sheknew that Cecilia would have written in that strain only under theinfluence of some great alarm. At first she was disposed to think thatshe herself would go to London. She was eager to know the truth--eagerto utter her loud maternal bleatings if any wrong were threatened to herlamb. Florence might go with her, but she longed herself to be on thefield of action. She felt that she could almost annihilate any man byher words and looks who would dare to ill-treat a girl of hers. 

"Well, mamma--what do you think?"

"I don't know yet, my dear. I will speak to your papa before dinner. "But as Mrs. Burton had been usually autocratic in the management of herown daughters, Florence was aware that her mother simply required alittle time before she made up her mind. "It is not that I want to goLondon for the pleasure of it, mamma. "

"I know that, my dear. "

"Nor yet merely to see him!--though, of course, I do long to see him!"

"Of course you do--why shouldn't you?"

"But Cecilia is so very prudent, and she thinks that it will be better. And she would not have pressed it, unless Theodore had thought so too!"

"I thought Theodore would have written to me!"

"But he writes so seldom. "

"I expected a letter from him now, as I had written to him. "

"About Harry, do you mean?"

"Well; yes. I did not mention it, as I was aware I might make youuneasy. But I saw that you were unhappy at not hearing from him. "

"Oh, mamma, do let me go. "

"Of course you shall go if you wish it; but let me speak to papa beforeanything is quite decided. "

Mrs. Burton did speak to her husband, and it was arranged that Florenceshould go up to Onslow Crescent. But Mrs. Burton, though she had beenalways autocratic about her unmarried daughters, had never beenautocratic about herself. When she hinted that she also might go, shesaw that the scheme was not approved, and she at once abandoned it. 

"It would look as if we were all afraid, " said Mr. Burton; "and, afterall, what does it come to? A young gentleman does not write to hissweetheart for two or three weeks. I used to think myself the best loverin the world if I wrote once a month. "

"There was no penny post then, Mr. Burton. "

"And I often wish there was none now, " said Mr. Burton. That matter wastherefore decided, and Florence wrote back to her sister-in-law, sayingthat she would go up to London on the third day from that. In themeantime, Harry Clavering and Theodore Burton had met. 

Has it ever been the lot of any unmarried male reader of these pages topass three or four days in London, without anything to do--to have toget through them by himself--and to have that burden on his shoulder, with the additional burden of some terrible, wearing misery, away fromwhich there seems to be no road, and out of which there is apparently noescape? That was Harry Clavering's condition for some few days after theevening which he last passed in the company of Lady Ongar; and I willask any such unmarried man whether, in such a plight, there was for himany other alternative but to wish himself dead? In such a condition, aman can simply walk the streets by himself, and declare to himself thateverything is bad, and rotten, and vile, and worthless. He wisheshimself dead, and calculates the different advantages of prussic acidand pistols. He may the while take his meals very punctually at hisclub, may smoke his cigars, and drink his bitter beer, orbrandy-and-water; but he is all the time wishing himself dead, andmaking that calculation as to the best way of achieving that desirableresult. Such was Harry Clavering's condition now. As for his office, thedoors of that place were absolutely closed against him, by the presenceof Theodore Burton. When he attempted to read, he could not understand aword, or sit for ten minutes with a book in his hand. No occupation waspossible to him. He longed to go again to Bolton Street, but he did noteven do that. If there, he could act only as though Florence had beendeserted for ever; and if he so acted, he would be infamous for life. And yet he had sworn to Julia that such was his intention. He hardlydared to ask himself which of the two he loved. The misery of it all hadbecome so heavy upon him, that he could take no pleasure in the thoughtof his love. It must always be all regret, all sorrow, and all remorse. Then there came upon him the letter from Theodore Burton, and he knewthat it was necessary that he should see the writer. 

Nothing could be more disagreeable than such an interview, but he couldnot allow himself to be guilty of the cowardice of declining it. Of apersonal quarrel with Burton he was not afraid. He felt, indeed, that hemight almost find relief in the capability of being himself angry withany one. But he must positively make up his mind before such aninterview. He must devote himself either to Florence or to Julia; and hedid not know how to abandon the one or the other. He had allowed himselfto be so governed by impulse that he had pledged himself to Lady Ongar, and had sworn to her that he would be entirely hers. She, it is true, had not taken him altogether at his word, but not the less did heknow--did he think that he knew--that she looked for the performance ofhis promise. And she had been the first that he had sworn to love!

In his dilemma he did at last go to Bolton Street, and there found thatLady Ongar had left town for three or four days. The servant said thatshe had gone, he believed, to the Isle of Wight; and that MadamGordeloup had gone with her. She was to be back in town early in thefollowing week. This was on a Thursday, and he was aware that he couldnot postpone his interview with Burton till after Julia's return. So hewent to his club, and nailing himself as it were to the writing-table, made an appointment for the following morning. He would be with Burtonat the Adelphi at twelve o'clock. He had been in trouble, he said, andthat trouble had kept him from the office and from Onslow Crescent. Having written this, he sent it off, and then played billiards, andsmoked, and dined, played more billiards, and smoked and drank till theusual hours of the night had come. He was not a man who liked suchthings. He had not become what he was by passing his earlier years afterthis fashion. But his misery required excitement, and, billiards, withtobacco, were better than the desolation of solitude. 

On the following morning he did not breakfast till near eleven. Whyshould he get up as long as it was possible to obtain the relief whichwas to be had from dozing? As far as possible he would not think of thematter till he had put his hat upon his head to go to The Adelphi. Butthe time for taking his hat soon came, and he started on his shortjourney. But even as he walked, he could not think of it. He waspurposeless, as a ship without a rudder, telling himself that he couldonly go as the winds might direct him. How he did hate himself for hisone weakness! And yet he hardly made an effort to overcome it. On onepoint only did he seem to have a resolve. If Burton attempted to usewith him anything like a threat, he would instantly resent it. 

Punctually at twelve he walked into the outer office, and was told thatMr. Burton was in his room. 

"Halloa, Clavering, " said Walliker, who was standing with his back tothe fire, "I thought we had lost you for good and all. And here you arecome back again!"

Harry had always disliked this man, and now hated him worse than ever. "Yes; I am here, " said he, "for a few minutes; but I believe I need nottrouble you. "

"All right, old fellow, " said Walliker; and then Harry passed throughinto the inner room. 

"I am very glad to see you, Harry, " said Burton, rising, and giving hishand cordially to Clavering. "And I am sorry to hear that you have beenin trouble. Is it anything in which we can help you?"

"I hope--Mrs. Burton is well, " said Harry, hesitating. 

"Pretty well. "

"And the children?"

"Quite well. They say you are a very bad fellow not to go and see them. "

"I believe I am a bad fellow, " said Harry. 

"Sit down, Harry. It will be best to come at the point at once; will itnot? Is there anything wrong between you and Florence?"

"What do you mean by wrong?"

"I should call it very wrong--hideously wrong--if, after all that haspassed between you, there should now be any doubt as to your affectionfor each other. If such doubt were now to arise with her, I shouldalmost disown my sister. "

"You will never have to blush for her. "

"I think not. I thank God that hitherto there have been no such blushesamong us. And I hope, Harry, that my heart may never have to bleed forher. Come, Harry, let me tell you all at once like an honest man. I hatesubterfuges and secrets. A report has reached the old people athome--not Florence, mind--that you are untrue to Florence, and arepassing your time with that lady who is the sister of your cousin'swife. "

"What right have they to ask how I pass my time?"

"Do not be unjust, Harry. If you simply tell me that your visits to thatlady imply no evil to my sister, I, knowing you to be a gentleman, willtake your word for all that it can mean. " He paused, and Harryhesitated, and could not answer. "Nay, dear friend--brother as we bothof us have thought you--come once more to Onslow Crescent and kiss thebairns, and kiss Cecilia, too, and sit with us at our table, and talk asyou used to do, and I will ask no further question; nor will she. Thenyou will come back here to your work, and your trouble will be gone, andyour mind will be at ease; and, Harry, one of the best girls that evergave her heart into a man's keeping will be there to worship you, and toswear when your back is turned that any one who says a word against youshall be no brother, and no sister, and no friend of hers. "

And this was the man who had dusted his boots with hispocket-handkerchief and whom Harry had regarded as being, on thataccount, hardly fit to be his friend! He knew that the man was noble, and good, and generous, and true; and knew also that in all that Burtonsaid he simply did his duty as a brother. But not on that account was itthe easier for him to reply. 

"Say that you will come to us this evening, " said Burton. "Even if youhave an engagement, put it off. "

"I have none, " said Harry. 

"Then say that you will come to us, and all will be well. "

Harry understood of course that his compliance with this invitationwould be taken as implying that all was right. It would be so easy toaccept the invitation, and any other answer was so difficult! But yet hewould not bring himself to tell the lie. 

"Burton, " he said, "I am in trouble. "

"What is the trouble?" The man's voice was now changed, and so was theglance of his eye. There was no expression of anger--none as yet; butthe sweetness of his countenance was gone--a sweetness that was unusualto him, but which still was at his command when he needed it. 

"I cannot tell you all here. If you will let me come to you this eveningI will tell you everything--you and to Cecilia too. Will you let mecome?"

"Certainly. Will you dine with us?"

"No; after dinner; when the children are in bed. " Then he went, leavingon the mind of Theodore Burton an impression that though something wasmuch amiss, his mother had been wrong in her fears respecting LadyOngar. 

Chapter XXXI

Freshwater Gate

Count Pateroff, Sophie's brother, was a man who, when he had taken athing in hand, generally liked to carry it through. It may perhaps besaid that most men are of this turn of mind; but the count was, I think, especially eager in this respect. And as he was not one who had manyirons in the fire, who made either many little efforts, or any greatefforts after things altogether beyond his reach, he was justified inexpecting success. As to Archie's courtship, any one who really knew theman and the woman, and who knew anything of the nature of women ingeneral, would have predicted failure for him. Even with Doodle's aid hecould not have a chance in the race. But when Count Pateroff enteredhimself for the same prize, those who knew him would not speak of hisfailure as a thing certain. 

The prize was too great not to be attempted by so very prudent agentleman. He was less impulsive in his nature than his sister, and didnot open his eyes and talk with watering mouth of the seven thousands ofpounds a year; but in his quiet way he had weighed and calculated allthe advantages to be gained, had even ascertained at what rate he couldinsure the lady's life, and had made himself certain that nothing in thedeed of Lord Ongar's marriage-settlement entailed any pecuniary penaltyon his widow's second marriage. Then he had gone down, as we know, toOngar Park, and as he had walked from the lodge to the house and backagain, he had looked around him complacently, and told himself that theplace would do very well. For the English character, in spite of thepigheadedness of many Englishmen, he had--as he would have saidhimself--much admiration, and he thought that the life of a countrygentleman, with a nice place of his own--with such a very nice place ofhis own as was Ongar Park--and so very nice an income, would suit himwell in his declining years. 

And he had certain advantages, certain aids toward his object, which hadcome to him from circumstances; as, indeed, he had also certaindisadvantages. He knew the lady, which was in itself much. He knew muchof the lady's history, and had that cognizance of the saddestcircumstances of her life, which in itself creates an intimacy. It isnot necessary now to go back to those scenes which had disfigured thelast months of Lord Ongar's life, but the reader will understand thatwhat had then occurred gave the count a possible footing as a suitor. And the reader will also understand the disadvantages which had at thistime already shown themselves in the lady's refusal to see the count. 

It may be thought that Sophie's standing with Lady Ongar would be agreat advantage to her brother; but I doubt whether the brother trustedeither the honesty or the discretion of his sister. He would have beenwilling to purchase such assistance as she might give--not in Archie'spleasant way, with bank-notes hidden under his glove--but byacknowledgments for services to be turned into solid remuneration whenthe marriage should have taken place, had he not feared that Sophiemight communicate the fact of such acknowledgments to the otherlady--making her own bargain in doing so. He had calculated all this, and had come to the conclusion that he had better make no directproposal to Sophie; and when Sophie made a direct proposal to him, pointing out to him in glowing language all the fine things which such amarriage would give him, he had hardly vouchsafed to her a word ofanswer. "Very well, " said Sophie to herself; "very well. Then we bothknow what we are about. "

Sophie herself would have kept Lady Ongar from marrying any one had shebeen able. Not even a brother's gratitude would be so serviceable to heras the generous kindness of a devoted friend. That she might be ableboth to sell her services to a lover, and also to keep Julie frommarrying, was a lucky combination of circumstances which did not occurto her till Archie came to her with the money in his glove. Thatcomplicated game she was now playing, and was aware that Harry Claveringwas the great stumbling-block in her way. A woman even less clever thanSophie would have perceived that Lady Ongar was violently attached toHarry; and Sophie, when she did see it, thought that there was nothingleft for her but to make her hay while the sun was yet shining. Then sheheard the story of Florence Burton; and again she thought that Fortunewas on her side. She told the story of Florence Burton--with what resultwe know; and was quite sharp enough to perceive afterward that the talehad had its intended effect--even though her Julie had resolutelydeclined to speak either of Harry Clavering or of Florence Burton. 

Count Pateroff had again called in Bolton Street, and had again beenrefused admittance. It was plain to him to see by the servant's mannerthat it was intended that he should understand that he was not to beadmitted. Under such circumstances, it was necessary that he must eitherabandon his pursuit, or that he must operate upon Lady Ongar throughsome other feeling than her personal regard for himself. He might, perhaps, have trusted much to his own eloquence if he could have seenher; but how is a man to be eloquent in his wooing if he cannot see thelady whom he covets? There is, indeed, the penny post, but in these daysof legal restraints, there is no other method of approaching anunwilling beauty. Forcible abduction is put an end to as regards GreatBritain and Ireland. So the count had resort to the post. 

His letter was very long, and shall not, therefore, be given to thereader. He began by telling Lady Ongar that she owed it to him for thegood services he had done her, to read what he might say, and to answerhim. He then gave her various reasons why she should see him, pleading, among other things, in language which she could understand, though thewords were purposely as ambiguous as they could be made, that he hadpossessed and did possess the power of doing her a grievous injury, andthat he had abstained, and--hoped that he might be able to abstain forthe future. She knew that the words contained no threat--that takenliterally they were the reverse of a threat, and amounted to apromise--but she understood also that he had intended to imply. Long ashis own letter was, he said nothing in it as to his suit, confininghimself to a request that she should see him. But with his letter hesent her an enclosure longer than the letter itself in which his wisheswere clearly explained. 

This enclosure purported to be an expression of Lord Ongar's wishes onmany subjects, as they had been communicated to Count Pateroff in thelatter days of the lord's life; but as the manuscript was altogether inthe count's writing, and did not even pretend to have been subjected toLord Ongar's eye, it simply amounted to the count's own story of theiralleged conversations. There might have been no such conversations, ortheir tenor might have been very different from that which the countrepresented, or the statements and opinions, if expressed at all by LordOngar, might have been expressed at times when no statements or opinionscoming from him could be of any value. But as to these conversations, ifthey could have been verified as having come from Lord Ongar's mouthwhen he was in full possession of such faculties as he possessed--allthat would have amounted to nothing with Lady Ongar. To Lord Ongar aliveshe had owed obedience, and had been obedient. To Lord Ongar dead sheowed no obedience, and would not be obedient. 

Such would have been her feelings as to any document which could havereached her, purporting to contain Lord Ongar's wishes; but thisdocument was of a nature which made her specially antagonistic to theexercise of any such marital authority from the grave. It was very long, and went into small details--details which were very small; but theupshot of it all was a tendering of great thanks to Count Pateroff; andthe expression of a strong wish that the count should marry his widow. "O. Said that this would be the only thing for J. 's name. " "O. Said thatthis would be the safest course for his own honor. " "O. Said, as he tookmy hand, that in promising to take this step I gave him great comfort. ""O. Commissioned me to speak to J. In his name to this effect. " The O. Was, of course, Lord Ongar, and the J. Was, of course, Julia. It was allin French, and went on in the same strain for many pages. Lady Ongaranswered the letter as follows:

 Lady Ongar presents her compliments to Count Pateroff, and begs to return the enclosed manuscript, which is, to her, perfectly valueless. Lady Ongar must still decline, and now more strongly than before, to receive Count Pateroff. 

 BOLTON STREET, May, 186--

She was quite firm as she did this. She had no doubt at all on thematter. She did not feel that she wanted to ask for any advice. But shedid feel that this count might still work her additional woe, that hercup of sorrow might not even yet be full, and that she was sadly--sadlyin want of love and protection. For aught she knew, the count mightpublish the whole statement, and people might believe that those wordscame from her husband, and that her husband had understood what would bebest for her fame and for his honor. The whole thing was a threat, andnot to save herself from any misery, would she have succumbed to amenace; but still it was possible that the threat might be carried out. 

She was sorely in want of love and protection. At this time, when thecount's letter reached her, Harry had been with her; and we know whathad passed between them. She had bid him go to Florence, and loveFlorence, and marry Florence, and leave her in her desolation. That hadbeen her last command to him. But we all know what such commands mean. She had not been false in giving him these orders. She had intended itat the moment. The glow of self-sacrifice had been warm in her bosom, and she had resolved to do without that which she wanted, in order thatanother might have it. But when she thought of it afterward in herloneliness, she told herself that Florence Burton could not want Harry'slove as she wanted it. There could not be such need to this girl, whopossessed father and mother, and brothers, and youth, as there was toher, who had no other arm on which she could lean, beside that of theone man for whom she had acknowledged her love, and who had alsodeclared his passion for her. She made no scheme to deprive Florence ofher lover. In the long hours of her own solitude she never revoked, even within her own bosom, the last words she had said to HarryClavering. But not the less did she hope that he might come to heragain, and that she might learn from him that he had freed himself fromthat unfortunate engagement into which her falseness to him had drivenhim. 

It was after she had answered Count Pateroff's letter that she resolvedto go out of town for three or four days. For some short time she hadbeen minded to go away altogether, and not to return till after theAutumn; but this scheme gradually diminished itself and fell away, tillshe determined that she would come back after three or four days. Thencame to her Sophie--her devoted Sophie--Sophie whom she despised andhated; Sophie of whom she was so anxious to rid herself that in all herplans there was some little under-plot to that effect; Sophie whom sheknew to be dishonest to her in any way that might make dishonestyprofitable; and before Sophie had left her, Sophie had engaged herselfto go with her dear friend to the Isle of Wight! As a matter of course, Sophie was to be franked on this expedition. On such expeditions Sophiesare always franked, as a matter of course. And Sophie would travel withall imaginable luxury--a matter to which Sophie was by no meansindifferent, though her own private life was conducted with an economythat was not luxurious. But, although all these good things came inSophie's way, she contrived to make it appear that she was devotingherself in a manner that was almost sacrificial to the friend of herbosom. At the same time Lady Ongar sent a few words, as a message, tothe count by his sister. Lady Ongar, having told to Madam Gordeloup thestory of the document which had reached her, and having described herown answer, was much commended by her friend. 

"You are quite right, dear, quite. Of course I am fond of my brother. Edouard and I have always been the best of friends. But that does notmake me think you ought to give yourself to him. Bah! Why should a womangive away everything? Edouard is a fine fellow. But what is that? Finefellows like to have all the money themselves. "

"Will you tell him--from me, " said Lady Ongar, "that I will take it as akindness on his part if he will abstain from coming to my house. Icertainly shall not see him with my own consent. "

Sophie promised, and probably gave the message; but when she alsoinformed Edouard of Lady Ongar's intended visit to the Isle of Wight, telling him the day on which they were going and the precise spot, withthe name of the hotel at which they were to stay, she went a littlebeyond the commission which her dearest friend had given her. 

At the western end of the Isle of Wight, and on the further shore, aboutthree miles from the point of the island which we call the Needles, there is a little break in the cliff, known to all the stay-at-homeEnglish travellers as Freshwater Gate. Here there is a cluster ofcottages and two inns, and a few bathing-boxes, and ready access by easyascents to the breezy downs on either side, over which the sea air blowswith all its salt and wholesome sweetness. At one of these two inns LadyOngar located herself and Sophie; and all Freshwater, and all Yarmouth, and all that end of the Island were alive to the fact that the richwidowed countess respecting whom such strange tales were told, had comeon a visit to these parts. Innkeepers like such visitors. The morevenomous are the stories told against them, the more money are they aptto spend, and the less likely are they to examine their hills. A richwoman altogether without a character is a mine of wealth to aninnkeeper. In the present case no such godsend had come in the way--butthere was supposed to be a something a little odd, and the visitor wason that account the more welcome. 

Sophie was not the most delightful companion in the world for such aplace. London was her sphere, as she herself had understood whendeclaiming against those husbands who keep their wives in the country. And she had no love for the sea specially, regarding all winds asnuisances excepting such as had been raised by her own efforts, andthinking that salt from a saltcellar was more convenient than thatbrought to her on the breezes. It was now near the end of May, but shehad not been half an hour at the inn before she was loud in demanding afire--and when the fire came she was unwilling to leave it. Her gesturewas magnificent when Lady Ongar proposed to her that she should bathe. What--put her own dear little dry body, by her own will, into the coldsea! She shrugged herself, and shook herself, and without speaking aword declined with so much eloquence that it was impossible not toadmire her. Nor would she walk. On the first day, during the warmestpart of the day, she allowed herself to be taken out in a carriagebelonging to the inn; but after her drive she clung to the fire, andconsumed her time with a French novel. 

Nor was Lady Ongar much more comfortable in the Isle of Wight than shehad been in London. The old poet told us how Black Care sits behind thehorseman, and some modern poet will some day describe to us thatterrible goddess as she takes her place with the stoker close to thefire of the locomotive engine. Sitting with Sophie opposite to her, LadyOngar was not happy, even though her eye rested on the lines of thatmagnificent coast. Once indeed, on the evening of their first day, Sophie left her, and she was alone for nearly an hour. Ah, how happycould she have been if Harry Clavering might have been there with her. Perhaps a day might come in which Harry might bring her there. In such acase Atra Cura would be left behind, and then she might be altogetherhappy. She sat dreaming of this for above an hour, and Sophie was stillaway. When Sophie returned, which she did all too soon, she explainedthat she had been in her bedroom. She had been very busy, and now hadcome down to make herself comfortable. 

On the next evening Lady Ongar declared her intention of going up on thedowns by herself. They had dined at five, so that she might have a longevening, and soon after six she started. "If I do not break down I willget as far as the Needles, " she said. Sophie, who had heard that thedistance was three miles, lifted up her hands in despair. "If you arenot back before nine I shall send the people after you. " Consenting tothis with a laugh, Lady Ongar made her way up to the downs, and walkedsteadily on toward the extreme point of the island. To the Needlesthemselves she did not make her way. These rocks are now approached, asall the stay-at-home travellers know, through a fort, and down to thefort she did not go. But turning a little from the highest point of thehill toward the cliffs on her left hand, she descended till she reacheda spot from which she could look down on the pebbly beach lying somethree hundred feet below her, and on the soft shining ripple of thequiet waters as they moved themselves with a pleasant sound on the longstrand which lay stretched in a line from the spot beneath her out tothe point of the island. The evening was warm, and almost transparent inits clearness, and very quiet. There was no sound even of a breeze. Whenshe seated herself close upon the margin of the cliff, she heard thesmall waves moving the stones which they washed, and the sound was asthe sound of little children's voices, very distant. Looking down, shecould see through the wonderful transparency of the water, and thepebbles below it were bright as diamonds, and the sands were burnishedlike gold. And each tiny silent wavelet as it moved up toward the shoreand lost itself at last in its own effort, stretched itself the wholelength of the strand. Such brightness on the seashore she had never seenbefore, nor had she ever listened as now she listened to that infantinebabble of the baby waves, She sat there close upon the margin, on a seatof chalk which the winds had made, looking, listening, and forgettingfor a while that she was Lady Ongar whom people did not know, who livedalone in the world with Sophie Gordeloup for her friend--and whose loverwas betrothed to another woman. She had been there perhaps half an hour, and had learned to be at home on her perch, sitting there in comfort, with no desire to move, when a voice which she well knew at the firstsound startled her, and she rose quickly to her feet. "Lady Ongar, " saidthe voice, "are you not rather near the edge?" As she turned round therewas Count Pateroff with his hand already upon her dress, so that nodanger might be produced by the suddenness of his speech. 

"There is nothing to fear, " she said, stepping back from her seat. Asshe did so, he dropped his hand from her dress, and, raising it to hishead, lifted his hat from his forehead. "You will excuse me, I hope, Lady Ongar, " he said, "for having taken this mode of speaking to you. "

"I certainly shall not excuse you; nor, further than I can help it, shall I listen to you. "

"There are a few words which I must say. "

"Count Pateroff, I beg that you will leave me. This is treacherous andunmanly--and can do you no good. By what right do you follow me here?"

"I follow you for your own good, Lady Ongar; I do it that you may hearme say a few words that are necessary for you to hear. "

"I will hear no words from you--that is, none willingly. By this timeyou ought to know me and to understand me. " She had begun to walk up thehill very rapidly, and for a moment or two he had thought that she wouldescape him; but her breath had soon failed her, and she found herselfcompelled to stand while he regained his place beside her. This he hadnot done without an effort, and for some minutes they were both silent. "it is very beautiful, " at last he said, pointing away over the sea. 

"Yes; it is very beautiful, " she answered. "Why did you disturb me whenI was so happy?" But the count was still recovering his breath and madeno answer to this question. When, however, she attempted to move onagain, still breasting the hill, he put his hand upon her arm verygently. 

"Lady Ongar, " he said, "you must listen to me for a moment. Why not doit without a quarrel?"

"If you mean that I cannot escape from you, it is true enough. "

"Why should you want to escape? Did I ever hurt you? Before this have Inot protected you from injury?"

"No--never. You protect me!"

"Yes--I; from your husband, from yourself, and from the world. You donot know--not yet, all that I have done for you. Did you read what LordOngar had said?"

"I read what it pleased you to write. "

"What it pleased me! Do you pretend to think that Lord Ongar did notspeak as he speaks there? Do you not know that those were his own words?Do you not recognize them? Ah, yes, Lady Ongar; you know them to betrue. "

"Their truth or falsehood is nothing to me. They are altogetherindifferent to me either way. "

"That would be very well if it were possible; but it is not. There; nowwe are at the top, and it will be easier. Will you let me have the honorto offer you my arm? No! Be it so; but I think you would walk theeasier. It would not be for the first time. "

"That is a falsehood. " As she spoke she stepped before him, and lookedinto his face with eyes full of passion. "That is a positive falsehood. I never walked with a hand resting on your arm. "

There came over his face the pleasantest smile as he answered her. "Youforget everything, " he said--"everything. But it does not matter. Otherpeople will not forget. Julie, you had better take me for your husband. You will be better as my wife, and happier, than you can be otherwise. "

"Look down there, Count Pateroff--down to the edge. If my misery is toogreat to be borne, I can escape from it there on better terms than youpropose to me. "

"Ah! That is what we call poetry. Poetry is very pretty, and in sayingthis as you do, you make yourself divine. But to be dashed over thecliffs and broken on the rocks--in prose is not so well. "

"Sir, will you allow me to pass on while you remain; or will you let merest here, while you return alone?"

"No, Julie; not so. I have found you with too much difficulty. InLondon, you see, I could not find you. Here, for a minute, you mustlisten to me. Do you not know, Julie, that your character is in myhands?"

"In your hands? No--never; thank God, never. But what if it were?"

"Only this--that I am forced to play the only game that you leave opento me. Chance brought you and me together in such a way that nothing butmarriage can be beneficial to either of us--and I swore to Lord Ongarthat it should be so. I mean that it shall be so--or that you shall bepunished for your misconduct to him and to me. "

"You are both insolent and false. But listen to me, since you are hereand I cannot avoid you. I know what your threats mean. "

"I have never threatened you. I have promised you my aid, but have usedno threats. "

"Not when you tell me that I shall be punished? But to avoid nopunishment, if any be in your power, will I ever willingly place myselfin your company. You may write of me what papers you please, and repeatof me whatever stories you may choose to fabricate, but you will notfrighten me into compliance by doing so. I have; at any rate, spiritenough to resist such attempts as that. "

"As you are living at present, you are alone in the world!"

"And I am content to remain alone. "

"You are thinking, then, of no second marriage?"

"If I were, does that concern you? But I will speak no further word toyou. If you follow me into the inn, or persecute me further by forcingyourself upon me, I will put myself under the protection of the police. "

Having said this, she walked on as quickly as her strength would permit, while he walked by her side, urging upon her his old arguments as toLord Ongar's expressed wishes, as to his own efforts on her behalf--andat last as to the strong affection with which he regarded her. But shekept her promise, and said not a word in answer to it all. For more thanan hour they walked side by side, and during the greater part of thattime not a syllable escaped from her. From moment to moment she kept hereye warily on him, fearing that he might take her by the arm, or attemptsome violence with her. But he was too wise for this, and too fullyconscious that no such proceeding on his part could be of any service tohim. He continued, however, to speak to her words which she could notavoid hearing--hoping rather than thinking that he might at lastfrighten her by a description of all the evil which it was within hispower to do her. But in acting thus he showed that he knew nothing ofher character. She was not a woman whom any prospect of evil couldpossibly frighten into a distasteful marriage. 

Within a few hundred yards of the hotel there is another fort, and atthis point the path taken by Lady Ongar led into the private grounds ofthe inn at which she was staying. Here the count left her, raising hishat as he did so, and saying that he hoped to see her again before sheleft the island. 

"If you do so, " said she, "it shall be in presence of those who canprotect me. " And so they parted. 

Chapter XXXII

What Cecilia Burton Did For Her Sister-In-Law

As soon as Harry Clavering had made his promise to Mr. Burton, and haddeclared that he would be in Onslow Crescent that same evening, he wentaway from the offices at the Adelphi, feeling it to be quite impossiblethat he should recommence his work there at that moment, even should itever be within his power to do so. Nor did Burton expect that he shouldstay. He understood, from what had passed, much of Harry's trouble, ifnot the whole of it; and though he did not despair on behalf of hissister, he was aware that her lover had fallen into a difficulty, fromwhich he could not extricate himself without great suffering and muchstruggling. But Burton was a man who, in spite of something cynical onthe surface of his character, believed well of mankind generally, andwell also of men as individuals. Even though Harry had done amiss, hemight be saved. And though Harry's conduct to Florence might have beenbad, nay, might have been false, still, as Burton believed, he was toogood to be cast aside, or spurned out of the way, without some furtherattempt to save him. 

When Clavering had left him Burton went back to his work, and after awhile succeeded in riveting his mind on the papers before him. It was ahard struggle with him, but he did it, and did not leave his businesstill his usual hour. It was past five when he took down his hat and hisumbrella, and, as I fear, dusted his boots before he passed out of theoffice on to the passage. As he went he gave sundry directions toporters and clerks, as was his wont, and then walked off intent upon hisusual exercise before he should reach his home. 

But he had to determine on much with reference to Florence and Harrybefore he saw his wife. How was the meeting of the evening to takeplace, and in what way should it be commenced? If there wereindispensable cause for his anger, in what way should he show it, and ifnecessity for vengeance, how should his sister be avenged? There isnothing more difficult for a man than the redressing of injuries done toa woman who is very near to him and very dear to him. The whole theoryof Christian meekness and forgiveness becomes broken to pieces and fallsto the ground, almost as an absurd theory, even at the idea of suchwrong. What man ever forgave an insult to his wife or an injury to hissister, because he had taught himself that to forgive trespasses is areligious duty? Without an argument, without a moment's thought, the mandeclares to himself that such trespasses as those are not included inthe general order. But what is he to do? Thirty years since his coursewas easy, and unless the sinner were a clergyman, he could in some sortsatisfy his craving for revenge by taking a pistol in his hand, andhaving a shot at the offender. That method was doubtless barbarous andunreasonable, but it was satisfactory and sufficed. But what can he donow? A thoughtful, prudent, painstaking man, such as was TheodoreBurton, feels that it is not given to him to attack another with hisfists, to fly at his enemy's throat, and carry out his purpose after themanner of dogs. Such a one has probably something round his heart whichtells him that if so attacked he could defend himself; but he knows thathe has no aptitude for making such onslaught, and is conscious that suchdeeds of arms would be unbecoming to him. In many, perhaps in most ofsuch cases, he may, if he please, have recourse to the laws. But any aidthat the law can give him is altogether distasteful to him. The name ofher that is so dear to him should be kept quiet as the grave under suchmisfortune, not blazoned through ten thousand columns for the amusementof all the crowd. There is nothing left for him but to spurn theman--not with his foot but with his thoughts; and the bitterconsciousness that to such spurning the sinner will be indifferent. Theold way was barbarous certainly, and unreasonable--but there was asatisfaction in it that has been often wanting since the use of pistolswent out of fashion among us. 

All this passed through Burton's mind as he walked home. One would nothave supposed him to be a man eager for bloodshed--he with a wife whomhe deemed to be perfect, with children who in his eyes were gracious asyoung gods, with all his daily work which he loved as good workersalways do; but yet, as he thought of Florence, as he thought of thepossibility of treachery on Harry's part, he regarded almost with dismaythe conclusion to which he was forced to come--that there could be nopunishment. He might proclaim the offender to the world as false, andthe world would laugh at the proclaimer, and shake hands with theoffender. To sit together with such a man on a barrel of powder, orfight him over a handkerchief seemed to him to be reasonable, naysalutary, under such a grievance. There are sins, he felt, which thegods should punish with instant thunderbolts, and such sins as this wereof such a nature. His Florence--pure, good, loving, true, herselftotally void of all suspicion, faultless in heart as well as mind, theflower of that Burton flock which had prospered so well--that she shouldbe sacrificed through the treachery of a man who, at his best, hadscarcely been worthy of her! The thought of this was almost too much forhim, and he gnashed his teeth as he went on his way. 

But yet he had not given up the man. Though he could not restrainhimself from foreshadowing the misery that would result from suchbaseness, yet he told himself that he would not condemn beforecondemnation was necessary. Harry Clavering might not be good enough forFlorence. What man was good enough for Florence? But still, if married, Harry, he thought, would not make a bad husband Many a man who is proneenough to escape from the bonds which he has undertaken to endure--toescape from them before they are riveted--is mild enough under theirendurance, when they are once fastened upon him. Harry Clavering was notof such a nature that Burton could tell himself that it would be wellthat his sister should escape even though her way of escape must liethrough the fire and water of outraged love. That Harry Clavering was agentleman, that he was clever, that he was by nature affectionate, softin manner, tender of heart, anxious to please, good-tempered, and ofhigh ambition, Burton knew well; and he partly recognized the fact thatHarry had probably fallen into his present fault more by accident thanby design. Clavering was not a skilled and practiced deceiver. At last, as he drew near to his own door, he resolved on the line of conduct hewould pursue. He would tell his wife everything, and she should receiveHarry alone. 

He was weary when he reached home, and was a little cross with hisfatigue. Good man as he was, he was apt to be fretful on the firstmoment of his return to his own house, hot with walking, tired with hisday's labor, and in want of his dinner. His wife understood this well, and always bore with him at such moments, coming down to him in thedressing-room behind the back parlor, and ministering to his wants. Ifear he took some advantage of her goodness, knowing that at suchmoments he could grumble and scold without danger of contradiction. Butthe institution was established, and Cecilia never rebelled against itstraditional laws. On the present day he had much to say to her, but eventhat he could not say without some few symptoms of petulant weariness. 

"I'm afraid you've had a terrible long day, " she said. 

"I don't know what you call terribly long. I find the days terriblyshort. I have had Harry with me, as I told you I should. "

"Well, well. Say in one word, dear, that it is all right--if it is so. "

"But it is not all right. I wonder what on earth the men do to theboots, that I can never get a pair that do not hurt me in walking. " Atthis moment she was standing over him with his slippers. 

"Will you have a glass of sherry before dinner, dear; you are so tired?"

"Sherry--no!"

"And what about Harry? You don't mean to say--"

"If you'll listen, I'll tell you what I do mean to say. " Then hedescribed to her as well as he could, what had really taken placebetween him and Harry Clavering at the office. 

"He cannot mean to be false, if he is coming here, " said the wife. 

"He does not mean to be false; but he is one of those men who can befalse without meaning it, who allow themselves to drift away from theiranchors, and to be carried out into seas of misery and trouble, becausethey are not careful in looking to their tackle. I think that he maystill be held to a right course, and therefore I have begged him to comehere. "

"I am sure that you are right, Theodore. He is so good and soaffectionate, and he made himself so much one of us!"

"Yes; too easily by half. That is just the danger. But look here, Cissy. I'll tell you what I mean to do. I will not see him myself; at any rate, not at first. Probably I had better not see him at all. You shall talkto him. "

"By myself?"

"Why not? You and he have always been great friends, and he is a man whocan speak more openly to a woman than to another man. "

"And what shall I say as to your absence?"

"Just the truth. Tell him that I am remaining in the dining-room becauseI think his task will be easier with you in my absence. He has gothimself into some mess with that woman. "

"With Lady Ongar?"

"Yes; not that her name was mentioned between us, but I suppose it isso. "

"Horrible woman; wicked, wretched creature!"

"I know nothing about that, nor, as I suppose, do you. "

"My dear, you must have heard. "

"But if I had--and I don't know that I have--I need not have believed. Iam told that she married an old man who is now dead, and I suppose shewants a young husband. "

"My dear!"

"If I were you, Cissy, I would say as little as might be about her. Shewas an old friend of Harry's--"

"She jilted him when he was quite a boy; I know that--long before he hadseen our Florence. "

"And she is connected with him through his cousin. Let her be ever sobad, I should drop that. "

"You can't suppose, Theodore, that I want even to mention her name. I'mtold that nobody ever visits her. "

"She needn't be a bit the worse on that account. Whenever I hear thatthere is a woman whom nobody visits, I always feel inclined to go andpay my respects to her. "

"Theodore, how can you say so?"

"And that, I suppose, is just what Harry has done. If the world and hiswife had visited Lady Ongar, there would not have been all this troublenow. "

Mrs. Burton of course undertook the task which her husband assigned toher, though she did so with much nervous trepidation, and many fearslest the desired object should be lost through her own maladroitmanagement. With her, there was at least no doubt as to the thing to bedone--no hesitation as to the desirability of securing Harry Claveringfor the Burton faction. Everything in her mind was to be forgiven toHarry, and he was to be received by them all with open arms and lovingcaresses, if he would only abandon Lady Ongar altogether. To secure herlover for Florence, was Mrs. Burton's single and simple object. Sheraised no questions now within her own breast as to whether Harry wouldmake a good husband. Any such question as that should have been askedand answered before he had been accepted at Stratton. The thing to bedone now was to bring Harry and Florence together, and--since suchterrible dangers were intervening--to make them man and wife with aslittle further delay as might be possible. The name of Lady Ongar wasodious to her. When men went astray in matters of love, it was withinthe power of Cecilia Burton's heart to forgive them; but she could notpardon women that so sinned. This countess had once jilted Harry, andthat was enough to secure her condemnation. And since that, whatterrible things had been said of her! And dear, uncharitable CeciliaBurton was apt to think, when evil was spoken of women--of women whomshe did not know--that there could not be smoke without fire. And nowthis woman was a widow with a large fortune, and wanted a husband! Whatbusiness had any widow to want a husband? It is so easy for wives tospeak and think after that fashion when they are satisfied with theirown ventures. 

It was arranged that when Harry came to the door, Mrs. Burton should goup alone to the drawing-room and receive him there, remaining with herhusband in the dining-room till he should come. Twice while sittingdownstairs after the cloth was gone she ran upstairs with the avowedpurpose of going into the nursery, but in truth that she might see thatthe room was comfortable, that it looked pretty, and that the chairswere so arranged as to be convenient. The two eldest children were withthem in the parlor, and when she started on her second errand, Cissyreminded her that baby would be asleep. Theodore, who understood thelittle manoeuvre, smiled, but said nothing, and his wife, who in suchmatters was resolute, went and made her further little changes in thefurniture. At last there came the knock at the door--the expected knock, a knock which told something of the hesitating, unhappy mind of him whohad rapped, and Mrs. Burton started on her business. "Tell him justsimply why you are there alone, " said her husband. 

"Is it Harry Clavering?" Cissy asked, "and mayn't I go?"

"It is Harry Clavering, " her father said, "and you may not go. Indeed, it is time you went somewhere else. "

It was Harry Clavering. He had not spent a pleasant day since he hadleft Mr. Beilby's offices in the morning, and, now that he had come toOnslow Crescent, he did not expect to spend a pleasant evening. When Ideclare that as yet he had not come to any firm resolution, I fear thathe will be held as being too weak for the role of hero even in suchpages as these. Perhaps no terms have been so injurious to theprofession of the novelist as those two words, hero and heroine. Inspite of the latitude which is allowed to the writer in putting his owninterpretation upon these words, something heroic is still expected;whereas, if he attempt to paint from nature, how little that is heroicshould he describe! How many young men, subjected to the temptationswhich had befallen Harry Clavering--how many young men whom you, delicate reader, number among your friends--would have come out fromthem unscathed? A man, you say, delicate reader, a true man can love butone woman--but one at a time. So you say, and are so convinced; but noconviction was ever more false. When a true man has loved with all hisheart and all his soul--does he cease to love--does he cleanse his heartof that passion when circumstances run against him, and he is forced toturn elsewhere for his life's companion? Or is he untrue as a lover inthat he does not waste his life in desolation, because he has beendisappointed? Or does his old love perish and die away, because anotherhas crept into his heart? No; the first love, if that was true, is everthere; and should she and he meet after many years, though their headsbe gray and their cheeks wrinkled, there will still be a touch of theold passion as their hands meet for a moment. Methinks that love neverdies, unless it be murdered by downright ill-usage. It may be somurdered, but even, ill-usage will more often fail than succeed in thatenterprise. How, then, could Harry fail to love the woman whom he hadloved first, when she returned to him still young, still beautiful, andtold him, with all her charms and all her flattery, how her heart stoodtoward him?

But it is not to be thought that I excuse him altogether. A man, thoughhe may love many, should be devoted only to one. The man's feeling tothe woman whom he is to marry should be this:--that not from love only, but from chivalry, from manhood, and from duty, he will be preparedalways, and at all hazards, to defend her from every misadventure, tostruggle ever that she may be happy, to see that no wind blows upon herwith needless severity, that no ravening wolf of a misery shall comenear her, that her path be swept clean for her--as clean as may be, andthat her roof-tree be made firm upon a rock. There is much of this whichis quite independent of love--much of it that may be done without love. This is devotion, and it is this which a man owes to the woman who hasonce promised to be his wife, and has not forfeited her right. DoubtlessHarry Clavering should have remembered this at the first moment of hisweakness in Lady Ongar's drawing-room. Doubtless he should have known atonce that his duty to Florence made it necessary that he should declarehis engagement--even though, in doing so, he might have seemed tocaution Lady Ongar on that point on which no woman can endure a caution. But the fault was hers, and the caution was needed. No doubt he shouldnot have returned to Bolton Street. He should not have cozened himselfby trusting himself to her assurances of friendship; he should have keptwarm his love for the woman to whom his hand was owed, not sufferinghimself to make comparisons to her injury. He should have beenchivalric, manly, full of high duty. He should have been all this, andfull also of love, and then he would have been a hero. But men as I seethem are not often heroic. 

As he entered the room he saw Mrs. Burton at once, and then looked roundquickly for her husband. "Harry, " said she, "I am so glad to see youonce again, " and she gave him her hand, and smiled on him with thatsweet look which used to make him feel that it was pleasant to be nearher. He took her hand and muttered some word of greeting, and thenlooked round again for Mr. Burton. "Theodore is not here, " she said, "hethought it better that you and I should have a little talk together. Hesaid you would like it best so; but perhaps I ought not to tell youthat. "

"I do like it best so--much best. I can speak to you as I could hardlyspeak to him. "

"What is it, Harry, that ails you? What has kept you away from us? Whydo you leave poor Flo so long without writing to her? She will be hereon Monday. You will come and see her then; or perhaps you will go withme and meet her at the station?"

"Burton said that she was coming, but I did not understand that it wasso soon. "

"You do not think it too soon, Harry; do you?"

"No, " said Harry, but his tone belied his assertion. At any rate he hadnot pretended to display any of a lover's rapture at this prospect ofseeing the lady whom he loved. 

"Sit down, Harry. Why do you stand like that and look so comfortless?Theodore says that you have some trouble at heart. Is it a trouble thatyou can tell to a friend such as I am?"

"It is very hard to tell. Oh, Mrs. Burton, I am broken-hearted. For thelast two weeks I have wished that I might die. "

"Do not say that, Harry; that would be wicked. "

"Wicked or not, it is true. I have been so wretched that I have notknown how to hold myself. I could not bring myself to write toFlorence. "

"But why not? You do not mean that you are false to Florence. You cannotmean that. Harry, say at once that it is not so, and I will promise youher forgiveness, Theodore's forgiveness, all our forgiveness foranything else. Oh, Harry, say anything but that. " In answer to thisHarry Clavering had nothing to say, but sat with his head resting on hisarm and his face turned away from her. "Speak, Harry; if you are a man, say something. Is it so? If it be so, I believe that you will havekilled her. Why do you not speak to me? Harry Clavering, tell me what isthe truth. "

Then he told her all his story, not looking her once in the face, notchanging his voice, suppressing his emotion till he came to the historyof the present days. He described to her how he had loved JuliaBrabazon, and how his love had been treated by her; how he had sworn tohimself, when he knew that she had in truth become that lord's wife, that for her sake he would keep himself from loving any other woman. Then he spoke of his first days at Stratton and of his earlyacquaintance with Florence, and told her how different had been hissecond love--how it had grown gradually and with no check to hisconfidence, till he felt sure that the sweet girl who was so often nearhim would, if he could win her, be to him a source of joy for all hislife. "And so she shall, " said Cecilia, with tears running down hercheeks; "she shall do so yet. " And he went on with his tale, saying howpleasant it had been for him to find himself at home in Onslow Crescent;how he had joyed in calling her Cecilia, and having her infants in hisarms, as though they were already partly belonging to him. And he toldher how he had met the young widow at the station, having employedhimself on her behalf at her sister's instance; and how cold she hadbeen to him, offending him by her silence and sombre pride. "Falsewoman!" exclaimed Mrs. Burton. "Oh, Cecilia, do not abuse her--do notsay a word till you know all. " "I know that she is false, " said Mrs. Burton, with vehement indignation. "She is not false, " said Harry; "ifthere be falsehood, it is mine. " Then he went on, and said how differentshe was when next he saw her. How then he understood that her solemn andhaughty manner had been almost forced on her by the mode of her return, with no other friend to meet her. "She has deserved no friend, " saidMrs. Burton. "You wrong her. " said Harry; "you do not know her. If anywoman has been ever sinned against, it is she. " "But was she not falsefrom the very first--false, that she might become rich by marrying a manthat she did not love? Will you speak up for her after that? Oh, Harry, think of it. "

"I will speak up for her, " said Harry; and now it seemed for the firsttime that something of his old boldness had returned to him. "I willspeak up for her, although she did as you say, because she has sufferedas few women have been made to suffer, and because she has repented inashes as few women are called on to repent. " And now as he warmed withhis feeling for her, he uttered his words faster and with less of shamein his voice. He described how he had gone again and again to BoltonStreet, thinking no evil, till--till--till something of the old feelinghad come back upon him. He meant to be true in his story, but I doubtwhether he told all the truth. How could he tell it all? How could heconfess that the blaze of the woman's womanhood, the flame of herbeauty, and the fire engendered by her mingled rank and suffering, hadsinged him and burned him up, poor moth that he was? "And then at last Ilearned, " said he, "that--that she had loved me more than I hadbelieved. "

"And is Florence to suffer because she has postponed her love of you toher love of money?"

"Mrs. Burton, if you do not understand it now, I do not know that I cantell you more. Florence alone in this matter is altogether good. LadyOngar has been wrong, and I have been wrong. I sometimes think thatFlorence is too good for me. "

"It is for her to say that, if it be necessary. "

"I have told you all now, and you will know why I have not come to you. "

"No, Harry; you have not told me all. Have you told that--woman that sheshould be your wife?" To this question he made no immediate answer, andshe repeated it. "Tell me: have you told her you would marry her?"

"I did tell her so. "

"And you will keep your word to her?" Harry, as he heard the words, wasstruck with awe that there should be such vehemence, such anger, in thevoice of so gentle a woman as Cecilia Burton. "Answer me, sir, do youmean to marry this--countess?" But still he made no answer. "I do notwonder that you cannot speak, " she said. "Oh, Florence--oh, my darling;my lost, broken-hearten angel!" Then she turned away her face and wept. 

"Cecilia, " he said, attempting to approach her with his hand, withoutrising from his chair. 

"No, sir; when I desired you to call me so, it was because I thought youwere to be a brother. I did not think that there could be a thing soweak as you. Perhaps you had better go now, lest you should meet myhusband in his wrath, and he should spurn you. "

But Harry Clavering still sat in his chair, motionless--motionless, andwithout a word. After a while he turned his face toward her, and even inher own misery she was striken by the wretchedness of his countenance. Suddenly she rose quickly from her chair, and coming close to him, threwherself on her knees before him. "Harry, " she said, "Harry; it is notyet too late. Be our own Harry again; our dearest Harry. Say that itshall be so. What is this woman to you? What has she done for you, thatfor her you should throw aside such a one as our Florence? Is she noble, and good, and pure and spotless as Florence is? Will she love you withsuch love as Florence's? Will she believe in you as Florence believes?Yes, Harry, she believes yet. She knows nothing of this, and shall knownothing, if you will only say that you will be true. No one shall know, and I will remember it only to remember your goodness afterward. Thinkof it, Harry; there can be no falseness to one who has been so false toyou. Harry, you will not destroy us all at one blow?"

Never before was man so supplicated to take into his arms youth andbeauty and feminine purity! And in truth he would have yielded, asindeed, what man would not have yielded--had not Mrs. Burton beeninterrupted in her prayers. The step of her husband was heard upon thestairs, and she, rising from her knees, whispered quickly, "Do not tellhim that it is settled. Let me tell him when you are gone. "

"You two have been a long time together, " said Theodore, as he came in. 

"Why did you leave us, then, so long?" said Mrs. Burton, trying tosmile, though the signs of tears were, as she well knew, plain enough. 

"I thought you would have sent for me. "

"Burton, " said Harry, "I take it kindly of you that you allowed me tosee your wife alone. "

"Women always understand these things best, " said he. 

"And you will come again to-morrow, Harry, and answer me my question?"

"Not to--morrow. "

"Florence will be here on Monday. "

"And why should he not come when Florence is here?" asked Theodore in anangry tone. 

"Of course he will come, but I want to see him again first. Do I not, Harry?"

"I hate mysteries, " said Burton. 

"There shall be no mystery, " said his wife. "Why did you send him to me, but that there are some things difficult to discuss among three? Willyou come to-morrow, Harry?"

"Not to-morrow; but I will write to-morrow--early to-morrow. I will gonow, and, of course, you will tell Burton everything that I have said. Goodnight. " They both took his hand, and Cecilia pressed it as shelooked with beseeching eyes into his face. What would she not have doneto secure the happiness of the sister whom she loved? On this occasionshe had descended low that she might do much. 

Chapter XXXIII

How Damon Parted From Pythias

Lady Ongar, when she left Count Pateroff at the little fort on the cliffand entered by herself the gardens belonging to the hotel, had longsince made up her mind that there should at last be a positive severancebetween herself and her devoted Sophie. For half an hour she had beenwalking in silence by the count's side; and though, of course, she hadheard all that he had spoken, she had been able in that time to considermuch. It must have been through Sophie that the count had heard of herjourney to the Isle of Wight; and, worse than that, Sophie must, as shethought, have instigated this pursuit. In that she wronged her poorfriend. Sophie had been simply paid by her brother for giving suchinformation as enabled him to arrange this meeting. She had not evencounselled him to follow Lady Ongar. But now Lady Ongar, in blind wrath, determined that Sophie should be expelled from her bosom. Lady Ongarwould find this task of expulsion the less difficult in that she hadcome to loathe her devoted friend, and to feel it to be incumbent on herto rid herself of such devotion. Now had arrived the moment in which itmight be done. 

And yet there were difficulties. Two ladies living together in an inncannot, without much that is disagreeable, send down to the landlordsaying that they want separate rooms, because they have taken it intotheir minds to hate each other. And there would, moreover, be somethingawkward in saying to Sophie that, though she was discarded, her billshould be paid--for this last and only time. No; Lady Ongar had alreadyperceived that would not do. She would not quarrel with Sophie afterthat fashion. She would leave the Isle of Wight on the following morningearly, informing Sophie why she did so, and would offer money to thelittle Franco-Pole, presuming that it might not be agreeable to theFranco-Pole to be hurried away from her marine or rural happiness soquickly. But in doing this she would be careful to make Sophieunderstand that Bolton Street was to be closed against her for everafterward. With neither Count Pateroff nor his sister would she everagain willingly place herself in contact. 

It was dark as she entered the house--the walk out, her delay there, andher return having together occupied her three hours. She had hardly feltthe dusk growing on her as she progressed steadily on her way, with thatodious man beside her. She had been thinking of other things, and hereyes had accustomed themselves gradually to the fading twilight, Butnow, when she saw the glimmer of the lamps from the inn-windows, sheknew that the night had come upon her, and she began to fear that shehad been imprudent in allowing herself to be out so late--imprudent, even had she succeeded in being alone. She went direct to her own room, that, woman-like, she might consult her own face as to the effects ofthe insult she had received, and then having, as it were, steadiedherself, and prepared herself for the scene that was to follow, shedescended to the sitting-room and encountered her friend. The friend wasthe first to speak; and the reader will kindly remember that the friendhad ample reason for knowing what companion Lady Ongar had been likelyto meet upon the downs. 

"Julie, dear, how late you are, " said Sophie, as though she were ratherirritated in having been kept so long waiting for her tea. 

"I am late, " said Lady Ongar. 

"And don't you think you are imprudent--all alone, you know, dear; justa leetle imprudent. "

"Very imprudent, indeed. I have been thinking of that now as I crossedthe lawn, and found how dark it was. I have been very imprudent; but Ihave escaped without much injury. "

"Escaped! escaped what? Have you escaped a cold, or a drunken man?"

"Both, as I think. " Then she sat down, and, having rung the bell, sheordered tea. 

"There seems to be something very odd with you, " said Sophie. "I do notquite understand you. "

"When did you see your brother last?" Lady Ongar asked. 

"My brother?"

"Yes, Count Pateroff. When did you see him last?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, it does not signify, as of course you will not tell me. But willyou say when you will see him next?"

"How can I tell?"

"Will it be to-night?"

"Julia, what do you mean?"

"Only this, that I wish you would make him understand that if he hasanything to do concerning me, he might as well do it out of hand. Forthe last hour--"

"Then you have seen him?"

"Yes; is not that wonderful? I have seen him. "

"And why could you not tell him yourself what you had to say? He and Ido not agree about certain things, and I do not like to carry messagesto him. And you have seen him here on this sacre sea-coast?"

"Exactly so; on this sacre sea-coast. Is it not odd that he should haveknown that I was here--know the very inn we were at-and know, too, whither I was going to-night?"

"He would learn that from the servants, my dear. "

"No doubt. He has been good enough to amuse me with mysterious threatsas to what he would do to punish me if I would not--"

"Become his wife?" suggested Sophie. 

"Exactly. It was very flattering on his part. I certainly do not intendto become his wife. "

"Ah, you like better that young Clavering who has the other sweetheart. He is younger. That is true. "

"Upon my word, yes. I like my cousin, Harry Clavering, much better thanI like your brother; but, as I take it, that has not much to do with it. I was speaking of your brother's threats. I do not understand them; butI wish he could be made to understand that if he has anything to do, hehad better go and do it. As for marriage, I would sooner marry the firstploughboy I could find in the fields. "

"Julie--you need not insult him. "

"I will have no more of your Julie; and I will have no more of you. " Asshe said this she rose from her chair, and she walked about the room. "You have betrayed me, and there shall be an end of it. "

"Betrayed you! what nonsense you talk. In what have I betrayed you?"

"You set him upon my track here, though you knew I desired to avoidhim. "

"And is that all? I was coming here to this detestable island, and Itold my brother. That is my offence--and then you talk of betraying!Julie, you sometimes are a goose. "

"Very often, no doubt; but, Madam Gordeloup, if you please we will begeese apart for the future. "

"Oh, certainly; if you wish it. "

"I do wish it. "

"It cannot hurt me. I can choose my friends anywhere. The world is opento me to go where I please into society. I am not at a loss. "

All this Lady Ongar well understood, but she could bear it withoutinjury to her temper. Such revenge was to be expected from such a woman"I do not want you to be at a loss, " she said. "I only want you tounderstand that after what has this evening occurred between yourbrother and me, our acquaintance had better cease. "

"And I am to be punished for my brother?"

"You said just now that it would be no punishment, and I was glad tohear it. Society is, as you say, open to you, and you will losenothing. "

"Of course society is open to me. Have I committed myself? I am nottalked about for my lovers by all the town. Why should I be at a loss?No. "

"I shall return to London to-morrow by the earliest opportunity. I havealready told them so, and have ordered a carriage to go to Yarmouth ateight. "

"And you leave me here, alone!"

"Your brother is here, Madam Gordeloup. "

"My brother is nothing to me. You know well that. He has come and can gowhen he please. I come here to follow you--to be companion to you, tooblige you--and now you say you go and leave me in this detestablebarrack. If I am here alone, I will be revenged. "

"You shall go back with me if you wish it. "

"At eight o'clock in the morning--and see, it is now eleven; while youhave been wandering about alone with my brother in the dark! No; I willnot go so early morning as that. To-morrow is Saturday--you was toremain till Tuesday. "

"You may do as you please. I will go at eight to-morrow. "

"Very well. You go at eight, very well. And who will pay for the 'beels'when you are gone, Lady Ongar?"

"I have already ordered the bill up to-morrow morning. If you will allowme to offer you twenty pounds, that will bring you to London when youplease to follow. "

"Twenty pounds! What is twenty pounds? No; I will not have your twentypounds. " And she pushed away from her the two notes which Lady Ongar hadalready put upon the table. "Who is to pay me for the loss of all mytime? Tell me that. I have devoted myself to you. Who will pay me forthat?"

"Not I, certainly, Madam Gordeloup. "

"Not you! You will not pay me for my time--for a whole year I have beendevoted to you! You will not pay me, and you send me away in this way?By Gar, you will be made to pay--through the nose. "

As the interview was becoming unpleasant, Lady Ongar took her candle andwent away to bed, leaving the twenty pounds on the table. As she leftthe room she knew that the money was there, but she could not bringherself to pick it up and restore it to her pocket. It was improbable, she thought, that Madam Gordeloup would leave it to the mercy of thewaiters; and the chances were that the notes would go into the pocketfor which they were intended. 

And such was the result. Sophie, when she was left alone, got up fromher seat, and stood for some moments on the rug, making hercalculations. That Lady Ongar should be very angry about CountPateroff's presence Sophie had expected; but she had not expected thather friend's anger would be carried to such extremity that she wouldpronounce a sentence of banishment for life. But, perhaps, after all, itmight be well for Sophie herself that such sentence should be carriedout. This fool of a woman with her income, her park, and her rank, wasgoing to give herself--so said Sophie to herself--to a young, handsome, proud, pig of a fellow--so Sophie called him--who had already shownhimself to be Sophie's enemy, and who would certainly find no place forSophie Gordeloup within his house. Might it not be well that the quarrelshould be consummated now--such compensation being obtained as mightpossibly be extracted. Sophie certainly knew a good deal, which it mightbe for the convenience of the future husband to keep dark--or convenientfor the future wife that the future husband should not know. Terms mightbe yet had, although Lady Ongar had refused to pay anything beyond thattrumpery twenty pounds. Terms might be had; or, indeed, it might be thatLady Ongar herself, when her anger was over, might sue for areconciliation. Or Sophie--and this idea occurred as Sophie herselfbecame a little despondent after long calculation--Sophie herself mightacknowledge herself to be wrong, begging pardon, and weeping on herfriend's neck. Perhaps it might be worth while to make some furthercalculation in bed. Then Sophie, softly drawing the notes toward her asa cat might have done, and hiding them somewhere about her person, alsowent to her room. 

Chapter XXXIV

Vain Repentance

In the morning Lady Ongar prepared herself for starting at eighto'clock, and, as a part of that preparation, had her breakfast broughtto her upstairs. When the time was up, she descended to the sitting-roomon the way to the carriage, and there she found Sophie, also preparedfor a journey. 

"I am going too. You will let me go?" said Sophie. 

"Certainly, " said Lady Ongar. "I proposed to you to do so yesterday. "

"You should not be so hard upon your poor friend, " said Sophie. This wassaid in the bearing of Lady Ongar's maid and of two waiters, and LadyOngar made no reply to it. When they were in the carriage together, themaid being then stowed away in a dickey or rumble behind, Sophie againwhined and was repentant. "Julie, you should not be so hard upon yourpoor Sophie. "

"It seems to me that the hardest things said were spoken by you. "

"Then I will beg your pardon. I am impulsive. I do not restrain myself. When I am angry I say I know not what. If I said any words that werewrong, I will apologize, and beg to be forgiven--there--On my knees. "And, as she spoke, the adroit little woman contrived to get herself downupon her knees on the floor of the carriage. "There; say that I amforgiven; say that Sophie is pardoned. " The little woman had calculatedthat even should her Julia pardon her, Julia would hardly condescend toask for the two ten-pound notes. 

But Lady Ongar had stoutly determined that there should be no furtherintimacy, and had reflected that a better occasion for a quarrel couldhardly be vouchsafed to her than that afforded by Sophie's treachery inbringing her brother down to Freshwater. She was too strong, and toomuch mistress of her will, to be cheated now out of her advantage. "Madam Gordeloup, that attitude is absurd; I beg you will get up. "

"Never; never till you have pardoned me. " And Sophie crouched stilllower, till she was all among the dressing-cases and little bags at thebottom of the carriage. "I will not get up till you say the words, 'Sophie, dear, I forgive you. '"

"Then I fear you will have an uncomfortable drive. Luckily it will bevery short. It is only half-an-hour to Yarmouth. "

"And I will kneel again on board the packet; and on the--what you call, platform--and in the railway carriage--and in the street. I will kneelto my Julie everywhere, till she say, 'Sophie, dear, I forgive you!'"

"Madam Gordeloup, pray understand me; between you and me there shall beno further intimacy. "

"Certainly not. No further explanation is necessary, but our intimacyhas certainly come to an end. "

"It has. "

"Undoubtedly. "

"Julie!"

"That is such nonsense. Madam Gordeloup, you are disgracing yourself byyour proceedings. "

"Oh! disgracing myself, am I?" In saying this Sophie picked herself upfrom among the dressing-cases, and recovered her seat. "I am disgracingmyself! Well, I know very well whose disgrace is the most talked aboutin the world, yours or mine. Disgracing myself; and from you? What didyour husband say of you himself?"

Lady Ongar began to feel that even a very short journey might be toolong. Sophie was now quite up, and was wriggling herself on her seat, adjusting her clothes which her late attitude had disarranged, not in, the most graceful manner. 

"You shall see, " she continued. "Yes, you shall see. Tell me ofdisgrace! I have only disgraced myself by being with you. Ah--very well. Yes; I will get out. As for being quiet, I shall be quiet whenever Ilike it. I know when to talk, and when to hold my, tongue. Disgrace!" Sosaying she stepped out of the carriage, leaning on the arm of a boatmanwho had come to the door, and who had heard her last words. 

It may be imagined that all this did not contribute much to the comfortof Lady Ongar. They were now on the little pier at Yarmouth, and in fiveminutes every one there knew who she was, and knew also that there hadbeen some disagreement between her and the little foreigner. The eyes ofthe boatmen, and of the drivers, and of the other travellers, and of thenatives going over to the market at Lymington, were all on her, and theeyes also of all the idlers of Yarmouth who had congregated there towatch the despatch of the early boat. But she bore it well, seatingherself, with her maid beside her, on one of the benches on the deck, and waiting there with patience till the boat should start. Sophie onceor twice muttered the word "disgrace!" but beyond that she remainedsilent. 

They crossed over the little channel without a word, and without a wordmade their way up to the railway-station. Lady Ongar had been tooconfused to get tickets for their journey at Yarmouth, but had paid onboard the boat for the passage of the three persons--herself, her maid, and Sophie. But, at the station at Lymington, the more importantbusiness of taking tickets for the journey to London became necessary. Lady Ongar had thought of this on her journey across the water, and, when at the railway-station, gave her purse to her maid, whispering herorders. The girl took three first-class tickets, and then going gentlyup to Madam Gordeloup, offered one to that lady. "Ah, yes; very well; Iunderstand, " said Sophie, taking the ticket. "I shall take this;" andshe held the ticket up in her hand, as though she had some speciallymysterious purpose in accepting it. 

She got into the same carriage with Lady Ongar and her maid, but spokeno word on her journey up to London. At Basingstoke she had a glass ofsherry, for which Lady Ongar's maid paid. Lady Ongar had telegraphed forher carriage, which was waiting for her, but Sophie betook herself to acab. "Shall I pay the cabman, ma'am?" said the maid. "Yes, " said Sophie, "or stop. It will be half-a-crown. You had better give me thehalf-crown. " The maid did so, and in this way the careful Sophie addedanother shilling to her store--over and above the twenty pounds--knowingwell that the fare to Mount Street was eighteenpence. 

Chapter XXXV

Doodles In Mount Street

Captain Clavering and Captain Boodle had, as may be imagined, discussedat great length and with much frequency the results of the formercaptain's negotiations with the Russian spy, and it had been declaredstrongly by the latter captain, and ultimately admitted by the former, that those results were not satisfactory. Seventy pounds had beenexpended, and, so to say, nothing had been accomplished. It was in vainthat Archie, unwilling to have it thought that he had been worsted indiplomacy, argued that with these political personages, and especiallywith Russian political personages, the ambages were everything--that thepreliminaries were in fact the whole, and that when they were arranged, the thing was done. Doodles proved to demonstration that the thing wasnot done, and that seventy pounds was too much for mere preliminaries. "My dear fellow, " he said, speaking, I fear, with some scorn in hisvoice, "where are you? That's what I want to know. Where are you? Justnowhere. " This was true. All that Archie had received from MadamGordeloup in return for his last payment, was an intimation that noimmediate day could be at present named for a renewal of his personalattack upon the countess; but that a day might be named when he shouldnext come to Mount Street--provision, of course, being made that heshould come with a due qualification under his glove. Now, the originalbasis on which Archie was to carry on his suit had been arranged to bethis--that Lady Ongar should be made to know that he was there; and theway in which Doodles had illustrated this precept by the artistic andallegorical use of his heel was still fresh in Archie's memory. Themeeting in which they had come to that satisfactory understanding hadtaken place early in the Spring, and now June was coming on, and thecountess certainly did not as yet know that her suitor was there! Ifanything was to be done by the Russian spy it should be done quickly, and Doodles did not refrain from expressing his opinion that his friendwas "putting his foot into it, " and "making a mull of the whole thing. "Now Archie Clavering was a man not eaten up by the vice ofself-confidence, but prone rather to lean upon his friends, and anxiousfor the aid of counsel in difficulty. 

"What the devil is a fellow to do?" he asked. "Perhaps I had better giveit all up. Everybody says that she is as proud as Lucifer; and, afterall, nobody knows what rigs she has been up to. "

But this was by no means the view which Doodles was inclined to take. Hewas a man who in the field never gave up a race because he was thrownout at the start, having perceived that patience would achieve as much, perhaps, as impetuosity. He had ridden many a waiting race, and had wonsome of them. He was never so sure of his hand at billiards as when thescore was strong against him. "Always fight while there's any fight leftin you, " was a maxim with him. He never surrendered a bet as lost, tillthe evidence as to the facts was quite conclusive, and had taughthimself to regard any chance, be it ever so remote, as a kind ofproperty. 

"Never say die, " was his answer to Archie's remark. "You see, Clavvy, you have still a few good cards, and you can never know what a womanreally means till you have popped yourself. As to what she did when shewas away, and all that, you see when a woman has got seven thousand ayear in her own right, it covers a multitude of sins. "

"Of course, I know that. "

"And why should a fellow be uncharitable? If a man is to believe allthat he hears, by George, they're all much of a muchness. For my part Inever believe anything. I always suppose every horse will run to win;and though there may be a cross now and again, that's the surest line togo upon. D'you understand me now?" Archie said that of course heunderstood him; but I fancy that Doodles had gone a little too deep forArchie's intellect. 

"I should say, drop this woman, and go at the widow yourself at once. "

"And lose all my seventy pounds for nothing!"

"You're not soft enough to suppose that you'll ever get it back again, Ihope?" Archie assured his friend that he was not soft enough for anysuch hope as that, and then the two remained silent for a while, deeplyconsidering the posture of the affair. "I'll tell you what I'll do foryou, " said Doodles; "and upon my word I think it will be the bestthing. "

"And what's that?"

"I'll go to this woman myself. "

"What; to Lady Ongar?"

"No; but to the spy, as you call her. Principals are never the best forthis kind of work. When a man has to pay the money himself he can nevermake so good a bargain as another can make for him. That stands toreason. And I can be blunter with her about it than you can; can gostraight at it, you know; and you may be sure of this, she won't get anymoney from me, unless I get the marbles for it. "

"You'll take some with you, then?"

"Well, yes; that is, if it's convenient. We were talking of going two orthree hundred pounds, you know, and you've only gone seventy as yet. Suppose you hand me over the odd thirty. If she gets it out of me easy, tell me my name isn't Boodle. "

There was much in this that was distasteful to Captain Clavering, but atlast he submitted, and handed over the thirty pounds to his friend. Thenthere was considerable doubt whether the ambassador should announcehimself by a note, but it was decided at last that his arrival shouldnot be expected. If he did not find the lady at home or disengaged onthe first visit, or on the second, he might on the third or the fourth. He was a persistent, patient little man, and assured his friend that hewould certainly see Madam Gordeloup before a week had passed over theirheads. 

On the occasion of his first visit to Mount Street, Sophie Gordeloup wasenjoying her retreat in the Isle of Wight. When he called the secondtime she was in bed, the fatigue of her journey on the previous day--theday on which she had actually risen at seven o'clock in themorning--having oppressed her much. She had returned in the cab alone, and had occupied herself much on the same evening. Now that she was tobe parted from her Julie, it was needful that she should be occupied. She wrote a long letter to her brother--much more confidential than herletters to him had lately been--telling him how much she had suffered onhis behalf, and describing to him with great energy the perverseness, malignity, and general pigheadedness of her late friend. Then she wrotean anonymous letter to Mrs. Burton, whose name and address she hadlearned, after having ascertained from Archie the fact of HarryClavering's engagement. In this letter she described the wretched wilesby which that horrid woman Lady Ongar was struggling to keep Harry andMiss Burton apart. "It is very bad, but it is true, " said the diligentlittle woman. "She has been seen in his embrace; I know it. " After thatshe dressed and went out into society--the society of which she hadboasted as being open to her--to the house of some hanger-on of someembassy, and listened, and whispered, and laughed when some old sinnerjoked with her, and talked poetry to a young man who was foolish andlame, but who had some money, and got a glass of wine and a cake fornothing, and so was very busy; and on her return home calculated thather cab-hire for the evening had been judiciously spent. But herdiligence had been so great that when Captain Boodle called the nextmorning at twelve o'clock she was still in bed. Had she been in dearParis, or in dearer Vienna, that would have not hindered her fromreceiving the visit; but in pigheaded London this could not be done;and, therefore, when she had duly scrutinized Captain Boodle's card, andhad learned from the servant that Captain Boodle desired to see herselfon very particular business, she made an appointment with him for thefollowing day. 

On the following day at the same hour Doodles came and was shown up intoher room. He had scrupulously avoided any smartness of apparel, calculating that a Newmarket costume would be, of all dresses, the mostefficacious in filling her with an idea of his smartness; whereas Archiehad probably injured himself much by his polished leather boots, andgeneral newness of clothing. Doodles, therefore, wore a cut-away coat, acolored shirt with a fogle round his neck, old brown trousers thatfitted very tightly round his legs, and was careful to take no gloveswith him. He was a man with a small, bullet head, who wore his hair cutvery short, and had no other beard than a slight appendage on his lowerchin. He certainly did possess a considerable look of smartness, andwhen he would knit his brows and nod his head, some men were apt tothink that it was not easy to get on the soft side of him. 

Sophie on this occasion was not arrayed with that becoming negligencewhich had graced her appearance when Captain Clavering had called. Sheknew that a visitor was coming, and the questionably white wrapper hadbeen exchanged for an ordinary dress. This was regretted, rather thanotherwise, by Captain Boodle, who had received from Archie a descriptionof the lady's appearance, and who had been anxious to see the spy in herproper and peculiar habiliments. It must be remembered that Sophie knewnothing of her present visitor, and was altogether unaware that he wasin any way connected with Captain Clavering. 

"You are Captain Boddle, " she said, looking hard at Doodles as he bowedto her on entering the room. 

"Captain Boodle, ma'am; at your service. "

"Oh, Captain Bood-dle; it is English name, I suppose?"

"Certainly, ma'am, certainly. Altogether English, I believe. Our Boodlescome out of Warwickshire; small property near Leamington--doosed small, I'm sorry to say. "

She looked at him very hard, and was altogether unable to discover whatwas the nature or probable mode of life of the young man before her. Shehad lived much in England, and had known Englishmen of many classes, butshe could not remember that she had ever become conversant with such aone as he who was now before her. Was he a gentleman, or might he be ahouse-breaker? "A doosed small property near Leamington, " she said, repeating the words after him. "Oh!"

"But my visit to you, ma'am, has nothing to do with that. "

"Nothing to do with the small property. "

"Nothing in life. "

"Then, Captain Bood-dle, what may it have to do with?"

Hereupon Doodles took a chair, not having been invited to go throughthat ceremony. According to the theory created in her mind at theinstant, this man was not at all like an English captain. Captain is anunfortunate title, somewhat equivalent to the foreign count--unfortunatein this respect, that it is easily adopted by many whose claims to itare very slight. Archie Clavering, with his polished leather boots, hadlooked like a captain--had come up to her idea of a captain--but thisman! The more she regarded him, the stronger in her mind became the ideaof the housebreaker. 

"My business, ma'am, is of a very delicate nature--of a nature verydelicate indeed. But I think that you and I, who understand the world, may soon come to understand each other. "

"Oh, you understand the world. Very well, sir. Go on. "

"Now, ma'am, money is money, you know. "

"And a goose is a goose; but what of that?"

"Yes; a goose is a goose, and some people are not geese. Nobody, ma'am, would think of calling you a goose. "

"I hope not. It would be so uncivil, even an Englishman would not sayit. Will you go on?"

"I think you have the pleasure of knowing Lady Ongar?"

"Knowing who?" said Sophie, almost shrieking. 

"Lady Ongar. "

During the last day or two Sophie's mind had been concerned very muchwith her dear Julie, but had not been concerned at all with the affairsof Captain Clavering, and, therefore, when Lady Ongar's name wasmentioned, her mind went away altogether to the quarrel, and did notonce refer itself to the captain. Could it be that this was an attorney, and was it possible that Julie would be mean enough to make claims uponher? Claims might be made for more than those twenty pounds. "And you, "she said, "do you know Lady Ongar?"

"I have not that honor myself. "

"Oh, you have not; and do you want to be introduced?"

"Not exactly--not at present; at some future day I shall hope to havethe pleasure. But I am right in believing that she and you are veryintimate? Now what are you going to do for my friend Archie Clavering?"

"Oh-h-h!" exclaimed Sophie. 

"Yes. What are you going to do for my friend Archie Clavering? Seventypounds, you know, ma'am, is a smart bit of money!"

"A smart bit of money, is it? That is what you think on your leetleproperty down in Warwickshire. "

"It isn't my property, ma'am, at all. It belongs to my uncle. "

"Oh, it is your uncle that has the leetle property. And what had youruncle to do with Lady Ongar? What is your uncle to your friend Archie?"

"Nothing at all, ma'am; nothing on earth. "

"Then why do you tell me all this rigmarole about your uncle and hisleetle property, and Warwickshire? What have I to do with your uncle?Sir, I do not understand you--not at all. Nor do I know why I have thehonor to see you here, Captain Bood-dle. "

Even Doodles, redoubtable as he was--even he, with all his smartness, felt that he was overcome, and that this woman was too much for him. Hewas altogether perplexed, as he could not perceive whether in all hertirade about the little property she had really misunderstood him, andhad in truth thought that he had been talking about his uncle, orwhether the whole thing was cunning on her part. The reader, perhaps, will have a more correct idea of this lady than Captain Boodle had beenable to obtain. She had now risen from her sofa, and was standing asthough she expected him to go; but he had not as yet opened the budgetof his business. 

"I am here, ma'am, " said he, "to speak to you about my friend, CaptainClavering. "

"Then you can go back to your friend, and tell him I have nothing tosay. And, more than that, Captain Booddle"--the woman intensified thename in a most disgusting manner, with the evident purpose of annoyinghim; of that he had become quite sure--"more than that, his sending youhere is an impertinence. Will you tell him that?"

"No, ma'am, I will not. "

"Perhaps you are his laquais, " continued the inexhaustible Sophie, "andare obliged to come when he send you?"

"I am no man's laquais, ma'am. "

"If so, I do not blame you; or, perhaps, it is your way to make yourlove third or fourth hand down in Warwickshire?"

"Damn Warwickshire!" said Doodles, who was put beyond himself. 

"With all my heart. Damn Warwickshire. " And the horrid woman grinned athim as she repeated his words. "And the leetle property, and the uncle, if you wish it; and the leetle nephew--and the leetle nephew--and theleetle nephew!" She stood over him as she repeated the last words withwondrous rapidity, and grinned at him, and grimaced and shook herself, till Doodles was altogether bewildered. If this was a Russian spy hewould avoid such in future, and keep himself for the milder acerbitiesof Newmarket, and the easier chaff of his club. He looked up into herface at the present moment, striving to think of some words by which hemight assist himself. He had as yet performed no part of his mission, but any such performance was now entirely out of the question. The womanhad defied him, and had altogether thrown Clavering over board. Therewas no further question of her services, and therefore he felt himselfto be quite entitled to twit her with the payment she had taken. 

"And how about my friend's seventy pounds?" said he. 

"How about seventy pounds! a leetle man comes here and tells me he is aBooddle in Warwickshire, and says he has an uncle with a very leetleproperty, and asks me about seventy pounds! Suppose I ask you how aboutthe policeman, what will you say then?"

"You send for him and you shall hear what I say. "

"No; not to take away such a leetle man as you. I send for a policemanwhen I am afraid. Booddle in Warwickshire is not a terrible man. Supposeyou go to your friend and tell him from me that he have chose a very badMercury in his affairs of love--the worst Mercury I ever see. Perhapsthe Warwickshire Mercuries are not very good. Can you tell me, CaptainBooddle, how they make love down in Warwickshire?"

"And that is all the satisfaction I am to have?"

"Who said you was to have satisfaction? Very little satisfaction Ishould think you ever have, when you come as a Mercury. "

"My friend means to know something about that seventy pounds. "

"Seventy pounds! If you talk to me any more of seventy pounds, I willfly at your face. " As she spoke this she jumped across at him as thoughshe were really on the point of attacking him with her nails, and he, indismay, retreated to the door. "You, and your seventy pounds! Oh, youEnglish! What mean mens you are! Oh! a Frenchman would despise to do it. Yes; or a Russian or a Pole. But you--you want it all down in black andwhite like a butcher's heel. You know nothing, and understand nothing, and can never speak, and can never hold your tongues. You have no head, but the head of a bull. A bull can break all the china in a shop--dash, smash, crash--all the pretty things gone in a minute! So can anEnglishman. Your seventy pounds! You will come again to me for seventypounds, I think. " In her energy she had acted the bull, and hadexhibited her idea of the dashing, the smashing and the crashing, by themotion of her head and the waving of her hands. 

"And you decline to say anything about the seventy pounds?" saidDoodles, resolving that his courage should not desert him. 

Whereupon the divine Sophie laughed. "Ha, ha, ha! I see you have not goton any gloves, Captain Booddle. "

"Gloves; no. I don't wear gloves. "

"Nor your uncle with the leetle property in Warwickshire? CaptainClavering, he wears a glove. He is a handy man. " Doodles stared at her, understanding nothing of this. "Perhaps it is in your waistcoat pocket, "and she approached him fearlessly, as though she were about to deprivehim of his watch. 

"I don't know what you mean, " said he, retreating. 

"Ah, you are not a handy man, like my friend the other captain, so youhad better go away. Yes; you had better go to Warwickshire. InWarwickshire, I suppose, they make ready for your Michaelmas dinners. You have four months to get fat. Suppose you go away and get fat. "

Doodles understood nothing of her sarcasm, but began to perceive that hemight as well take his departure. The woman was probably a lunatic, andhis friend Archie had no doubt been grossly deceived when he was sent toher for assistance. He had some faint idea that the seventy pounds mightbe recovered from such a madwoman, but in the recovery his friend wouldbe exposed, and he saw that the money must be abandoned. At any rate hehad not been soft enough to dispose of any more treasure. 

"Good morning, ma'am, " he said, very curtly. 

"Good morning to you, Captain Booddle. Are you coming again anotherday?"

"Not that I know of, ma'am. "

"You are very welcome to stay away. I like your friend the better. Tellhim to come and be handy with his glove. As for you--suppose you go tothe leetle property. "

Then Captain Boodle went, and, as soon as he had made his way out intothe open street, stood still and looked around him, that by the aspectof things familiar to his eyes he might be made certain that he was in aworld with which he was conversant. While in that room with the spy hehad ceased to remember that he was in London--his own London, within amile of his club, within a mile of Tattersall's. He had been, as itwere, removed to some strange world in which the tact, and courage, andacuteness natural to him had not been of avail to him. Madam Gordelouphad opened a new world to him--a new world of which he desired to makeno further experience. Gradually he began to understand why he had beendesired to prepare himself for Michaelmas eating. Gradually some ideaabout Archie's glove glimmered across his brain. A wonderful womancertainly was the Russian spy--a phenomenon which in future years hemight perhaps be glad to remember that he had seen in the flesh. Thefirst race-horse which he might ever own and name himself, he wouldcertainly call the Russian Spy. In the meantime, as he slowly walkedacross Berkeley Square, he acknowledged to himself that she was not mad, and acknowledged also that the less said about that seventy pounds thebetter. From thence he crossed Piccadilly, and sauntered down St. James's Street into Pall Mall, revolving in his mind how he would carryhimself with Clavvy. He, at any rate, had his ground for triumph. He hadparted with no money, and had ascertained by his own wit that noavailable assistance from that quarter was to be had in the matter whichhis friend had in hand. 

It was some hours after this when the two friends met, and at that timeDoodles was up to his eyes in chalk and the profitable delights of pool. But Archie was too intent on his business to pay much regard to hisfriend's proper avocation. "Well, Doodles, " he said, hardly waiting tillhis ambassador had finished his stroke and laid his ball close waxed toone of the cushions. "Well; have you seen her?"

"Oh, yes; I've seen her, " said Doodles, seating himself on an exaltedbench which ran round the room, while Archie, with anxious eyes, stoodbefore him. 

"Well?" said Archie. 

"She's a rum 'un. Thank 'ee, Griggs; you always stand to me like abrick. " This was said to a young lieutenant who had failed to hit thecaptain's ball, and now tendered him a shilling with a very bitter look. 

"She is queer, " said Archie, "certainly. "

"Queer! By George, I'll back her for the queerest bit of horsefleshgoing any way about these diggings. I thought she was mad at first, butI believe she knows what she's about. "

"She knows what she's about well enough. . She's worth all the money ifyou can only get her to work. "

"Bosh, my dear fellow. "

"Why bosh? What's up now?"

"Bosh! Bosh! Bosh! Me to play, is it?" Down he went, and not finding agood open for a hazard, again waxed himself to the cushion, to theinfinite disgust of Griggs, who did indeed hit the ball this time, butin such a way as to make the loss of another life from Griggs's originalthree a matter of certainty. "I don't think it's hardly fair, " whisperedGriggs to a friend, "a man playing always for safety. It's not the gameI like, and I shan't play at the same table with Doodles any more. "

"It's all bosh, " repeated Doodles, coming back to his seat. "She don'tmean to do anything, and never did. I've found her out. "

"Found out what?"

"She's been laughing at you. She got your money out from under yourglove, didn't she?"

"Well, I did put it there. "

"Of course, you did. I knew that I should find out what was what if Ionce went there. I got it all out of her. But, by George, what a womanshe is! She swore at me to my very face. "

"Swore at you! In French, you mean?"

"No; not in French at all, but damned me in downright English. ByGeorge, how I did laugh!--me and everybody belonging to me. I'm blessedif she didn't. "

"There was nothing like that about her when I saw her. "

"You didn't turn her inside out as I've done; but stop half a moment. "Then he descended, chalked away at his cue hastily, pocketed a shillingor two, and returned. "You didn't turn her inside out as I've done. Itell you, Clavvy, there's nothing to be done there, and there never was. If you'd kept on going yourself she'd have drained you as dry--as dry asthat table. There's your thirty pounds back, and, upon my word, oldfellow, you ought to thank me. "

Archie did thank him, and Doodles was not without his triumph. Of thefrequent references to Warwickshire which he had been forced to endure, he said nothing, nor yet of the reference to Michaelmas dinners; and, gradually, as he came to talk frequently to Archie of the Russian spy, and perhaps also to one or two others of his more intimate friends, hebegan to convince himself that he really had wormed the truth out ofMadam Gordeloup, and got altogether the better of that lady, in a verywonderful way. 

Chapter XXXVI

Harry Clavering's Confession

Harry Clavering, when he went away from Onslow Crescent, after hisinterview with Cecilia Burton, was a wretched, pitiable man. He had toldthe truth of himself as far as he was able to tell it, to a woman whomhe thoroughly esteemed, and having done so was convinced that she couldno longer entertain any respect for him. He had laid bare to her all hisweakness, and for a moment she had spurned him. It was true that she hadagain reconciled herself to him, struggling to save both him and hersister from future misery--that she had even condescended to implore himto be gracious to Florence, taking that which to her mind seemed then tobe the surest path to her object; but not the less did he feel that shemust despise him. Having promised his hand to one woman--to a woman whomhe still professed that he loved dearly--he had allowed himself to becheated into offering it to another. And he knew that the cheating hadbeen his own. It was he who had done the evil. Julia, in showing heraffection for him, had tendered her love to a man whom she believed tobe free. He had intended to walk straight. He had not allowed himself tobe enamored of the wealth possessed by this woman who had thrown herselfat his feet. But he had been so weak that he had fallen in his owndespite. 

There is, I suppose, no young man possessed of average talents andaverage education, who does not early in life lay out for himself somecareer with more or less precision--some career which is high in itstendencies and noble in its aspirations, and to which he is afterwardcompelled to compare the circumstances of the life which he shapes forhimself. In doing this he may not attempt, perhaps, to lay down forhimself any prescribed amount of success which he will endeavor toreach, or even the very pathway by which he will strive to besuccessful; but he will tell himself what are the vices which he willavoid, and what the virtues which he will strive to attain. Few youngmen ever did this with more precision than it had been done by HarryClavering, and few with more self-confidence. Very early in life he hadbeen successful--so successful as to enable him to emancipate himselfnot only from his father's absolute control, but almost also from anyinterference on his father's part. It had seemed to be admitted that hewas a better man than his father, better than the other Claverings--thejewel of the race, the Clavering to whom the family would in futureyears look up, not as their actual head, but as their strongest prop andmost assured support. He had said to himself that he would be an honest, truthful, hard-working man, not covetous after money, though consciousthat a laborer was worthy of his hire, and conscious also that thebetter the work done the better should be his wages. Then he hadencountered a blow--a heavy blow from a false woman--and he had boastedto himself that he had borne it well, as a man should bear all blows. And now, after all these resolves and all these boastings, he foundhimself brought by his own weakness to such a pass that he hardly daredto look in the face any of his dearest and most intimate friends. 

He was not remiss in telling himself all this. He did draw thecomparison ruthlessly between the character which he had intended tomake his own and that which he now had justly earned. He did not excusehimself. We are told to love others as ourselves, and it is hard to doso. But I think that we never hate others, never despise others, as weare sometimes compelled by our own convictions and self-judgment to hateand to despise ourselves. Harry, as he walked home on this evening, waslost in disgust at his own conduct. He could almost have hit his headagainst the walls, or thrown himself beneath the wagons as he passedthem, so thoroughly was he ashamed of his own life. Even now, on thisevening, he had escaped from Onslow Crescent--basely escaped--withouthaving declared any purpose. Twice on this day he had escaped, almost bysubterfuges; once from Burton's office, and now again from Cecilia'spresence. How long was this to go on, or how could life be endurable tohim under such circumstances?

In parting from Cecilia, and promising to write at once, and promisingto come again in a few days, he had had some idea in his head that hewould submit his fate to the arbitrament of Lady Ongar. At any rate hemust, he thought, see her, and finally arrange with her what the fate ofboth of them should be, before he could make any definite statement ofhis purpose in Onslow Crescent. The last tender of his hand had beenmade to Julia, and he could not renew his former promises on Florence'sbehalf, till he had been absolved by Julia. 

This may at any rate be pleaded on his behalf--that in all the workingsof his mind at this time there was very little of personal vanity. Verypersonally vain he had been when Julia Brabazon--the beautiful andnoble-born Julia--had first confessed at Clavering that she loved him;but that vanity had been speedily knocked on its head by her conduct tohim. Men when they are jilted can hardly be vain of the conquest whichhas led to such a result. Since that there had been no vanity of thatsort. His love to Florence had been open, honest and satisfactory, buthe had not considered himself to have achieved a wonderful triumph atStratton. And when he found that Lord Ongar's widow still lovedhim--that he was still regarded with affection by the woman who hadformerly wounded him--there was too much of pain, almost of tragedy, inhis position, to admit of vanity. He would say to himself that, as faras he knew his own heart, he thought he loved Julia the best; but, nevertheless, he thoroughly wished that she had not returned from Italy, or that he had not seen her when she had so returned. 

He had promised to write, and that he would do this very night. He hadfailed to make Cecilia Burton understand what he intended to do, having, indeed, hardly himself resolved; but before he went to bed he would bothresolve and explain to her his resolution. Immediately, therefore, onhis return home he sat down at his desk with the pen in his hand and thepaper before him. 

At last the words came. I can hardly say that they were the product ofany fixed resolve made before he commenced the writing. I think that hismind worked more fully when the pen was in his hands than it had doneduring the hour through which he sat listless, doing nothing, strugglingto have a will of his own, but failing. The letter when it was writtenwas as follows:

 BLOOMSBURY SQUARE, May, 186--. 

 DEAREST MRS. BURTON:--I said that I would write to-morrow, but I am writing now, immediately on my return home. Whatever else you may think of me, pray be sure of this, that I am most anxious to make you know and understand my own position at any rate as well as I do myself. I tried to explain it to you when I was with you this evening, but I fear that I failed; and when Mr. Burton came in I could not say anything further. 

 I know that I have behaved very badly to your sister--very badly, even though she should never become aware that I have done so. Not that that is possible, for if she were to be my wife to-morrow I should tell her everything. But badly as you must think of me, I have never for a moment had a premeditated intention to deceive her. I believe you do know on what terms I had stood with Miss Brabazon before her marriage, and that when she married, whatever my feelings might be, there was no self-accusation. And after that you know all that took place between me and Florence till the return of Lord Ongar's widow. Up to that time everything had been fair between us. I had told Florence of my former attachment, and she probably thought but little of it. Such things are so common with men! Some change happens as had happened with me, and a man's second love is often stronger and more worthy of a woman's acceptance than the first. At any rate, she knew it, and there was, so far, an end of it. And you understood, also, how very anxious I was to avoid delay in our marriage. No one knows that better than you--not even Florence--for I have talked it over with you so often; and you will remember how I have begged you to assist me. I don't blame my darling Florence. She was doing what she deemed best; but oh, if she had only been guided by what you once said to her!

 Then Lord Ongar's widow returned; and dear Mrs. Burton, though I fear you think ill of her, you must remember that as far as you know, or I, she has done nothing wrong, has been in no respect false, since her marriage. As to her early conduct to me, she did what many women have done, but what no woman should do. But how can I blame her, knowing how terrible has been my own weakness! But as to her conduct since her marriage, I implore you to believe with me that she has been sinned against grievously, and has not sinned. Well; as you know, I met her. It was hardly unnatural that I should do so, as we are connected. But whether natural or unnatural, foolish or wise, I went to her often. I thought at first that she must know of my engagement, as her sister knew it well, and had met Florence. But she did not know it; and so, having none near her that she could love, hardly a friend but myself, grievously wronged by the world and her own relatives, thinking that with her wealth she could make some amends to me for her former injury, she--. Dear Mrs. Burton, I think you will understand it now, and will see that she at least is free from blame. 

 I am not defending myself; of course, all this should have been without effect on me. But I had loved her so dearly! I do love her still so dearly! Love like that does not die. When she left me it was natural that I should seek some one else to love. When she returned to me--when I found that in spite of her faults she had loved me through it all, I--I yielded and became false and a traitor. 

 I say that I love her still; but I know well that Florence is far the nobler woman of the two. Florence never could have done what she did. In nature, in mind, in acquirement, in heart, Florence is the better. The man who marries Florence must be happy if any woman can make a man happy. Of her of whom I am now speaking, I know well that I cannot say that. How then, you will ask, can I be fool enough, having had such a choice, to doubt between the two! How is it that man doubts between vice and virtue, between heaven and hell?

 But all this is nothing to you. I do not know whether Florence would take me now. I am well aware that I have no right to expect that she should. But if I understood you aright this evening, she, as yet, has heard nothing of all this. What must she think of me for not writing to her! But I could not bring myself to write in a false spirit; and how could I tell her all that I have now told to you?

 I know that you wish that our engagement should go on. Dear Mrs. Burton, I love you so dearly for wishing it! Mr. Burton, when he shall have heard everything, will, I fear, think differently. For me, I feel that I must see Lady Ongar before I can again go to your house, and I write now chiefly to tell you that this is what I have determined to do. I believe she is now away, in the Isle of Wight, but I will see her as soon as she returns. After that I will either come to Onslow Crescent or send. Florence will be with you then. She, of course, must know everything, and you have my permission to show this letter to her if you think well to do so. Most sincerely and affectionately yours, Harry Clavering

This he delivered himself the next morning at the door in OnslowCrescent, taking care not to be there till after Theodore Burton shouldhave gone from home. He left a card also, so that it might be known, notonly that he had brought it himself but that he intended Mrs. Burton tobe aware of that fact. Then he went and wandered about, and passed hisday in misery, as such men do when they are thoroughly discontented withtheir own conduct. This was the Saturday on which Lady Ongar returnedwith her Sophie from the Isle of Wight; but of that premature returnHarry knew nothing, and therefore allowed the Sunday to pass by withoutgoing to Bolton Street. On the Monday morning he received a letter fromhome which made it necessary--or induced him to suppose it to benecessary--that he should go home to Clavering, at any rate for one day. This he did on the Monday, sending a line to Mrs. Burton to say whitherhe was gone, and that he should be back by Wednesday night or Thursdaymorning--and imploring her to give his love to Florence, if she wouldventure to do so. Mrs. Burton would know what must be his first businessin London on his return, and she might be sure he would come or send toOnslow Crescent as soon as that was over. 

Harry's letter--the former and longer letter, Cecilia had read over, till she nearly knew it by heart, before her husband's return. She wellunderstood that he would be very hard upon Harry. He had been inclinedto forgive Clavering for what had been remiss--to forgive the silence, the absence from the office, and the want of courtesy to his wife, tillHarry had confessed his sin--but he could not endure that his sistershould seek the hand of a man who had declared himself to be in doubtwhether he would take it, or that any one should seek it for her, in herignorance of all the truth. His wife, on the other hand, simply lookedto Florence's comfort and happiness. That Florence should not suffer thepang of having been deceived and rejected was all in all to Cecilia. "Ofcourse she must know it some day, " the wife had pleaded to her husband. "He is not the man to keep anything secret. But if she is told when hehas returned to her, and is good to her, the happiness of the returnwill cure the other misery. " But Burton would not submit to this. "To becomfortable at present is not everything, " he said. "If the man be somiserably weak that he does not even now know his own mind, Florence hadbetter take her punishment, and be quit of him. "

Cecilia had narrated to him with passable fidelity what had occurredupstairs, while he was sitting alone in the dining-room. That she in heranger had at one moment spurned Harry Clavering, and that in the nextshe had knelt to him, imploring him to come back to Florence--those twolittle incidents she did not tell to her husband. Harry's adventureswith Lady Ongar, as far as she knew them, she described accurately. "Ican't make any apology for him; upon my life I can't, " said Burton. "IfI know what it is for a man to behave ill, falsely, like a knave in suchmatters, he is so behaving. " So Theodore Burton spoke as he took hiscandle to go away to his work; but his wife had induced him to promisethat he would not write to Stratton or take any other step in the mattertill they had waited twenty-four hours for Harry's promised letter. 

The letter came before the twenty-four hours were expired, and Burton, on his return home on the Saturday, found himself called upon to readand pass judgment upon Harry's confession. "What right has he to speakof her as his darling Florence, " he exclaimed, "while he is confessinghis own knavery?"

"But if she is his darling--?" pleaded his wife. 

"Trash! But the word from him in such a letter is simply an additionalinsult. And what does he know about this woman who has come back? Hevouches for her, but what can he know of her? Just what she tells him. He is simply a fool. "

"But you cannot dislike him for believing her word. "

"Cecilia, " said he, holding down the letter as he spoke--"you are socarried away by your love for Florence, and your fear lest a marriagewhich has been once talked of should not take place, that you shut youreyes to this man's true character. Can you believe any good of a man whotells you to your face that he is engaged to two women at once?"

"I think I can, " said Cecilia, hardly venturing to express so dangerousan opinion above her breath. 

"And what would you think of a woman who did so?"

"Ah, that is so different! I cannot explain it, but you know that it isdifferent. "

"I know that you would forgive a man anything, and a woman nothing. " Tothis she submitted in silence, having probably heard the reproof before, and he went on to finish the letter. "Not defending himself!" heexclaimed--"then why does he not defend himself? When a man tells methat he does not, or cannot defend himself I know that he is a sorryfellow, without a spark of spirit. "

"I don't think that of Harry. Surely that letter shows a spirit. "

"Such a one as I should be ashamed to see in a dog. No man should everbe in a position in which he cannot defend himself. No man, at any rate, should admit himself to be so placed. Wish that he should go on with hisengagement! I do not wish it at all. I am sorry for Florence. She willsuffer terribly. But the loss of such a lover as that is infinitely alesser loss than would be the gain of such a husband. You had betterwrite to Florence, and tell her not to come. "

"Oh, Theodore!"

"That is my advice. "

"But there is no post between this and Monday. " said Ceciliatemporizing. 

"Send her a message by the wires. "

"You cannot explain this by a telegram, Theodore. Besides, why shouldshe not come? Her coming can do no harm. If you were to tell your mothernow of all this, it would prevent the possibility of things ever beingright. "

"Things--that is, this thing, never will be right, " said he. 

"But let us see. She will be here on Monday, and if you think it bestyou can tell her everything. Indeed, she must be told when she is here, for I could not keep it from her. I could not smile and talk to herabout him and make her think that it is all right. "

"Not you! I should be very sorry if you could. "

"But I think I could make her understand that she should not decide uponbreaking with him altogether. "

"And I think I could make her understand that she ought to do so. "

"But you wouldn't do that, Theodore?"

"I would if I thought it my duty. "

"But at any rate, she must come, and we can talk of that tomorrow. "

As to Florence's coming, Burton had given way, beaten, apparently, bythat argument about the post. On the Sunday very little was said aboutHarry Clavering. Cecilia studiously avoided the subject, and Burton hadnot so far decided on dropping Harry altogether as to make him anxiousto express any such decision. After all, such dropping or not droppingmust be the work of Florence herself. On the Monday morning Cecilia hada further triumph. On that day her husband was very fullyengaged--having to meet a synod of contractors, surveyors and engineers, to discuss which of the remaining thoroughfares of London should not beknocked down by the coming railways--and he could not absent himselffrom the Adelphi. It was, therefore, arranged that Mrs. Burton should goto the Paddington Station to meet her sister-in-law. She therefore wouldhave the first word with Florence, and the earliest opportunity ofimpressing the new-comer with her own ideas. "Of course, you must saysomething to her of this man, " said her husband, "but the less you saythe better. After all, she must be left to judge for herself. " In allmatters such as this--in all affairs of tact, of social intercourse, andof conduct between man and man, or man and woman, Mr. Burton was apt tobe eloquent in his domestic discussion, and sometimes almost severe; butthe final arrangement of them was generally left to his wife. Heenunciated principles of strategy--much, no doubt, to her benefit; butshe actually fought the battles. 

Chapter XXXVII

Florence Burton's Return

Though nobody had expressed to Florence at Stratton any fear of HarryClavering's perfidy, that young lady was not altogether easy in hermind. Weeks and weeks had passed, and she had not heard from him. Hermother was manifestly uneasy, and had announced some days beforeFlorence's departure, her surprise and annoyance in not having heardfrom her eldest son. When Florence inquired as to the subject of theexpected letter, her mother put the question aside, saying, with alittle assumed irritability, that of course she liked to get an answerto her letters when she took the trouble to write them. And when the dayfor Florence's journey drew nigh, the old lady became more and moreuneasy--showing plainly that she wished her daughter was not going toLondon. But Florence, as she was quite determined to go, said nothing toall this. Her father also was uneasy, and neither of them had for somedays named her lover in her hearing. She knew that there was somethingwrong, and felt that it was better that she should go to London andlearn the truth. 

No female heart was ever less prone to suspicion than the heart ofFlorence Burton. Among those with whom she had been most intimatenothing had occurred to teach her that men could be false, or womeneither. When she had heard from Harry Clavering the story of JuliaBrabazon, she had, not making much accusation against the sinner inspeech, put Julia down in the books of her mind as a bold, bad woman, who could forget her sex, and sell her beauty and her womanhood formoney. There might be such a woman here and there, or such a man. Therewere murderers in the world--but the bulk of mankind is not made subjectto murderers. Florence had never considered the possibility that sheherself could become liable to such a misfortune. And then, when the daycame that she was engaged, her confidence in the man chosen by her wasunlimited. Such love as hers rarely suspects. He with whom she had to dowas Harry Clavering, and therefore she could not be deceived. Moreover, she was supported by a self-respect and a self-confidence which did notat first allow her to dream that a man who had once loved her would everwish to leave her. It was to her as though a sacrament as holy as thatof the church had passed between them, and she could not easily bringherself to think that that sacrament had been as nothing to HarryClavering. But nevertheless there was something wrong, and when she lefther father's house at Stratton, she was well aware that she must prepareherself for tidings that might be evil. She could bear anything, shethought, without disgracing herself; but there were tidings which mightsend her back to Stratton a broken woman, fit perhaps to comfort thedeclining years of her father and mother, but fit for nothing else. 

Her mother watched her closely as she sat at her breakfast that morning, but much could not be gained by watching Florence Burton when Florencewished to conceal her thoughts. Many messages were sent to Theodore, toCecilia, and to the children, messages to others of the Burton clan whowere in town, but not a word was said of Harry Clavering. The veryabsence of his name was enough to make them all wretched, but Florencebore it as the Spartan boy bore the fox beneath his tunic. Mrs. Burtoncould hardly keep herself from a burst of indignation; but she had beenstrongly warned by her husband, and restrained herself till Florence wasgone. "If he is playing her false, " said she, as soon as she was alonewith her old husband, "he shall suffer for it, though I have to tear hisface with my own fingers. "

"Nonsense, my dear; nonsense. "

"It is not nonsense, Mr. Burton. A gentleman, indeed! He is to beallowed to be dishonest to my girl because he is a gentleman! I wishthere was no such thing as a gentleman;--so I do. Perhaps there would bemore honest men then. " It was unendurable to her that a girl of hersshould be so treated. 

Immediately on the arrival of the train at the London platform, Florenceespied Cecilia, and in a minute was in her arms. There was a specialtenderness in her sister-in-law's caress, which at once told Florencethat her fears had not been without cause. Who has not felt the eviltidings conveyed by the exaggerated tenderness of a special kiss? Butwhile on the platform and among the porters she said nothing of herself. She asked after Theodore and heard of the railway confederacy with ashow of delight. "He'd like to make a line from Hyde Park Corner to theTower of London, " said Florence, with a smile. Then she asked after thechildren, and specially for the baby; but as yet she spoke no word ofHarry Clavering. The trunk and the bag were at last found; and the twoladies were packed into a cab, and had started. Cecilia, when they wereseated, got hold of Florence's hand, and pressed it warmly. "Dearest, "said she, "I am so glad to have you with us once again. " "And now, " saidFlorence, speaking with a calmness that was almost unnatural, "tell meall the truth. "

All the truth! What a demand it was. And yet Cecilia had expected thatnone less would be made upon her. Of course Florence must have knownthat there was something wrong. Of course she would ask as to her loverimmediately upon her arrival. "And now tell me all the truth. "

"Oh, Florence!"

"The truth, then, is very bad?" said Florence, gently. "Tell me first ofall whether you have seen him. Is he ill?"

"He was with us on Friday. He is not ill. "

"Thank God for that. Has anything happened to him? Has he lost money?"

"No; I have heard nothing about money. "

"Then he is tired of me. Tell me at once, my own one. You know me sowell. I can bear it. Don't treat me like a coward. "

"No; it is not that. It is not that he is tired of you. If you had heardhim speak of you on Friday--that you were the noblest, purest, dearest, best of women--" This was imprudent on her part; but what loving womancould have endured to be prudent?

"Then what is it?" asked Florence, almost sternly. "Look here, Cecilia;if it be anything touching himself or his own character, I will put upwith it, in spite of anything my brother may say. Though he had been amurderer, if that were possible, I would not leave him. I never will, unless he leaves me. Where is he?"

"He is in town. " Mrs. Burton had not received Harry's note, telling herof his journey to Clavering, before she had left home. Now, at thismoment, it was waiting for her in Onslow Crescent. 

"And am I to see him? Cecilia why cannot you tell me how it is? In sucha case I should tell you--should tell you everything at once; because Iknow that you are not a coward. Why cannot you do so to me?"

"You have heard of Lady Ongar?"

"Heard of her; yes. She treated Harry very badly before her marriage. "

"She has come back to London, a widow. "

"I know she has. And Harry has gone back to her! Is that it? Do you meanto tell me that Harry and she are to be married?"

"No; I cannot say that. I hope it is not so. Indeed, I do not think it. "

"Then what have I to fear? Does she object to his marrying me? What hasshe to do between us?"

"She wishes that Harry should come back to her, and Harry has beenunsteady. He has been with her often, and he has been very weak. It maybe all right yet, Flo; it may indeed--if you can forgive his weakness. "

Something of the truth had now come home to Florence, and she satthinking of it long before she spoke again. This widow, she knew, wasvery wealthy, and Harry had loved her before he had come to Stratton. Harry's first love had come back free--free to wed again, and able tomake the fortune of the man she might love and marry. What had Florenceto give to any man that could be weighed with this? Lady Ongar was veryrich. Florence had already heard all this from Harry--was very rich, wasclever, and was beautiful; and moreover, she had been Harry's firstlove. Was it reasonable that she, with her little claims, her punyattractions, should stand in Harry's way when such a prize as that cameacross him! And as for his weakness; might it not be strength, ratherthan weakness; the strength of an old love which he could not quell, nowthat the woman was free to take him? For herself--had she not known thatshe had only come second? As she thought of him with his noble bride andthat bride's great fortune, and of her own insignificance, her lowbirth, her doubtful prettiness--prettiness that had ever been doubtfulto herself of her few advantages, she told herself that she had no rightto stand upon her claims. "I wish I had known it sooner, " she said, in avoice so soft that Cecilia strained her ears to catch the words. "I wishI had known it sooner. I would not have come up to be in his way. "

"But you will be in no one's way, Flo, unless it be in hers. "

"And I will not be in hers, " said Florence, speaking somewhat louder, and raising her head in pride as she spoke. "I will be neither in hersnor in his. I think I will go back at once. "

Cecilia upon this ventured to look around at her, and saw that she wasvery pale, but that her eyes were dry and her lips pressed closetogether. It had not occurred to Mrs. Burton that her sister-in-lawwould take it in this way, that she would be willing to give way, and atonce surrender her lover to her rival. No one liked success better thanCecilia Burton, and to her success would consist in rescuing Harry fromLady Ongar and securing him for Florence. In fighting this battle shehad found that she would have against her Lady Ongar, of course, andthen her husband, and Harry himself too, as she feared; and now she mustreckon Florence also among her opponents. But she could not endure theidea of failing in such a cause. "Oh, Florence, I think you are sowrong, " she said. 

"You would feel as I do, if you were in my place. "

"But people cannot always judge best when they feel the most. What youshould think of is his happiness. "

"So I do; and of his future career. "

"Career! I hate to hear of careers. Men do not want careers, or shouldnot want them. Could it be good for-him to marry a woman who has done asshe has, simply because she has made herself rich by her wickedness? Doyou believe so much in riches yourself?"

"If he loves her best, I will not blame him, " said Florence. "He knewher before he had seen me. He was quite honest and told me all thestory. It is not his fault if he still likes her the best. "

Chapter XXXVIII

Florence Burton Makes Up A Packet

When they reached Onslow Crescent, the first half-hour was spent withthe children, as to whom Florence could but observe that even from theirmouths the name of Harry Clavering was banished. But she played withCissy and Sophie, giving them their little presents from Stratton; andsat with the baby in her lap, kissing his pink feet and making littlesoft noises for his behoof sweetly as she might have done if no terriblecrisis in her own life had now come upon her. Not a tear as yet hadmoistened her eyes, and Cecilia was partly aware that Florence's weepingwould be done in secret. "Come up with me into my own room; I havesomething to show you, " she said, as the nurse took the baby at last;and Cissy and Sophie were at the same time sent away with their brother. "As I came in I got a note from Harry, but, before you see that, I mustshow you the letter which he wrote to me on Friday. He has gone down toClavering--on some business--for one day. " Mrs. Burton, in her heart, could hardly acquit him of having run out of town at the moment to avoidthe arrival of Florence. 

They went upstairs, and the note was, in fact, read before the letter. "I hope there is nothing wrong at the parsonage, " said Florence. 

"You see he says he will come back after one day. "

"Perhaps he has gone to tell them--of this change in his prospects. "

"No, dear, no; you do not yet understand his feelings. Read his letter, and you will know more. If there is to be a change, he is at any ratetoo much ashamed of it to speak of it. He does not wish it himself. Itis simply this--that she has thrown herself in his way, and he has notknown how to avoid her. "

Then Florence read the letter very slowly, going over most of thesentences more than once, and struggling to learn from them what werereally the wishes of the writer. When she came to Harry's exculpation ofLady Ongar, she believed it thoroughly, and said so--meeting, however, adirect contradiction on that point from her sister-in-law. When she hadfinished it, she folded it up and gave it back. "Cissy, " she said, "Iknow that I ought to go back. I do not want to see him, and I am gladthat he has gone away. "

"But you do not mean to give him up?"

"Yes, dearest. "

"But you said you would never leave him, unless he left you. "

"He has left me. "

"No, Florence; not so. Do you not see what he says; that he knows youare the only woman that can make him happy?"

"He has not said that; but if he had, it would be no matter. Heunderstands well how it is. He says that I could not take him now--evenif he came to me; and I cannot. How could I? What! wish to marry a manwho does not love me, who loves another, when I know that I am regardedsimply as a barrier between them; when by doing so I should mar hisfortunes? Cissy, dear, when you think of it, you will not wish it. "

"Mar his fortunes! It would make them. I do wish it--and he wishes ittoo. I tell you that I had him here, and I know it. Why should you besacrificed?"

"What is the meaning of self-denial, if no one can bear to suffer?"

"But he will suffer too--and all for her caprices! You cannot reallythink that her money would do him any good. Who would ever speak to himagain, or even see him? What would the world say of him? Why, his ownfather and mother and sisters would disown him, if they are such as yousay they are. "

Florence would not argue it further, but went to her room, and remainedthere alone till Cecilia came to tell her that her brother had returned. What weeping there may have been there, need not be told. Indeed, as Ithink, there was not much, for Florence was a girl whose education hadnot brought her into the way of hysterical sensations. The Burtons werean active, energetic people, who sympathized with each other in laborand success--and in endurance also; but who had little sympathy toexpress for the weaknesses of grief. When her children had stumbled intheir play, bruising their little noses, and barking their little shins, Mrs. Burton, the elder, had been wont to bid them rise, asking them whattheir legs were for, if they could not stand. So they had dried theirown little eyes with their own little fists, and had learned tounderstand that the rubs of the world were to be borne in silence. Thisrub that had come to Florence was of grave import, and had gone deeperthan the outward skin; but still the old lesson had its effect. 

Florence rose from the bed on which she was lying, and prepared to comedown. "Do not commit yourself to him, as to anything, " said Cecilia. 

"I understand what that means, " Florence answered. "He thinks as I do. But never mind. He will not say much, and I shall say less. It is bad totalk of this to any man--even to a brother. "

Burton also received his sister with that exceptional affection whichdeclares pity for some overwhelming misfortune. He kissed her lips, which was rare with him, for he would generally but just touch herforehead, and he put his hand behind her waist and partly embraced her. "Did Cissy manage to find you at the station?"

"Oh, yes; easily. "

"Theodore thinks that a woman is no good for any such purpose as that, "said Cecilia. "It is a wonder to him, no doubt, that we are not nowwandering about London in search of each other--and of him. "

"I think she would have got home quicker if I could have been there, "said Burton. 

"We were in a cab in one minute; weren't we, Florence? The differencewould have been that you would have given a porter sixpence--and I gavehim a shilling, having bespoken him before. "

"And Theodore's time was worth the sixpence, I suppose, " said Florence. 

"That depends, " said Cecilia. "How did the synod go on?"

"The synod made an ass of itself; as synods always do. It is necessaryto get a lot of men together, for the show of the thing--otherwise theworld will not believe. That is the meaning of committees. But the realwork must always be done by one or two men. Come; I'll go and get readyfor dinner. "

The subject--the one real subject, had thus been altogether avoided atthis first meeting with the man of the house, and the evening passedwithout any allusion to it. Much was made of the children, and much wassaid of the old people at home; but still there was a consciousness overthem all that the one matter of importance was being kept in thebackground. They were all thinking of Harry Clavering, but no onementioned his name. They all knew that they were unhappy andheavy-hearted through his fault, but no one blamed him. He had beenreceived in that house with open arms, had been warmed in their bosom, and had stung them; but though they were all smarting from the sting, they uttered no complaint. Burton had made up his mind that it would bebetter to pass over the matter thus in silence--to say nothing furtherof Harry Clavering. A misfortune had come upon them. They must bear it, and go on as before. Harry had been admitted into the London office onthe footing of a paid clerk--on the same footing, indeed, as Burtonhimself though with a much smaller salary and inferior work. Thisposition had been accorded to him of course through the Burton interest, and it was understood that if he chose to make himself useful, he couldrise in the business as Theodore had risen. But he could only do so asone of the Burtons. For the last three months he had declined to takehis salary, alleging that private affairs had kept him away from theoffice. It was to the hands of Theodore Burton himself that such matterscame for management, and therefore there had been no necessity forfurther explanation. Harry Clavering would of course leave the house, and there would be an end of him in the records of the Burton family. Hewould have come and made his mark--a terrible mark, and would havepassed on. Those whom he had bruised by his cruelty, and knocked over byhis treachery, must get to their feet again as best they could, and sayas little as might be of their fall. There are knaves in this world, andno one can suppose that he has a special right to be exempted from theirknavery because he himself is honest. It is on the honest that theknaves prey. That was Burton's theory in this matter. He would learnfrom Cecilia how Florence was bearing herself; but to Florence herselfhe would say little or nothing if she bore with patience and dignity, ashe believed she would, the calamity which had befallen her. 

But he must write to his mother. The old people at Stratton must not beleft in the dark as to what was going on. He must write to his mother, unless he could learn from his wife that Florence herself hadcommunicated to them at home the fact of Harry's iniquity. But he askedno question as to this on the first night, and on the following morninghe went off having simply been told that Florence had seen Harry'sletter, that she knew all, and that she was carrying herself like anangel. 

"Not like an angel that hopes?" said Theodore. 

"Let her alone for a day or two, " said Cecilia. "Of course she must havea few days to think of it. I need hardly tell you that you will neverhave to be ashamed of your sister. "

The Tuesday and the Wednesday passed by, and though Cecilia and Florencewhen together discussed the matter, no change was made in the wishes orthoughts of either of them. Florence, now that she was in town, hadconsented to remain till after Harry should return, on the understandingthat she should not be called upon to see him. He was to be told thatshe forgave him altogether--that his troth was returned to him and thathe was free, but that in such circumstances a meeting between them couldbe of no avail. And then a little packet was made up, which was to begiven to him. How was it that Florence had brought with her all hispresents and all his letters? But there they were in her box up stairs, and sitting by herself with weary fingers, she packed them, and leftthem packed under lock and key, addressed by herself to Harry Clavering, Esq. Oh, the misery of packing such a parcel! The feeling with which awoman does it is never experienced by a man. He chucks the thingstogether in wrath--the lock of hair, the letters in the pretty Italianhand that have taken so much happy care in the writing, the jewelledshirt-studs, which were first put in by the fingers that gave them. Theyare thrown together, and given to some other woman to deliver. But thegirl lingers over her torture. She reads the letters again. She thinksof the moments of bliss which each little toy has given. She is loth topart with everything. She would fain keep some one thing--the smallestof them all. She doubts--till a feeling of maidenly reserve constrainsher at last, and the coveted trifle, with careful, pains-taking fingers, is put with the rest, and the parcel is made complete, and the addressis written with precision. 

"Of course I cannot see him, " said Florence. "You will hand to him whatI have to send to him; and you must ask him, if he has kept any of myletters, to return them. " She said nothing of the shirt-studs, but hewould understand that. As for the lock of hair--doubtless it had beenburned. 

Cecilia said but little in answer to this. She would not as yet lookupon the matter as Florence looked at it, and as Theodore did also. Harry was to be back in town on Thursday morning. He could not, probably, be seen or heard of on that day, because of his visit to LadyOngar. It was absolutely necessary that he should see Lady Ongar beforehe could come to Onslow Terrace, with possibility of becoming once morethe old Harry Clavering whom they were all to love. But Mrs. Burtonwould by no means give up all hope. It was useless to say anything toFlorence, but she still hoped that good might come. 

And then, as she thought of it all, a project came into her head. Alas, and alas! Was she not too late with her project? Why had she not thoughtof it on the Tuesday or early on the Wednesday, when it might possiblyhave been executed? But it was a project which she must have kept secretfrom her husband, of which he would by no means have approved; and asshe remembered this, she told herself that perhaps it was as well thatthings should take their own course without such interference as she hadcontemplated. 

On the Thursday morning there came to her a letter in a strange hand. Itwas from Clavering--from Harry's mother. Mrs. Clavering wrote, as shesaid, at her son's request, to say that he was confined to his bed, andcould not be in London as soon as he expected. Mrs. Burton was not tosuppose that he was really ill, and none of the family were to befrightened. From this Mrs. Burton learned that Mrs. Clavering knewnothing of Harry's apostasy. The letter went on to say that Harry wouldwrite as soon as he himself was able, and would probably be in Londonearly next week--at any rate before the end of it. He was a littlefeverish, but there was no cause for alarm. Florence, of course, couldonly listen and turn pale. Now, at any rate, she must remain in London. 

Mrs. Burton's project, might, after all, be feasible; but then what ifher husband should really be angry with her? That was a misfortune whichnever yet had come upon her. 

Chapter XXXIX

Showing Why Harry Clavering Was Wanted At The Rectory

The letter which had summoned harry to the parsonage had been from hismother, and had begged him to come to Clavering at once, as trouble hadcome upon them from an unexpected source. His father had quarrelled withMr. Saul. The rector and the curate had had an interview, in which therehad been high words, and Mr. Clavering had refused to see Mr. Saulagain. Fanny also was in great trouble--and the parish was, as it were, in hot water. Mrs. Clavering thought that Harry had better run down toClavering, and see Mr. Saul. Harry, not unwillingly, acceded to hismother's request, much wondering at the source of this new misfortune. As to Fanny, she, as he believed, had held out no encouragement to Mr. Saul's overtures. When Mr. Saul had proposed to her--making that firstoffer of which Harry had been aware--nothing could have been moresteadfast than her rejection of the gentleman's hand. Harry had regardedMr. Saul as little less than mad to think of such a thing, but, thinkingof him as a man very different in his ways and feelings from other men, had believed that he might go on at Clavering comfortably as curate inspite of that little accident. It appeared, however, that he was notgoing on comfortably; but Harry, when he left London, could not quiteimagine how such violent discomfort should have arisen that the rectorand the curate should be unable to meet each other. If the reader willallow me, I will go back a little and explain this. 

The reader already knows what Fanny's brother did not know--namely, thatMr. Saul had pressed his suit again, and had pressed it very strongly;and he also knows that Fanny's reception of the second offer was verydifferent from her reception of the first. She had begun to doubt--todoubt whether her first judgment as to Mr. Saul's character had not beenunjust--to doubt whether, in addressing her, he was not right, seeingthat his love for her was so strong--to doubt whether she did not likehim better than she had thought she did--to doubt whether an engagementwith a penniless curate was in truth a position utterly to bereprehended and avoided. Young penniless curates must love somebody aswell as young beneficed vicars and rectors. And then Mr. Saul pleadedhis cause so well!

She did not at once speak to her mother on the matter, and the fact thatshe had a secret made her very wretched. She had left Mr. Saul in doubt, giving him no answer, and he had said that he would ask her again in afew days what was to be his fate. She hardly knew how to tell her motherof this till she had told herself what were her own wishes. Shethoroughly desired to have her mother in her confidence, and promisedherself that it should be so before Mr. Saul renewed his suit. He was aman who was never hurried or impatient in his doings. But Fanny put offthe interview with her mother, and put off her own final resolution, till it was too late, and Mr. Saul came upon her again, when she was butill prepared for him. 

A woman, when she doubts whether she loves or does not love, is inclinedfive parts out of six toward the man of whom she is thinking. When awoman doubts she is lost, the cynics say. I simply assert, being nocynic, that when a woman doubts she is won. The more Fanny thought ofMr. Saul, the more she felt that he was not the man for whom she hadfirst taken him--that he was of larger dimensions as regarded spirit, manhood and heart, and better entitled to a woman's love. She would nottell herself that she was attached to him; but in all her arguments withherself against him, she rested her objection mainly on the fact that hehad but seventy pounds a year. And then the threatened attack, theattack that was to be final, came upon her before she was prepared forit!

They had been together as usual during the intervening time. It was, indeed, impossible that they should not be together. Since she had firstbegun to doubt about Mr. Saul, she had been more diligent thanheretofore in visiting the poor and in attending to her school, asthough she were recognizing the duty which would specially be hers ifshe were to marry such a one as he. And thus they had been broughttogether more than ever. All this her mother had seen, and seeing, hadtrembled; but she had not thought it wise to say anything till Fannyshould speak. Fanny was very good and very prudent. It could not be butthat Fanny should know how impossible must be such a marriage. As to therector, he had no suspicions on the matter. Saul had made himself an asson one occasion, and there had been an end of it. As a curate, Saul wasinvaluable, and therefore the fact of his having made himself an ass hadbeen forgiven him. It was thus that the rector looked at it. 

It was hardly more than ten days since the last walk in Cumberly Lanewhen Mr. Saul renewed the attack. He did it again on the same spot, andat the same hour of the day. Twice a week, always on the same days, hewas in the chapel up at this end of the parish, and on these days hecould always find Fanny on her way home. When he put his head in at thelittle school door and asked for her, her mind misgave her. He had notwalked home with her since, and though he had been in the school withher often, had always left her there, going about his own business, asthough he were by no means desirous of her company. Now the timehad come, and Fanny felt that she was not prepared. But she took up herhat, and went out to him, knowing that there was no escape. 

"So Miss Clavering, " said he, "have you thought of what I was saying toyou?" To this she made no answer, but merely played with the point ofthe parasol which she held in her hand. "You cannot but have thought ofit, " he continued. "You could not dismiss it altogether from yourthoughts. "

"I have thought about it, of course, " she said. 

"And what does your mind say? Or rather what does your heart say? Bothshould speak, but I would sooner hear the heart first. "

"I am sure, Mr. Saul, that it is quite impossible. "

"In what way impossible?"

"Papa would not allow it. "

"Have you asked him?"

"Oh, dear, no. "

"Or Mrs. Clavering?"

Fanny blushed as she remembered how she had permitted the days to go bywithout asking her mother's counsel. "No; I have spoken to no one. Whyshould I, when I knew that it is impossible?"

"May I speak to Mr. Clavering?" To this Fanny made no immediate answer, and then Mr. Saul urged the question again. "May I speak to yourfather?"

Fanny felt that she was assenting, even in that she did not answer sucha question by an immediate refusal of her permission; and yet she didnot mean to assent. "Miss Clavering, " he said, "if you regard me withaffection, you have no right to refuse me this request. I tell you soboldly. If you feel for me that love which would enable you to accept meas your husband, it is your duty to tell me so--your duty to me, toyourself and to your God. "

Fanny did not quite see the thing in this light, and yet she did notwish to contradict him. At this moment she forgot that in order to putherself on perfectly firm ground, she should have gone back to the firsthypothesis, and assured him that she did not feel any such regard forhim. Mr. Saul, whose intellect was more acute, took advantage of herhere, and chose to believe that that matter of her affection was nowconceded to him. He knew what he was doing well, and is open to a chargeof some jesuitry. "Mr. Saul, " said Fanny, with grave prudence, "itcannot be right for people to marry when they have nothing to liveupon. " When she had shown him so plainly that she had no other pieceleft on the board to play than this, the game may be said to have beenwon on his side. 

"If that be your sole objection, " said he, "you cannot but think itright that I and your father should discuss it. " To this she made noreply whatever, and they walked along the lane for a considerable way insilence. Mr. Saul would have been glad to have had the interview overnow, feeling that at any future meeting he would have stronger power ofassuming the position of an accepted lover than he would do now. Anotherman would have desired to get from her lips a decided word of love--totake her hand, perhaps, and to feel some response from it--to go furtherthan this, as is not unlikely, and plead for the happy indulgences of anaccepted lover. But Mr. Saul abstained, and was wise in abstaining. Shehad not so far committed herself but that she might even now have drawnback, had he pressed her too hard. For hand-pressing, and thetitillations of love-making, Mr. Saul was not adapted; but he was a manwho, having once loved, would love on to the end. 

The way, however, was too long to be completed without further speech. Fanny, as she walked, was struggling to find some words by which shemight still hold her ground, but the words were not forthcoming. Itseemed to herself that she was being carried away by this man, becauseshe had suddenly lost her remembrance of all negatives. The more shestruggled the more she failed, and at last gave it up in despair. LetMr. Saul say what he would, it was impossible that they should bemarried. All his arguments about duty were nonsense. It could not be herduty to marry a man who would have to starve in his attempt to keep her. She wished she had told him at first that she did not love him, but thatseemed to be too late now. The moment that she was in the house shewould go to her mother and tell her everything. 

"Miss Clavering, " said he, "I shall see your father to-morrow. "

"No, no, " she ejaculated. 

"I shall certainly do so in any event. I shall either tell him that Imust leave the parish--explaining to him why I must go; or I shall askhim to let me remain herein the hope that I may become his son-in-law. You will not now tell me that I am to go?" Fanny was again silent, hermemory failing her as to either negative or affirmative that would be ofservice. "To stay here hopeless would be impossible to me. Now I am nothopeless. Now I am full of hope. I think I could be happy, though I hadto wait as Jacob waited. "

"And perhaps have Jacob's consolation, " said Fanny. She was lost by thejoke and he knew it. A grim smile of satisfaction crossed his thin faceas he heard it, and there was a feeling of triumph at his heart. "I amhardly fitted to be a patriarch, as the patriarchs were of old, " hesaid. "Though the seven years should be prolonged to fourteen, I do notthink I should seek any Leah. "

They were soon at the gate, and his work for that evening was done. Hewould go home to his solitary room at a neighboring farm-house, and sitin triumph as he eat his morsel of cold mutton by himself. He, withoutany advantages of person to back him, poor, friendless, hithertoconscious that he was unfitted to mix even in ordinary social life--hehad won the heart of the fairest woman he had ever seen. "You will giveme your hand at parting, " he said, whereupon she tendered it to him withher eyes fixed upon the ground. "I hope we understand each other, " hecontinued. "You may at any rate understand this, that I love you withall my heart and all my strength. If things prosper with me, all myprosperity shall be for you. If there be no prosperity for me, you shallbe my only consolation in this world. You are my Alpha and my Omega, myfirst and last, my beginning and end--my everything, my all. " Then heturned away and left her, and there had come no negative from her lips. As far as her lips were concerned, no negative was any longer possibleto her. 

She went into the house knowing that she must at once seek her motherbut she allowed herself first to remain for some half--hour in her ownbedroom, preparing the words that she would use. The interview she knewwould be difficult--much more difficult than it would have been beforeher last walk with Mr. Saul; and the worst of it was that she could notquite make up her mind as to what it was that she wished to say. Shewaited till she could hear her mother's step on the stairs. At last Mrs. Clavering came up to dress, and then Fanny, following her quickly intoher bedroom, abruptly began:

"Mamma, " she said, "I want to speak to you very much. "

"Well, my dear?"

"But you mustn't be in a hurry, mamma. " Mrs. Clavering looked at herwatch, and declaring that it still wanted three-quarters of an hour todinner, promised that she would not be very much in a hurry. 

"Mamma, Mr. Saul has been speaking to me again. 

"Has he, my dear? You cannot, of course, help it if he chooses to speakto you, but he ought to know that it is very foolish. It must end in hishaving to leave us. "

"That is what he says, mamma. He says he must go away unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless I will consent that he shall remain here as--"

"As your accepted lover. Is that it, Fanny?"

"Yes, mamma. "

"Then he must go, I suppose. What else can any of us say? I shall besorry both for his sake and for your papa's. " Mrs. Clavering, as shesaid this, looked at her daughter, and saw at once that this edict onher part did not settle the difficulty. There was that in Fanny's facewhich showed trouble and the necessity of further explanation. "Is notthat what you think yourself my dear?" Mrs. Clavering asked. 

"I should be very sorry if he had to leave the parish on my account. "

"We all shall feel that, dearest; but what can we do? I presume youdon't wish him to remain as your lover?"

"I don't know, mamma, " said Fanny. 

It was then as Mrs. Clavering had feared. Indeed, from the first wordthat Fanny had spoken on the present occasion, she had almost been sureof the facts, as they now were. To her father it would appear wonderfulthat his daughter should have come to love such a man as Mr. Saul, butMrs. Clavering knew better than he how far perseverance will go withwomen--perseverance joined with high mental capacity, and with highspirit to back it. She was grieved but not surprised, and would at oncehave accepted the idea of Mr. Saul becoming her son-in-law, had not thepoverty of the man been so much against him. "Do you mean, my dear, thatyou wish him to remain here after what he has said to you? That would betantamount to accepting him. You understand that, Fanny; eh, dear?"

"I suppose it would, mamma. "

"And is that what you mean? Come, dearest, tell me the whole of it. Whathave you said to him yourself? What has he been led to think from theanswer you have given him to-day?"

"He says that he means to see papa to-morrow. "

"But is he to see him with your consent?" Fanny had hitherto placedherself in the nook of a bow-window which looked out into the garden, and there, though she was near to the dressing-table at which her motherwas sitting, she could so far screen herself as almost to hide her facewhen she was speaking. From this retreat her mother found it necessaryto withdraw her; so she rose, and going to a sofa in the room, bade herdaughter come and sit beside her. "A doctor, my dear, can never do anygood, " she said, "unless the patient will tell him everything. Have youtold Mr. Saul that he may see papa--as coming from you, you know?"

"No, mamma; I did not tell him that. I told him that it would bealtogether impossible, because we should be so poor. "

"He ought to have known that himself. "

"But I don't think he ever thinks of such things as that, mamma. I can'ttell you quite what he said, but it went to show that he didn't regardmoney at all. "

"But that is nonsense; is it not, Fanny?"

"What he means is, not that people if they are fond of each other oughtto marry at once when they have got nothing to live upon, but that theyought to tell each other so, and then be content to wait. I suppose hethinks that some day he may have a living. "

"But, Fanny, are you fond of him; and have you ever told him so?"

"I have never told him so, mamma. "

"But you are fond of him?" To this question Fanny made no answer, andnow Mrs. Clavering knew it all. She felt no inclination to scold herdaughter, or even to point out in very strong language how foolish Fannyhad been in allowing a man to engage her affections merely by asking forthem. The thing was a misfortune, and should have been avoided by thedeparture of Mr. Saul from the parish after his first declaration oflove. He had been allowed to remain for the sake of the rector'scomfort, and the best must now be made of it. That Mr. Saul must now gowas certain, and Fanny must endure the weariness of an attachment withan absent lover to which her father would not consent. It was very bad, but Mrs. Clavering did not think that she could make it better byattempting to scold her daughter into renouncing the man. 

"I suppose you would like me to tell papa all this before Mr. Saul comesto-morrow?"

"If you think it best, mamma. "

"And you mean, dear, that you would wish to accept him, only that he hasno income?"

"I think so, mamma. "

"Have you told him so?"

"I did not tell him so, but he understands it. "

"If you did not tell him so, you might still think of it again. "

But Fanny had surrendered herself now, and was determined to make nofurther attempt at sending the garrison up to the wall. "I am sure, mamma, that if he were well off like Edward, I should accept him. It isonly because he has no income. "

"But you have not told him that?"

"I would not tell him anything without your consent and papa's. He saidhe should go to papa to-morrow, and I could not prevent that. I did saythat I knew it was quite impossible. "

The mischief was done and there was no help for it. Mrs. Clavering toldher daughter that she would talk it all over with the rector that night, so that Fanny was able to come down to dinner without fearing anyfurther scene on that evening. But on the following morning she did notappear at prayers, nor was she present at the breakfast table. Hermother went to her early, and she immediately asked if it was considerednecessary that she should see her father before Mr. Saul came. But thiswas not required of her. 

"Papa says that it is out of the question, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"I told him so myself" said Fanny, beginning to whimper. 

"And there must be no engagements, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"No, mamma. I haven't engaged myself. I told him it was impossible. "

"And papa thinks that Mr. Saul must leave him, " continued Mrs. Clavering. 

"I knew papa would say that; but, mamma, I shall not forget him for thatreason. "

To this Mrs. Clavering made no reply, and Fanny was allowed to remainupstairs till Mr. Saul had come and gone. 

Very soon after breakfast Mr. Saul did come. His presence at the rectorywas so common that the servants were not generally summoned to announcehis arrivals, but his visits were made to Mrs. Clavering and Fanny moreoften than to the rector. On this occasion he rang the bell, and askedfor Mr. Clavering, and was shown into the rector's so-called study, in away that the maid-servant felt to be unusual. And the rector was sittinguncomfortably prepared for the visit, not having had his after-breakfastcigar. He had been induced to declare that he was not, and would not be, angry with Fanny; but Mr. Saul was left to such indignation as hethought it incumbent on himself to express. In his opinion, the marriagewas impossible, not only because there was no money, but because Mr. Saul was Mr. Saul, and because Fanny Clavering was Fanny Clavering. Mr. Saul was a gentleman; but that was all that could be said of him. Thereis a class of country clergymen in England, of whom Mr. Clavering wasone, and his son-in-law, Mr. Fielding, another, which is so closelyallied to the squirearchy as to possess a double identity. Suchclergymen are not only clergymen, but they are country gentlemen also. Mr. Clavering regarded clergymen of his class--of the country gentlemenclass--as being quite distinct from all others, and as being, I may say, very much higher than all others, without reference to any moneyquestion. When meeting his brother rectors and vicars, he had quite adifferent tone in addressing them, as they might belong to his class, orto another. There was no offence in this. The clerical country gentlemenunderstood it all as though there were some secret sign or shibbolethbetween them; but the outsiders had no complaint to make of arrogance, and did not feel themselves aggrieved. They hardly knew that there wasan inner clerical familiarity to which they were not admitted. But nowthat there was a young curate from the outer circle demanding Mr. Clavering's daughter in marriage, and that without a shilling in hispocket, Mr. Clavering felt that the eyes of the offender must be opened. The nuisance to him was very great, but this opening of Mr. Saul's eyeswas a duty from which he could not shrink. 

He got up when the curate entered, and greeted his curate, as though hewere unaware of the purpose of the present visit. The whole burden ofthe story was to be thrown upon Mr. Saul. But that gentleman was notlong in casting the burden from his shoulders. 

"Mr. Clavering, " he said, "I have come to ask your permission to be asuitor for your daughter's hand. "

The rector was almost taken aback by the abruptness of the request. "Quite impossible, Mr. Saul, " he said; "quite impossible. I am told byMrs. Clavering that you were speaking to Fanny again about thisyesterday, and I must say that I think you have been behaving verybadly. "

"In what way have I behaved badly?"

"In endeavoring to gain her affections behind my back. "

"But, Mr. Clavering, how otherwise could I gain them? How otherwise doesany man gain any woman's love? If you mean--"

"Look here, Mr. Saul. I don't think that there is any necessity for anargument between you and me on this point. That you cannot marry MissClavering is so self-evident that it does not require to be discussed. If there were nothing else against it, neither of you have got a penny. I have not seen my daughter since I heard of this madness--hear me outif you please, sir--since I heard of this madness, but her mother tellsme that she is quite aware of that fact. Your coming to me with such aproposition is an absurdity if it is nothing worse. Now you must do oneof two things, Mr. Saul. You must either promise me that this shall beat an end altogether, or you must leave the parish. "

"I certainly shall not promise you that my hopes as they regard yourdaughter will be at an end. "

"Then, Mr. Saul, the sooner you go the better. "

A dark cloud came across Mr. Saul's brow as he heard these last words. "That is the way in which you would send away your groom, if he hadoffended you, " he said. 

"I do not wish to be unnecessarily harsh, " said Mr. Clavering, "and whatI say to you now I say to you not as my curate, but as to a mostunwarranted suitor for my daughter's hand. Of course I cannot turn youout of the parish at a day's notice. I know that well enough. But yourfeelings as a gentleman ought to make you aware that you should go atonce. "

"And that is to be my only answer?"

"What answer did you expect?"

"I have been thinking so much lately of the answers I might get fromyour daughter, that I have not made other calculations. Perhaps I had noright to expect any other than that you have now given. "

"Of course you had not. And now I ask you again to give her up. "

"I shall not do that, certainly. "

"Then, Mr. Saul, you must go; and, inconvenient as it will be tomyself--terribly inconvenient--I must ask you to go at once. Of course Icannot allow you to meet my daughter any more. As long as you remain shewill be debarred from going to her school, and you will be debarred fromcoming here. "

"If I say that I will not seek her at the school?"

"I will not have it. It is out of the question that you should remain inthe parish. You ought to feel it. "

"Mr. Clavering, my going--I mean my instant going--is a matter of whichI have not yet thought. I must consider it before I give you an answer. "

"It ought to require no consideration, " said Mr. Clavering, rising fromhis chair--"none at all; not a moment's. Heavens and earth! Why, whatdid you suppose you were to live upon? But I won't discuss it. I willnot say one more word upon a subject which is so distasteful to me. Youmust excuse me if I leave you. "

Mr. Saul then departed, and from this interview had arisen that state ofthings in the parish which had induced Mrs. Clavering to call Harry totheir assistance. The rector had become more energetic on the subjectthan any of them had expected. He did not actually forbid his wife tosee Mr. Saul, but he did say that Mr. Saul should not come to therectory. Then there arose a question as to the Sunday services, and yetMr. Clavering would have no intercourse with his curate. He would haveno intercourse with him unless he would fix an immediate day for going, or else promise that he would think no more of Fanny. Hitherto he haddone neither, and therefore Mrs. Clavering had sent for her son. 

Chapter XL

Mr. Saul's Abode

When Harry Clavering left London he was not well, though he did not careto tell himself that he was ill. But he had been so harassed by hisposition, was so ashamed of himself and as yet so unable to see anyescape from his misery, that he was sore with fatigue and almost wornout with trouble. On his arrival at the parsonage, his mother at onceasked him if he was ill, and received his petulant denial with anill-satisfied countenance. That there was something wrong between himand Florence she suspected, but at the present moment she was notdisposed to inquire into that matter. Harry's love affairs had for her agreat interest, but Fanny's love affairs at the present moment wereparamount in her bosom. Fanny, indeed, had become very troublesome sinceMr. Saul's visit to her father. On the evening of her conversation withher mother, and on the following morning, Fanny had carried herself withbravery, and Mrs. Clavering had been disposed to think that herdaughter's heart was not wounded deeply. She had admitted theimpossibility of her marriage with Mr. Saul, and had never insisted onthe strength of her attachment. But no sooner was she told that Mr. Saulhad been banished from the house, than she took upon herself to mope inthe most love-lorn fashion, and behaved herself as though she were thevictim of an all-absorbing passion. Between her and her father no wordon the subject had been spoken, and even to her mother she was silent, respectful and subdued, as it becomes daughters to be who are hardlyused when they are in love. Now, Mrs. Clavering felt that in this herdaughter was not treating her well. 

"But you don't mean to say that she cares for him?" Harry said to hismother, when they were alone on the evening of his arrival. 

"Yes, she cares for him, certainly. As far as I can tell, she cares forhim very much. "

"It is the oddest thing I ever knew in my life. I should have said hewas the last man in the world for success of that kind. "

"One never can tell, Harry. You see he is a very good young man. "

"But girls don't fall in love with men because they're good, mother. "

"I hope they do--for that and other things together. "

"But he has got none of the other things. What a pity it was that he waslet to stay here after he first made a fool of himself. "

"It's too late to think of that now, Harry. Of course she can't marryhim. They would have nothing to live on. I should say that he has noprospect of a living. "

"I can't conceive how a man can do such a wicked thing, " said Harry, moralizing, and forgetting for a moment his own sins. "Coming into ahouse like this, and in such a position, and then undermining a girl'saffections, when he must know that it is quite out of the question thathe should marry her! I call it downright wicked. It is treachery of theworst sort, and coming from a clergyman is, of course, the more to becondemned. I shan't be slow to tell him my mind. "

"You will gain nothing by quarrelling with him. "

"But how can I help it, if I am to see him at all?"

"I mean that I would not be rough with him. The great thing is to makehim feel that he should go away as soon as possible, and renounce allidea of seeing Fanny again. You see, your father will have noconversation with him at all, and it is so disagreeable about theservices. They'll have to meet in the vestry-room on Sunday, and theywon't speak. Will not that be terrible? Anything will be better thanthat he should remain here. "

"And. What will my father do for a curate?"

"He can't do anything till he knows when Mr. Saul will go. He talks oftaking all the services himself. "

"He couldn't do it, mother. He must not think of it. However, I'll seeSaul the first thing to-morrow. "

The next day was Tuesday, and Harry proposed to leave the rectory at teno'clock for Mr. Saul's lodgings. Before he did so, he had a few wordswith his father who professed even deeper animosity against Mr. Saulthan his son. "After that, " he said, "I'll believe that a girl may fallin love with any man! People say all manner of things about the folly ofgirls; but nothing but this--nothing short of this--would have convincedme that it was possible that Fanny should have been such a fool. An apeof a fellow--not made like a man--with a thin hatchet face, andunwholesome stubbly chin. Good heavens!"

"He has talked her into it. "

"But he is such an ass. As far as I know him, he can't say Bo! to agoose. "

"There I think you are perhaps wrong. "

"Upon my word I've never been able to get a word from him except aboutthe parish. He is the most uncompanionable fellow. There's EdwardFielding is as active a clergyman as Saul; but Edward Fielding hassomething to say for himself. "

"Saul is a cleverer man than Edward is; but his cleverness is of adifferent sort. "

"It is of a sort that is very invisible to me. But what does all thatmatter? He hasn't got a shilling. When I was a curate, we didn't thinkof doing such things as that. " Mr. Clavering had only been a curate fortwelve months, and during that time had become engaged to his presentwife with the consent of every one concerned. "But clergymen weregentlemen then. I don't know what the Church will come to; I don'tindeed. "

After this Harry went away upon his mission. What a farce it was that heshould be engaged to make straight the affairs of other people, when hisown affairs were so very crooked! As he walked up to the old farm-housein which Mr. Saul was living, he thought of this, and acknowledged tohimself that he could hardly make himself in earnest about his sister'saffairs, because of his own troubles. He tried to fill himself with aproper feeling of dignified wrath and high paternal indignation againstthe poor curate; but under it all, and at the back of it all, and infront of it all, there was ever present to him his own position. Did hewish to escape from Lady Ongar; and if so, how was he to do it? And ifhe did not escape from Lady Ongar, how was he ever to hold up his headagain?

He had sent a note to Mr. Saul on the previous evening giving notice ofhis intended visit, and had received an answer, in which the curate hadpromised that he would be at home. He had never been in Mr. Saul's room, and as he entered it, felt more strongly than ever how incongruous wasthe idea of Mr. Saul as a suitor to his sister. The Claverings hadalways had things comfortable around them. They were a people who hadever lived on Brussels carpets, and had seated themselves in capaciouschairs. Ormolu, damask hangings, and Sevres china were not familiar tothem; but they had never lacked anything that is needed for the comfortof the first-class clerical world. Mr. Saul in his abode boasted but fewcomforts. He inhabited a big bed-room, in which there was a vastfireplace and a very small grate--the grate being very much more modernthan the fireplace. There was a small rag of a carpet near the hearth, and on this stood a large deal table--a table made of unalloyed deal, without any mendacious paint, putting forward a pretence in thedirection of mahogany. One wooden Windsor arm-chair--very comfortable inits way--was appropriated to the use of Mr. Saul himself; and two othersmall wooden chairs flanked the other side of the fireplace. In onedistant corner stood Mr. Saul's small bed, and in another distant cornerstood his small dressing-table. Against the wall stood a ricketty dealpress in which he kept his clothes. Other furniture there was none. Oneof the large windows facing toward the farmyard had been permanentlyclosed, and in the wide embrasure was placed a portion of Mr. Saul'slibrary--books which he had brought with him from college; and on theground under this closed window were arranged the others, making a longrow, which stretched from the bed to the dressing-table, very pervious, I fear, to the attacks of mice. The big table near the fireplace wascovered with books and papers--and, alas, with dust; for he had falleninto that terrible habit which prevails among bachelors, of allowing hiswork to remain ever open, never finished, always confused--with papersabove books, and books above papers--looking as though no useful productcould ever be made to come forth from such chaotic elements. But thereMr. Saul composed his sermons, and studied his Bible, and followed up, no doubt, some special darling pursuit, which his ambition dictated. Butthere he did not eat his meals; that had been made impossible by thepile of papers and dust; and his chop, therefore, or his broiled rasher, or bit of pig's fry was deposited for him on the little dressing-table, and there consumed. 

Such was the solitary apartment of the gentleman who now aspired to thehand of Miss Clavering; and for this accommodation, includingattendance, he paid the reasonable sum of L10 per annum. He then had L60left, with which to feed himself; clothe himself like a gentleman--aduty somewhat neglected--and perform his charities!

Harry Clavering, as he looked around him, felt almost ashamed of hissister. The walls were whitewashed, and stained in many places; and thefloor in the middle of the room seemed to be very rotten. What young manwho has himself dwelt ever in comfort would like such a house for hissister? Mr. Saul, however, came forward with no marks of visible shameon his face, and greeted his visitor frankly with an open hand. "Youcame down from London yesterday, I suppose?" said Mr. Saul. 

"Just so, " said Harry. 

"Take a seat;" and Mr. Saul suggested the arm-chair, but Harry contentedhimself with one of the others. "I hope Mrs. Clavering is well?" "Quitewell, " said Harry, cheerfully. "And your father--and sister?" "Quitewell, thank you, " said Harry, very stiffly. "I would have come down toyou at the rectory, " said Mr. Saul, "instead of bringing you up here;only, as you have heard, no doubt, I and your father have unfortunatelyhad a difference. " This Mr. Saul said without any apparent effort, andthen left Harry to commence the further conversation. 

"Of course, you know what I'm come here about?" said Harry. 

"Not exactly; at any rate not so clearly but what I would wish you totell me. "

"You have gone to my father as a suitor for my sister's hand. "

"Yes, I have. "

"Now you must know that that is altogether impossible--a thing not to beeven talked of. "

"So your father says. I need not tell you that I was very sorry to hearhim speak in that way. "

"But, my dear fellow, you can't really be in earnest? You can't supposeit possible that he would allow such an engagement?"

"As to the latter question, I have no answer to give; but I certainlywas, and certainly am in earnest. "

"Then I must say that I think you have a very erroneous idea of what theconduct of a gentleman should be. "

"Stop a moment, Clavering, " said Mr. Saul, rising, and standing with hisback to the big fireplace. "Don't allow yourself to say in a hurry wordswhich you will afterward regret. I do not think you can have intended tocome here and tell me that I am not a gentleman. "

"I don't want to have an argument with you; but you must give it up;that's all. "

"Give what up? If you mean give up your sister, I certainly shall neverdo that. She may give me up, and if you have anything to say on thathead, you had better say it to her. "

"What right can you have--without a shilling in the world--?"

"I should have no right to marry her in such a condition--with yourfather's consent or without it. It is a thing which I have neverproposed to myself for a moment--or to her. "

"And what have you proposed to yourself?"

Mr. Saul paused a moment before he spoke, looking down at the dustyheaps upon his table, as though hoping that inspiration might come tohim from them. "I will tell you what I have proposed, " said he at last, "as nearly as I can put it into words. I propose to myself to have theimage in my heart of one human being whom I can love above all the worldbeside; I propose to hope that I, as others, may some day marry, andthat she whom I so love may become my wife; I propose to bear with suchcourage as I can much certain delay, and probable absolute failure inall this; and I propose also to expect--no, hardly to expect--that thatwhich I will do for her, she will do for me. Now you know all my mind, and you may be sure of this, that I will instigate your sister to nodisobedience. "

"Of course she will not see you again. "

"I shall think that hard after what has passed between us; but Icertainly shall not endeavor to see her clandestinely. "

"And under these circumstances, Mr. Saul, of course you must leave us. "

"So your father says. "

"But leave us at once, I mean. It cannot be comfortable that you and myfather should go on in the parish together in this way. "

"What does your father mean by 'at once?'"

"The sooner the better; say in two months' time at furthest. "

"Very well. I will go in two months' time. I have no other home to goto, and no other means of livelihood; but as your father wishes it, Iwill go at the end of two months. As I comply with this, I hope myrequest to see your sister once before I go will not be refused. "

"It could do no good, Mr. Saul. "

"To me it would do great good, and, as I think, no harm to her. "

"My father, I am sure, will not allow it. Indeed, why should he? Nor, asI understand, would my sister wish it. "

"Has she said so?"

"Not to me; but she has acknowledged that any idea of a marriage betweenherself and you is quite impossible, and after that I'm sure she'll havetoo much sense to wish for an interview. If there is anything furtherthat I can do for you, I shall be most happy. " Mr. Saul did not see thatHarry Clavering could do anything for him, and then Harry took hisleave. The rector; when he heard of the arrangement, expressed himselfas in some sort satisfied. One month would have been better than two, but then it could hardly be expected that Mr. Saul could take himselfaway instantly, without looking for a hole in which to lay his head. "Ofcourse it is understood that he is not to see her?" the rector said. Inanswer to this, Harry explained what had taken place, expressing hisopinion that Mr. Saul would, at any rate, keep his word. "Interview, indeed!" said the rector. "It is the man's audacity that most astonishesme. It passes me to think how such a fellow can dare to propose such athing. 'What is it that he expects as the end of it?" Then Harryendeavored to repeat what Mr. Saul had said as to his own expectations, but he was quite aware that he failed to make his father understandthose expectations as he had understood them when the words came fromMr. Saul's own mouth. Harry Clavering had acknowledged to himself thatit was impossible not to respect the poor curate. 

To Mrs. Clavering, of course, fell the task of explaining to Fanny whathad been done, and what was going to be done. "He is to go away, mydear, at the end of two months. "

"Very well, mamma. "

"And, of course, you and he are not to meet before that. "

"Of course not, if you and papa say so. "

"I have told your papa that it will only be necessary to tell you this, and that then you can go to your school just as usual, if you please. Neither papa nor I would doubt your word for a moment. "

"But what can I do if he comes to me?" asked Fanny, almost whimpering. 

"He has said that he will not, and we do not doubt his word either. "

"That I am sure you need not. Whatever anybody may say, Mr. Saul is asmuch a gentleman as though he had the best living in the diocese. No oneever knew him break his word--not a hair's breadth--or do--anythingelse--that he ought--not to do. " And Fanny, as she pronounced thisrather strong eulogium, began to sob. Mrs. Clavering felt that Fanny washeadstrong, and almost ill-natured, in speaking in this tone of herlover, after the manner in which she had been treated; but there couldbe no use in discussing Mr. Saul's virtues, and therefore she let thematter drop. "If you will take my advice, " she said, "you will go aboutyour occupations just as usual. You'll soon recover your spirits in thatway. "

"I don't want to recover my spirits, " said Fanny; "but if you wish it, I'll go on with the schools. "

It was quite manifest now that Fanny intended to play the role of abroken-hearted young lady, and to regard the absent Mr. Saul withpassionate devotion. That this should be so Mrs. Clavering felt to bethe more cruel, because no such tendencies had been shown before thepaternal sentence against Mr. Saul had been passed. Fanny, in tellingher own tale, had begun by declaring that any such an engagement was animpossibility. She had not asked permission to have Mr. Saul for alover. She had given no hint that she even hoped for such permission. But now when that was done which she herself had almost dictated, shetook upon herself to live as though she were ill-used as badly as aheroine in a castle among the Apennines! And in this way she wouldreally become deeply in love with Mr. Saul--thinking of all which Mrs. Clavering almost regretted that the edict of banishment had gone forth. It would, perhaps, have been better to have left Mr. Saul to go aboutthe parish, and to have laughed Fanny out of her fancy. But it was toolate now for that, and Mrs. Clavering said nothing further on thesubject to any one. 

On the day following his visit to the farm-house, Harry Clavering wasunwell--too unwell to go back to London; and on the next day he was illin bed. Then it was that he got his mother to write to Mrs. Burton; andthen also he told his mother a part of his troubles. When the letter waswritten he was very anxious to see it, and was desirous that it shouldbe specially worded, and so written as to make Mrs. Burton certain thathe was in truth too ill to come to London, though not ill enough tocreate alarm. "Why not simply let me say that you are kept here for aday or two?" asked Mrs. Clavering. 

"Because I promised that I would be in Onslow Terrace to-morrow, and shemust not think that I would stay away if I could avoid it. "

Then Mrs. Clavering closed the letter and directed it. When she had donethat, and put on it the postage-stamp, she asked in a voice that wasintended to be indifferent, whether Florence was in London; and, hearingthat she was so, expressed her surprise that the letter should not bewritten to Florence. 

"My engagement was with Mrs. Burton, " said Harry. 

"I hope there is nothing wrong between you and Florence?" said hismother. To this question Harry made no immediate answer, and Mrs. Clavering was afraid to press it. But after a while he returned to thesubject himself. "Mother, " he said, "things are wrong between Florenceand me. "

"Oh, Harry; what has she done?"

"It is rather what have I done! As for her, she has simply trustedherself to a man who has been false to her. "

"Dear Harry, do not say that. What is it that you mean? It is not trueabout Lady Ongar?"

"Then you have heard, mother. Of course I do not know what you haveheard, but it can be hardly worse than the truth. But you must not blameher. Whatever fault there may be, is all mine. " Then he told her much ofwhat had occurred in Bolton Street. We may suppose that he said nothingof that mad caress--nothing, perhaps, of the final promise which he madeto Julia as he last passed out of her presence; but he did give her tounderstand that he had in some way returned to his old passion for thewoman whom he had first loved. 

I should describe Mrs. Clavering in language too highly eulogistic wereI to lead the reader to believe that she was altogether averse to suchadvantages as would accrue to her son from a marriage so brilliant asthat which he might now make with the grandly dowered widow of the lateearl. Mrs. Clavering by no means despised worldly goods; and she had, moreover, an idea that her highly gifted son was better adapted to thespending than to the making of money. It had come to be believed at therectory that though Harry had worked very hard at college--as is thecase with many highly born young gentlemen--and though he would, undoubtedly, continue to work hard if he were thrown among congenialoccupations--such as politics and the like--nevertheless, he would neverexcel greatly in any drudgery that would be necessary for the making ofmoney. There had been something to be proud of in this, but there had, of course, been more to regret. But now if Harry were to marry LadyOngar, all trouble on that score would be over. But poor Florence! WhenMrs. Clavering allowed herself to think of the matter, she knew thatFlorence's claims should be held as paramount. And when she thoughtfurther and thought seriously, she knew also that Harry's honor andHarry's happiness demanded that he should be true to the girl to whomhis hand had been promised. And, then, was not Lady Ongar's nametainted? It might be that she had suffered cruel ill-usage in this. Itmight be that no such taint had been deserved. Mrs. Clavering couldplead the injured woman's cause when speaking of it without any closereference to her own belongings; but it would have been very grievous toher, even had there been no Florence Burton in the case, that her sonshould make his fortune by marrying a woman as to whose character theworld was in doubt. 

She came to him late in the evening when his sister and father had justleft him, and sitting with her hand upon his, spoke one word, whichperhaps had more weight with Harry than any word that had yet beenspoken. "Have you slept, dear?" she said. 

"A little before my father came in. "

"My darling, " she said, "you will be true to Florence; will you not?"Then there was a pause. "My own Harry, tell me that you will be truewhen your truth is due. "

"I will, mother, " he said. 

"My own boy; my darling boy; my own true gentleman!" Harry felt that hedid not deserve the praise; but praise undeserved, though it may besatire in disguise, is often very useful. 

Chapter XLI

Going To Norway

On the next day Harry was not better, but the doctor said that there wasno cause for alarm. He was suffering from a low fever, and his sisterhad better be kept out of his room. He would not sleep, and wasrestless, and it might be some time before he could return to London. 

Early in the day the rector came into his son's bedroom, and told himand his mother, who was there, the news which he had just heard from thegreat house. "Hugh has come home, " he said, "and is going out yachtingfor the rest of the Summer. They are going to Norway in Jack Stuart'syacht. Archie is going with them. " Now Archie was known to be a greatman in a yacht, cognizant of ropes, well up in booms and spars, veryintimate with bolts, and one to whose hands a tiller came as naturallyas did the saddle of a steeple-chase horse to the legs of his friendDoodles. "They are going to fish, " said the rector. 

"But Jack Stuart's yacht is only a river boat--or just big enough forCowes harbor, but nothing more, " said Harry, roused in his bed to someexcitement by the news. 

"I know nothing about Jack Stuart or his boat either, " said the rector;"but that's what they told me. He's down here, at any rate, for I sawthe servant that came with him. "

"What a shame it is, " said Mrs. Clavering--"a scandalous shame. "

"You mean his going away?" said the rector. 

"Of course I do; his leaving her here by herself; all alone. He can haveno heart; after losing her child and suffering as she has done. It makesme ashamed of my own name. "

"You can't alter him, my dear. He has his good qualities and hisbad--and the bad ones are by far the more conspicuous. "

"I don't know any good qualities he has. "

"He does not get into debt. He will not destroy the property. He willleave the family after him as well off as it was before him--and thoughhe is a hard man, he does nothing actively cruel. Think of Lord Ongar, and then you'll remember that there are worse men than Hugh. Not that Ilike him. I am never comfortable for a moment in his presence. I alwaysfeel that he wants to quarrel with me, and that I almost want to quarrelwith him. "

"I detest him, " said Harry, from beneath the bedclothes. 

"You won't be troubled with him any more this Summer, for he means to beoff in less than a week. "

"And what is she to do?" asked Mrs. Clavering. 

"Live here as she has done ever since Julia married. I don't see that itwill make much difference to her. He's never with her when he's inEngland, and I should think she must be more comfortable without himthan with him. "

"It's a great catch for Archie, " said Harry. 

"Archie Clavering is a fool, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"They say he understands a yacht, " said the rector, who then left theroom. 

The rector's news was all true. Sir Hugh Clavering had come down to thePark, and had announced his intention of going to Norway in JackStuart's yacht. Archie also had been invited to join the party. Sir Hughintended to leave the Thames in about a week, and had not thought itnecessary to give his wife any intimation of the fact, till he told herhimself of his intention. He took, I think, a delight in being thusoverharsh in his harshness to her. He proved to himself thus not onlythat he was master, but that he would be master without any let ordrawback, without compunction, and even without excuses for hisill-conduct. There should be no plea put in by him in his absences, thathe had only gone to catch a few fish, when his intentions had been otherthan piscatorial. He intended to do as he liked now and always-and heintended that his wife should know that such was his intention. She wasnow childless, and, therefore, he had no other terms to keep with herthan those which appertained to her necessities for bed and board. Therewas the house, and she might live in it; and there were the butchers andthe bakers, and other tradesmen to supply her wants. Nay; there were theold carriage and the old horses at her disposal, if they could be of anyservice to her. Such were Sir Hugh Clavering's ideas as to the bondsinflicted upon him by his marriage vows. 

"I'm going to Norway next week" It was thus Sir Hugh communicated hisintention to his wife within five minutes of their first greeting. 

"To Norway, Hugh?"

"Yes; why not to Norway? I and one or two others have got some fishingthere. Archie is going, too. It will keep him from spending his money;or rather from spending money which isn't his. "

"And for how long will you be gone?"

It was part of Sir Hugh Clavering's theory as to these mattersthat-there should be no lying in the conduct of them. He would notcondescend to screen any part of his doings by a falsehood--so heanswered this question with exact truth. 

"I don't suppose we shall be back before October. "

"Not before October?"

"No. We are talking of putting in on the coast of Normandy somewhere;and probably may run down to Brittany. I shall be back, at any rate, forthe hunting. As for the partridges, the game has gone so much to thedevil here that they are not worth coming for. "

"You'll be away four months?"

"I suppose I shall if I don't come back till October. " Then he left her, calculating that she would have considered the matter before hereturned, and have decided that no good could come to her fromcomplaint. She knew his purpose now, and would no doubt reconcileherself to it quickly--perhaps with a few tears, which would not hurthim if he did not see them. 

But this blow was almost more than Lady Clavering could bear--was morethan she could bear in silence. Why she should have grudged her husbandhis trip abroad, seeing that his presence in England could hardly havebeen a solace to her, it is hard to understand. Had he remained inEngland, he would rarely have been at Clavering Park; and when he was atthe Park he would rarely have given her the benefit of his society. Whenthey were together, he was usually scolding her, or else sitting ingloomy silence, as though that phase of his life was almostinsupportable to him. He was so unusually disagreeable in hisintercourse with her, that his absence, one would think, must bepreferable to his presence. But women can bear anything better thandesertion. Cruelty is bad, but neglect is worse than cruelty, anddesertion worse even than neglect. To be treated as though she were notin existence, or as though her existence were a nuisance simply to beendured, and, as far as possible, to be forgotten, was more than evenLady Clavering could bear without complaint. When her husband left her, she sat meditating how she might turn against her oppressor. She was awoman not apt for fighting--unlike her sister, who knew well how to usethe cudgels in her own behalf; she was timid, not gifted with a fullflow of words, prone to sink and become dependent; but she--evenshe--with all these deficiencies-felt that she must make some standagainst the outrage to which he was now to be subjected. 

"Hugh, " she said, when she next saw him, "you can't really mean that youare going to leave me from this time till the Winter?"

"I said nothing about the Winter. "

"Well--till October?"

"I said that I was going, and I usually mean what I say. "

"I cannot believe it, Hugh; I cannot bring myself to think that you willbe so cruel. "

"Look here, Hermy, if you take to calling names, I won't stand it. "

"And I won't stand it, either. What am I to do? Am I to be here in thisdreadful barrack of a house all alone? How would you like it? Would youbear it for one month, let alone four or five? I won't remain here; Itell you that fairly. "

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't want to go anywhere, but I'll go away somewhere and die; Iwill indeed. I'll destroy myself or something. "

"Pshaw!"

"Yes; of course it's a joke to you. What have I done to deserve this?Have I ever done anything that you told me not? It's all because ofHughy--my darling--so it is; and it's cruel of you, and not like ahusband; and it's not manly. It's very cruel. I didn't think anybodywould have been so cruel as you are to me. " Then she broke down andburst into tears. 

"Have you done, Hermy?" said her husband. 

"No; I've not done. "

"Then go on again, " said he. 

But in truth she had done, and could only repeat her last accusation. "You're very, very cruel. "

"You said that before. "

"And I'll say it again. I'll tell everybody; so I will. I'll tell youruncle at the rectory, and he shall speak to you. "

"Look here, Hermy, I can bear a deal of nonsense from you because somewomen are given to talk nonsense; but if I find you telling tales aboutme out of this house, and especially to my uncle, or indeed, to anybodyI'll let you know what it is to be cruel. "

"You can't be worse than you are. "

"Don't try me; that's all. And as I suppose you have now said all thatyou've got to say, if you please we will regard that subject asfinished. " The poor woman had said all that she could say, and had nofurther means of carrying on the war. In her thoughts she could do so;in her thoughts she could wander forth out of the gloomy house in thenight, and perish in the damp and cold, leaving a paper behind her totell the world that her husband's cruelty had brought her to that pass. Or she would go to Julia and leave him forever. Julia, she thought, would still receive her. But as to one thing she had certainly made upher mind; she would go with her complaint to Mrs. Clavering at therectory, let her lord and master show his anger in whatever form hemight please. 

The next day Sir Hugh himself made her a proposition which somewhatsoftened the aspect of affairs. This he did in his usual voice, withsomething of a smile on his face, and speaking as though he werealtogether oblivious of the scenes of yesterday. "I was thinking, Hermy, " he said, "that you might have Julia down here while I am away. "

"Have Julia here?"

"Yes; why not? She'll come, I'm sure, when she knows that my back isturned. "

"I've never thought about asking her--at least not lately. "

"No; of course. But you might as well do so now. It seems that she nevergoes to Ongar Park, and, as far as I can learn, never will. I'm going tosee her myself. "

"You going to see her?"

"Yes; Lord Ongar's people want to know whether she can be induced togive up the place; that is, to sell her interest in it. I have promisedto see her. Do you write her a letter first, and tell her that I want tosee her; and ask her also to come here as soon as she can leave London. "

"But wouldn't the lawyers: do it better than you?"

"Well; one would think so; but I am commissioned to make her a kind ofapology from the whole Courton family. They fancy they've been hard uponher; and, by George, I believe they have. I may be able to say a wordfor myself too. If she isn't a fool she'll put her anger in her pocket, and come down to you. "

Lady Clavering liked the idea of having her sister with her, but she wasnot quite meek enough to receive the permission now given her as fullcompensation for the injury done. She said that she would do as he hadbidden her, and then went back to her own grievances. "I don't supposeJulia, even if she would come for a little time, would find it verypleasant to live in such a place as this, all alone. "

"She wouldn't be all alone when you are with her, " said Hugh, gruffly, and then again went out, leaving his wife to become used to hermisfortune by degrees. 

Chapter XLII

Parting

It was not surprising that Lady Clavering should dislike her solitude atClavering Park house, nor surprising that Sir Hugh should find the placedisagreeable. The house was a large, square stone building, with none ofthe prettinesses of modern country-houses about it. The gardens wereaway from the house, and the cold, desolate, fiat park came up closearound the windows: The rooms were very large and lofty--very excellentfor the purpose of a large household, but with nothing of that snug, pretty comfort which solitude requires for its solace. The furniture wasold and heavy, and the hangings were dark in color. Lady Clavering whenalone there--and she generally was alone--never entered the rooms on theground-floor. Nor did she ever pass through the wilderness of a hall bywhich the front door was to be reached. Throughout more than half herdays she never came down stairs at all; but when she did so, preparatoryto being dragged about the parish lanes in the old family carriage, shewas let out at a small side-door; and so it came to pass that during theabsences of the lord of the mansion, the shutters were not even movedfrom any of the lower windows. Under such circumstances there can be nowonder that Lady Clavering regarded the place as a prison. "I wish youcould come upon it unawares, and see how gloomy it is, " she said to him. "I don't think you'd stand it alone for two days, let alone all yourlife. "

"I'll shut it up altogether if you like, " said he. 

"And where am I to go?" she asked. 

"You can go to Moor Hall if you please. " Now Moor Hall was a smallhouse, standing on a small property belonging to Sir Hugh, in that partof Devonshire which lies north of Dartmoor, somewhere near theHolsworthy region, and which is perhaps as ugly, as desolate, and asremote as any part of England. Lady Clavering had heard much of MoorHall, and dreaded it as the heroine, made to live in the big grim castlelow down among the Apennines, dreads the smaller and grimmer castlewhich is known to exist somewhere higher up in the mountains. 

"Why couldn't I go to Brighton?" said Lady Clavering, boldly. 

"Because I don't choose it, " said Sir Hugh. After that she did go to therectory, and told Mrs. Clavering all her troubles. She had written toher sister, having, however, delayed the doing of this for two or threedays, and she had not at this time received an answer from Lady Ongar. Nor did she hear from her sister till after Sir Hugh had left her. Itwas on the day before his departure that she went to the rectory, finding herself driven to this act of rebellion by his threat of MoorHall. "I will never go there unless I am dragged there by force, " shesaid to Mrs. Clavering. 

"I don't think he means that, " said Mrs. Clavering. "He only wants tomake you understand that you'd better remain at the Park. "

"But if you knew what a house it is to be all alone in!"

"Dear Hermione, I do know! But you must come to us oftener, and let usendeavor to make it better for you. "

"But how can I do that? How can I come to his uncle's house, justbecause my own husband has made my own home so wretched that I cannotbear it. I'm ashamed to do that. I ought not to be telling you all this, of course. I don't know what he'd do if he knew it; but it is so hard tobear it all without telling some one. "

"My poor dear!"

"I sometimes think I'll ask Mr. Clavering to speak to him, and to tellhim at once that I will not submit to it any longer. Of course he wouldbe mad with rage, but if he were to kill me I should like it better thanhaving to go on in this way. I'm sure he is only waiting for me to die. "

Mrs. Clavering said all that she could to comfort the poor woman, butthere was not much that she could say. She had strongly advocated theplan of having Lady Ongar at the Park, thinking perhaps that Harry wouldbe more safe while that lady was at Clavering, than he might perhaps beif she remained in London. But Mrs. Clavering doubted much whether LadyOngar would consent to make such a visit. She regarded Lady Ongar as ahard, worldly, pleasure-seeking woman--sinned against perhaps in much, but also sinning in much herself--to whom the desolation of the Parkwould be even more unendurable than it was to the elder sister. But ofthis, of course, she said nothing. Lady Clavering left her, somewhatquieted, if not comforted; and went back to pass her last evening withher husband. 

"Upon second thought, I'll go by the first train, " he said, as he sawher for a moment before she went up to dress. "I shall have to be offfrom here a little after six, but I don't mind that in Summer. " Thus shewas to be deprived of such gratification as there might have been inbreakfasting with him on the last morning! It might be hard to say inwhat that gratification would have consisted. She must by this time havelearned that his presence gave her none of the pleasures usuallyexpected from society. He slighted her in everything. He rarelyvouchsafed to her those little attentions which all women expect fromall gentlemen. If he handed her a plate, or cut for her a morsel ofbread from the loaf, he showed by his manner, and by his brow, that thedoing so was a nuisance to him. At their meals he rarely spoke toher--having always at breakfast a paper or a book before him, and atdinner devoting his attention to a dog at his feet. Why should she havefelt herself cruelly ill-used in this matter of his last breakfast--socruelly ill-used that she wept afresh over it as she dressedherself--seeing that she would lose so little? Because she loved theman; loved him, though she now thought that she hated him. We veryrarely, I fancy, love those whose love we have not either possessed orexpected--or at any rate for whose love we have not hoped; but when ithas once existed, ill-usage will seldom destroy it. Angry as she waswith the man, ready as she was to complain of him, to rebel againsthim--perhaps to separate herself from him forever, nevertheless shefound it to be a cruel grievance that she should not sit at table withhim on the morning of his going. "Jackson shall bring me a cup of coffeeas I'm dressing, " he said, "and I'll breakfast at the club. " She knewthere was no reason for this, except that breakfasting at his club wasmore agreeable to him than breakfasting with his wife. 

She had got rid of her tears before she came down to dinner, but stillshe was melancholy and almost lachrymose. This was the last night, andshe felt that something special ought to be said; but she did not knowwhat she expected, or what it was that she herself wished to say. Ithink that she was longing for an opportunity to forgive him--only thathe would not be forgiven. If he would have spoken one soft word to her, she would have accepted that one word as an apology; but no such wordcame. He sat opposite to her at dinner, drinking his wine and feedinghis dog; but he was no more gracious to her at this dinner than he hadbeen on any former day. She sat there pretending to eat, speaking a dullword now and then, to which his answer was a monosyllable, looking outat him from under her eyes, through the candlelight, to see whether anyfeeling was moving him; and then having pretended to eat a couple ofstrawberries she left him to himself. Still, however, this was not thelast. There would come some moment for an embrace--for some cold, half-embrace, in which he would be forced to utter something of afarewell. 

He, when he was left alone, first turned his mind to the subject of JackStuart and his yacht. He had on that day received a letter from a noblefriend--a friend so noble that he was able to take liberties even withSir Hugh Clavering--in which his noble friend had told him that he was afool to trust himself on so long an expedition in Jack Stuart's littleboat. Jack, the noble friend said, knew nothing of the matter, and asfor the masters who were hired for the sailing of such crafts, theironly object was to keep out as long as possible, with an eye to theirwages and perquisites. It might be all very well for Jack Stuart, whohad nothing in the world to lose but his life and his yacht; but hisnoble friend thought that any such venture on the part of Sir Hugh wassimply tomfoolery. But Sir Hugh was an obstinate man, and none of theClaverings were easily made afraid by personal danger. Jack Stuart mightknow nothing about the management of a boat, but Archie did. And as forthe smallness of the craft--he knew of a smaller craft which had beenout on the Norway coast during the whole of the last season. So he drovethat thought away from his mind, with no strong feelings of gratitudetoward his noble friend. 

And then for a few moments he thought of his own home. What had his wifedone for him, that he should put himself out of his way to do much forher? She had brought him no money. She had added nothing, either by herwit, beauty, or rank, to his position in the world. She had given him noheir. What had he received from her that he should endure hercommonplace conversation, and washed-out, dowdy prettinesses? Perhapssome momentary feeling of compassion, some twinge of conscience, cameacross his heart, as he thought of it all; but if so he checked itinstantly, in accordance with the teachings of his whole life, He hadmade his reflections on all these things, and had tutored his mind tocertain resolutions, and would not allow himself to be carried away byany womanly softness. She had her house, her carriage, her bed, herboard, and her clothes; and seeing how very little she herself hadcontributed to the common fund, her husband determined that in havingthose things she had all that she had a right to claim. Then he drank aglass of sherry, and went into the drawing-room with that hard smileupon his face, which he was accustomed to wear when he intended tosignify to his wife that she might as well make the best of existingthings, and not cause unnecessary trouble, by giving herself airs orassuming that she was unhappy. 

He had his cup of coffee, and she had her cup of tea, and she made oneor two little attempts at saying something special--something that mightlead to a word or two as to their parting; but she was careful andcrafty, and she was awkward and timid--and she failed. He had hardlybeen there an hour, when looking at his watch he declared that it wasten o'clock, and that he would go to bed. Well; perhaps it might be bestto bring it to an end, and to go through this embrace, and have donewith it! Any tender word that was to be spoken on either side, it wasnow clear to her, must be spoken in that last farewell. There was a tearin her eye as she rose to kiss him; but the tear was not there of herown good will, and she strove to get rid of it without his seeing it. Ashe spoke he also rose, and having lit for himself a bed-candle, was readyto go. 

"Good-by, Hermy, " he said, submitting himself; with the candle in hishand, to the inevitable embrace. 

"Good-by, Hugh; and God bless you, " she said, putting her arms round hisneck. "Pray--pray take care of yourself. "

"All right, " he said. His position with the candle was awkward, and hewished that it might be over. 

But she had a word prepared which she was determined to utter, poor, weak creature that she was. She still had her arm round his shoulders, so that he could not escape without shaking her off; and her foreheadwas almost resting on his bosom. "Hugh, " she said, "you must not beangry with me for what I said to you. "

"Very well, " said he; "I won't. "

"And, Hugh, " said she, "of course I can't like your going. "

"Oh, yes, you will, " said he. 

"No; I can't like it; but, Hugh, I will not think ill of it any more. Only be here as much as you can when you come home. "

"All right, " said he; then he kissed her forehead and escaped from her, and went his way, telling himself; as he went, that she was a fool. 

That was the last he saw of her--before his yachting commenced; butshe--poor fool--was up by times in the morning, and, peeping out betweenher curtains as the early summer sun glanced upon her eyelids, saw himcome forth from the porch and descend the great steps, and get into hisdog-cart and drive himself away. Then, when the sound of the gig couldbe no longer heard, and when her eyes could no longer catch the lastexpiring speck of his hat, the poor fool took herself to bed again andcried herself to sleep. 

Chapter XLIII

Captain Clavering Makes His Last Attempt

The yachting scheme was first proposed to Archie by his brother Hugh. "Jack says that he can make a berth for you, and you'd better come, "said the elder brother, understanding that when his edict had thus goneforth, the thing was as good as arranged. "Jack finds the boat and men, and I find the grub and wine-and pay for the fishing, " said Hugh; "soyou need not make any bones about it. " Archie was not disposed to makeany bones about it as regarded his acceptance either of the berth or ofthe grub and wine, and as he would be expected to earn his passage byhis work, there was no necessity for any scruple; but there arose thequestion whether he had not got more important fish to fry. He had notas yet made his proposal to Lady Ongar, and although he now knew that hehad nothing to hope from the Russian Spy, nevertheless he thought thathe might as well try his own hand at the venture. His resolution on thishead was always stronger after dinner than before, and generally becamestronger and more strong as the evening advanced; so that he usuallywent to bed with a firm determination "to pop, " as he called it to hisfriend Doodles, early on the next day; but distance affected him as wellas the hour of the day, and his purpose would become surprisingly coolin the neighborhood of Bolton Street. When, however, his brothersuggested that he should be taken altogether away from the scene ofaction, he thought of the fine income and of Ongar Park with pangs ofregret, and ventured upon a mild remonstrance. "But there's this affairof Julia, you know, " said he. 

"I thought that was all off, " said Hugh. 

"O dear, no; not off at all. I haven't asked her yet. "

"I know you've not; and I don't suppose you ever will. "

"Yes, I shall; that is to say, I mean it. I was advised not to be in toomuch of a hurry; that is to say, I thought it best to let her settledown a little after her first seeing me. "

"To recover from her confusion?"

"Well, not exactly that. I don't suppose she was confused. "

"I should say not. My idea is that you haven't a ghost of chance, andthat as you haven't done anything all this time, you need not troubleyourself now. "

"But I have done something, " said Archie, thinking of his seventypounds. 

"You may as well give it up, for she means to marry Harry. "

"No!"

"But I tell you she does. While you've been thinking he's been doing. From what I hear, he may have her to-morrow for the asking. "

"But he's engaged to that girl whom they had with them down at therectory, " said Archie, in a tone which showed with what horror he shouldregard any inconstancy toward Florence Burton on the part of HarryClavering. 

"What does that matter? You don't suppose he'll let seven thousand ayear slip through his fingers because he had promised to marry a littlegirl like her? If her people choose to proceed against him, they'll makehim pay swinging damages; that is all. "

Archie did not like this idea at all, and became more than ever intenton his own matrimonial prospects. He almost thought that he had a rightto Lady Ongar's money, and he certainly did think that a monstrousinjustice was done to him by this idea of a marriage between her and hiscousin. "I mean to ask her as I've gone so far, certainly, " said he. 

"You can do as you like about that. "

"Yes; of course I can do as I like; but when a fellow has gone in for athing, he likes to see it through. " He was still thinking of the seventypounds which he had invested, and which he could now recover only out ofLady Ongar's pocket. 

"And you mean to say that you won't come to Norway?"

"Well; if she accepts me--"

"If she accepts you, " said Hugh, "of course you can't come; butsupposing she don't?"

"In that case, I might as well do that as anything else, " said Archie. Whereupon Sir Hugh signified to Jack Stuart that Archie would join theparty, and went down to Clavering with no misgiving on that head. 

Some few days after this there was another little dinner at the militaryclub, to which no one was admitted but Archie and his friend Doodles. Whenever these prandial consultations were held, Archie paid the bill. There were no spoken terms to that effect, but the regulation seemed tocome naturally to both of them. Why should Doodles be taken from hisbilliards half-an-hour earlier than usual, and devote a portion of thecalculating powers of his brain to Archie's service withoutcompensation? And a richer vintage was needed when so much thought wasrequired, the burden of which Archie would not of course allow to fallon his friend's shoulders. Were not this explained, the experiencedreader would regard the devoted friendship of Doodles as exaggerated. 

"I certainly shall ask her to-morrow, " said Archie, looking with athoughtful cast of countenance through the club window into the street. "It may be hurrying the matter a little, but I can't help that. " Hespoke in a somewhat boastful tone, as though he were proud of himselfand had forgotten that he had said the same words once or twice before. 

"Make her know that you're there; that's everything, " said Doodles. "Since I fathomed that woman in Mount Street, I've felt that you mustmake the score off your own bat, if you're to make it at all. "

"You did that well, " said Archie, who knew that the amount of pleasingencouragement which he might hope to get from his friend, must depend onthe praise which he himself should bestow. "Yes; you certainly did bowlher over uncommon well. "

"That kind of thing just comes within my line, " said Doodles, withconscious pride. "Now, as to asking Lady Ongar downright to marryme--upon my word I believe I should be half afraid of doing it myself. "

"I've none of that kind of feeling, " said Archie. 

"It comes more in your way, I daresay, " said Doodles. "But for me, whatI like is a little bit of management--what I call a touch of thediplomatic. You'll be able to see her to-morrow?"

"I hope so. I shall go early--that is, as soon as I've looked throughthe papers and written a few letters. Yes, I think she'll see me. And asfor what Hugh says about Harry Clavering, why, d---- it, you know, afellow can't go on in that way; can he?"

"Because of the other girl, you mean?"

"He has had her down among all our people, just as though they weregoing to be married to-morrow. If a man is to do that kind of thing, what woman can be safe?"

"I wonder whether she likes him?" asked the crafty Doodles. 

"She did like him, I fancy, in her calf days; but that means nothing. She knows what she's at now, bless you, and she'll look to the future. It's my son who'll have the Clavering property and be the baronet, nothis. You see what a string to my bow that is. "

When this banquet was over, Doodles made something of a resolution thatit should be the last to be eaten on that subject. The matter had lostits novelty, and the price paid to him was not sufficient to secure hisattention any longer. "I shall be here to-morrow at four, " he said, ashe rose from his chair with the view of retreating to the smoking-room, "and then we shall know all about it. "

"Whichever way it's to be, it isn't worth your while keeping such athing as that in hand any longer. I should say give her her chanceto-morrow, and then have done with it. " Archie in reply to this declaredthat those were exactly his sentiments, and then went away to preparehimself in silence and solitude for the next day's work. 

On the following day at two o'clock Lady Ongar was sitting alone in thefront room on the ground-floor in Bolton Street. Of Harry Clavering'sillness she had as yet heard nothing, nor of his absence from London. She had not seen him since he had parted from her on that evening whenhe had asked her to be his wife, and the last words she had heard fromhis lips had made this request. She. Indeed, had then bade him be trueto her rival--to Florence Burton. She had told him this in spite of herlove--of her love for him and of his for her. They two, she had said, could not now become man and wife; but he had not acknowledged the truthof what she had said. She could not write to him. She could make noovertures. She could ask no questions. She had no friend in whom shecould place confidence. She could only wait for him, till he should cometo tier or send to her, and let her know what was to be her fate. 

As she now sat she held a letter in her hand which had just been broughtto her from Sophie--from her poor, famished, but indefatigable Sophie. Sophie she had not seen since they had parted on the railway platform, and then the parting was supposed to be made in lasting enmity. Desolateas she was, she had congratulated herself much on her escape fromSophie's friendship, and was driven by no qualms of her heart to longfor a renewal of the old ties. But it was not so with the moreaffectionate Sophie; and Sophie therefore had written--as follows:

 Mount Street--Friday Morning

 DEAREST, DEAREST JULIE:--My heart is so sad that I cannot keep my silence longer. What; can such friendship as ours has been be made to die all in a minute? Oh, no--not at least in my bosom, which is filled with love for my Julie. And my Julie will not turn from her friend, who has been so true to her--ah, at such moments too--oh, yes, at such moments!--just for an angry word, or a little indiscretion. What was it after all about my brother? Bah! He is a fool; that is all. If you shall wish it, I will never speak to him again. What is my brother to me, compared to my Julie? My brother is nothing to me. I tell him we go to that accursed island--accursed island because my Julie has quarrelled with me there--and he arranges himself to follow us. What could I do? I could not tie him up by the leg in his London club. He is a man whom no one can tie up by the leg. Mon Dieu, no. He is very hard to tie up. 

 Do I wish him for your husband? Never! Why should I wish him for your husband? If I was a man, my Julie, I should wish you for myself. But I am not, and why should you not have him whom you like the best? If I was you, with your beauty and money and youth, I would have any man that I liked--everything. I know, of course--for did I not see? It is that young Clavering to whom your little heart wishes to render itself--not the captain who is a fool--such a fool! but the other who is not a fool, but a fine fellow--and so handsome! Yes; there is no doubt as to that. He is beautiful as a Phoebus. [This was good-natured on the part of Sophie, who, as the reader may remember, hated Harry Clavering herself. ]

 Well--why should he not be your own? As for your poor Sophie, she would do all in her power to assist the friend whom she love. There is that little girl--yes; it is true as I told you. But little girls cannot have all they want always. He is a gay deceiver. These men who are so beautiful as Phoebus are always deceivers. But you need not be the one deceived--you with your money and your beauty and your--what you call rank. No, I think not; and I think that little girl must put up with it, as other little girls have done, since the men first learned how to tell lies. That is my advice, and if you will let me I can give you good assistance. 

 Dearest Julie, think of all this, and do not banish your Sophie. I am so true to you, that I cannot live without you. Send me back one word of permission, and I will come to you, and kneel at your feet. And in the meantime, I am your most devoted friend, SOPHIE. 

Lady Ongar, on the receipt of this letter, was not at all changed in herpurpose with reference to Madam Gordeloup. She knew well enough whereher Sophie's heart was placed, and would yield to no further pressurefrom that quarter; but Sophie's reasoning, nevertheless, had its effect. She, Lady Ongar, with her youth, her beauty, her wealth, and her rank, why should she not have that one thing which alone could make her happy, seeing, as she did see, or as she thought she saw, that in makingherself happy she could do so much, could confer such great blessings onhim she loved? She had already found that the money she had received asthe price of herself had done very little toward making her happy in herpresent state. What good was it to her that she had a carriage andhorses and two footmen six feet high? One pleasant word from lips thatshe could love--from the lips of man or woman that she couldesteem--would be worth it all. She had gone down to her pleasant placein the country--a place so pleasant that it had a fame of its own amongthe luxuriantly pleasant seats of the English country gentry; she hadgone there, expecting to be happy in the mere feeling that it was allher own; and the whole thing had been to her so unutterably sad, sowretched in the severity of its desolation, that she had been unable toendure her life amid the shade of her own trees. All her apples hithertohad turned to ashes between her teeth, because her fate had forced herto attempt the eating of them alone. But if she could give the fruit tohim--if she could make the apples over, so that they should all be his, and not hers, then would there not come to her some of the sweetness ofthe juice of them?

She declared to herself that she would not tempt this man to be untrueto his troth, were it not that in doing so she would so greatly benefithimself. Was it not manifest that Harry Clavering was a gentleman, qualified to shine among men of rank and fashion, but not qualified tomake his way by his own diligence? In saying this of him, she did notknow how heavy was the accusation that she brought against him; but whatwoman, within her own breast, accuses the man she loves? Were he tomarry Florence Burton, would he not ruin himself and probably ruin heralso? But she could give him all that he wanted. Though Ongar Park toher alone was, with its rich pastures, and spreading oaks, and lowingcattle, desolate as the Dead Sea shore, for him--and for her withhim--would it not be the very paradise suited to them? Would it not bethe heaven in which such a Phoebus should shine amid the gyrations ofhis satellites? A Phoebus going about his own field in knickerbockers, and with attendant satellites, would possess a divinity which, as shethought, might make her happy. As she thought of all this, and askedherself these questions, there was an inner conscience which told herthat she had no right to Harry's love or Harry's hand; but still shecould not cease to long that good things might come to her, though thosegood things had not been deserved. Alas, good things not deserved toooften lose their goodness when they come! As she was sitting withSophie's letter in her hand, the door was opened and Captain Claveringwas announced. 

Captain Archibald Clavering was again dressed in his very best, but hedid not even yet show by his demeanor that aptitude for the business nowin hand, of which he had boasted on the previous evening to his friend. Lady Ongar, I think, partly guessed the object of his visit. She hadperceived, or perhaps had unconsciously felt, on the occasion of hisformer coming, that the visit had not been made simply from motives ofcivility. She had known Archie in old days, and was aware that thesplendor of his vestments had a significance. Well, if anything of thatkind was to be done, the sooner it was done the better. 

"Julia, " he said, as soon as he was seated, "I hope I have the pleasureof seeing you quite well?"

"Pretty well, I thank you, " said she. 

"You have been out of town, I think?" She told him that she had been inthe Isle of Wight for a day or two, and then there was a short silence. "When I heard that you were gone, " he said, "I feared that perhaps youwere ill!"

"O dear, no; nothing of that sort. "

"I am so glad, " said Archie; and then he was silent again. He had, however, as he was aware, thrown a great deal of expression into hisinquiries after her health, and he had, now to calculate how he couldbest use the standing-ground that he had made for himself. 

"Have you seen my sister lately?" she asked. 

"Your sister? no. She is always at Clavering. I think it doosed wrong ofHugh, the way he goes on, keeping her down there, while he is up here inLondon. It isn't at all my idea of what a husband ought to do. "

"I suppose she likes it, " said Lady Ongar. 

"Oh, if she likes it, that's a different thing, of course, " said Archie. Then there was another pause. 

"Don't you find yourself rather lonely here sometimes?" he asked. 

Lady Ongar felt that it would be better for all parties that it shouldbe over, and that it would not be over soon unless she could help him. "Very lonely indeed, " she said; "but then I suppose that it is the fateof widows to be lonely. "

"I don't see that at all, " said Archie, briskly; "--unless they are oldand ugly, and that kind of thing. When a widow has become a widow aftershe has been married ever so many years, why then I suppose she looks tobe left alone; and I suppose they like it. "

"Indeed, I can't say. I don't like it. "

"Then you would wish to change?"

"It is a very intricate subject, Captain Clavering, and one which I donot think I am quite disposed to discuss at present. After a year ortwo, perhaps I shall go into society again. Most widows do, I believe. "

"But I was thinking of something else, " said Archie, working himself upto the point with great energy, but still with many signs that he wasill at ease at his work. "I was, by Jove!"

"And of what were you thinking, Captain Clavering?"

"I was thinking--of course you know, Julia, that since poor littleHughy's death, I am the next in for the title?"

"Poor Hughy! I'm sure you are too generous to rejoice at that. "

"Indeed I am. When two fellows offered me a dinner at the club on thescore of my chances, I wouldn't have it. But there's the fact; isn'tit?"

"There is no doubt of that, I believe. "

"None on earth; and the most of it is entailed, too; not that Hugh wouldleave an acre away from the title. I'm as safe as wax as far as that isconcerned. I don't suppose he ever borrowed a shilling or mortgaged anacre in his life. "

"I should think he was a prudent man. "

"We are both of us prudent. I will say that of myself; though I oughtn'tto say it. And now, Julia--a few words are the best after all. Lookhere--if you'll take me just as I am, I'm blessed if I shan't be thehappiest fellow in all London. I shall indeed. I've always been uncommonfond of you, though I never said anything about it in the old days, because--because you see, what's the use of a man asking a girl to marryhim if they haven't got a farthing between them. I think it's wrong; Ido, indeed; but it's different now, you know. " It certainly was verydifferent now. 

"Captain Clavering, " she said, "I'm sorry you should have troubledyourself with such an idea as this. "

"Don't say that, Julia. It's no trouble; it's a pleasure. "

"But such a thing as you mean never can take place. "

"Yes, it can. Why can't it? I ain't in a hurry. I'll wait your own time, and do just whatever you wish all the while. Don't say no withoutthinking about it, Julia. "

"It is one of those things, Captain Clavering, which want no morethinking than what a woman can give to it at the first moment. "

"Ah--you think so now, because you're surprised a little. "

"Well; I am surprised a little, as our previous intercourse was never ofa nature to make such a proposition as this at all probable. "

"That was merely because I didn't think it right, " said Archie, who, nowthat he had worked himself into the vein, liked the sound of his ownvoice. "It was indeed. "

"And I don't think it right now. You must listen to me for a moment, Captain Clavering--for fear of a mistake. Believe me, any such plan asthis is quite out of the question; quite. " In uttering that last wordshe managed to use a tone of voice which did make an impression on him. "I never can, under any circumstances, become your wife. You might aswell look upon that as altogether decided, because it will save us bothannoyance. "

"You needn't be so sure yet, Julia. "

"Yes, I must be sure. And unless you will promise to drop the matter, Imust--to protect myself--desire my servants not to admit you into thehouse again. I shall be sorry to do that, and I think you will save mefrom the necessity. "

He did save her from that necessity, and before he went he gave her therequired promise. "That's well, " said she, tendering him her hand; "andnow we shall part friends. "

"I shall like to be friends, " said he, in a crestfallen voice, and withthat he took his leave. It was a great comfort to him that he had thescheme of Jack Stuart's yacht and the trip to Norway for his immediateconsolation. 

Chapter XLIV

What Lady Ongar Thought About It

Mrs. Burton, it may perhaps be remembered, had formed in her heart ascheme of her own--a scheme of which she thought with much trepidation, and in which she could not request her husband's assistance, knowingwell that he would not only not assist it, but that he would altogetherdisapprove of it. But yet she could not put it aside from her thoughts, believing that it might be the means of bringing Harry Clavering andFlorence together. Her husband had now thoroughly condemned poor Harry, and passed sentence against him; not, indeed, openly to Florenceherself; but very often in the hearing of his wife. Cecilia, womanlike, was more angry with circumstances than with the offending man--withcircumstances and with the woman who stood in Florence's way. She wasperfectly willing to forgive Harry, if Harry could only be made to goright at last. He was good-looking and pleasant, and had nice ways in ahouse, and was altogether too valuable as a lover to be lost withoutmany struggles. So she kept to her scheme, and at last she carried itinto execution. 

She started alone from her house one morning, and, getting into anomnibus at Brompton, had herself put down on the rising ground inPiccadilly, opposite to the Green Park. Why she had hesitated to tellthe omnibus-man to stop at Bolton Street can hardly be explained; butshe had felt that there would be almost a declaration of guilt in namingthat locality. So she got out on the little hill, and walked up in frontof the prime minister's house--as it was then--and of the yellow palacebuilt by one of our merchant princes, and turned into the street thatwas all but interdicted to her by her own conscience. She turned upBolton Street, and with a trembling hand knocked at Lady Ongar's door. 

Florence in the meanwhile was sitting alone in Onslow Terrace. She knewnow that Harry was ill at Clavering--that he was indeed very ill, thoughMrs. Clavering had assured her that his illness was not dangerous; forMrs. Clavering had written to herself--addressing her with all the oldfamiliarity and affection--with a warmth of affection that was almostmore than natural. It was clear that Mrs. Clavering knew nothing ofHarry's sins. Or, might it not be possible, Cecilia had suggested, thatMrs. Clavering might have known, and have resolved potentially thatthose sins should be banished, and become ground for some beautifullysincere repentance? Ah! how sweet it would be to receive that wickedsheep back again into the sheepfold, and then to dock him a little ofhis wandering powers, to fix him with some pleasant clog, to tie himdown as a prudent domestic sheep should be tied, and make him the prideof the flock! But all this had been part of Cecilia's scheme, and ofthat scheme poor Florence knew nothing. According to Florence's view, Mrs. Clavering's letter was written under a mistake. Harry had kept hissecret at home, and intended to keep it for the present. But there wasthe letter, and Florence felt that it was impossible for her to answerit without telling the whole truth. It was very painful to her to leaveunanswered so kind a letter as that, and it was quite impossible thatshe should write of Harry in the old strain. "It will be best that Ishould tell her the whole, " Florence had said, "and then I shall besaved the pain of any direct communication with him. " Her brother, towhom Cecilia had repeated this, applauded his sister's resolution. "Lether face it and bear it, and live it down, " he had said. "Let her do itat once, so that all this maudlin sentimentality may be at an end. " ButCecilia would not accede to this, and as Florence was in truth resolved, and had declared her purpose plainly, Cecilia was driven to theexecution of her scheme more quickly than she had intended. In the meantime, Florence took out her little desk and wrote her letter. In tears, and an agony of spirit which none can understand but women who have beendriven to do the same, was it written. Could she have allowed herself toexpress her thoughts with passion, it would have been comparativelyeasy; but it behooved her to be calm, to be very quiet in herwords--almost reticent even in the language which she chose, and toabandon her claim not only without a reproach, but almost without anallusion to her love. While Cecilia was away, the letter was written, and re-written and copied; but Mrs. Burton was safe in this, that hersister-in-law had promised that the letter should not be sent till shehad seen it. 

Mrs. Burton, when she knocked at Lady Ongar's door, had a little noteready for the servant between her fingers. Her compliments to LadyOngar, and would Lady Ongar oblige her by an interview. The notecontained simply that, and nothing more; and when the servant took itfrom her, she declared her intention of waiting in the hall till she hadreceived an answer. But she was shown into the dining-room, and thereshe remained for a quarter of an hour, during which time she was by nomeans comfortable. Probably Lady Ongar might refuse to receive her; butshould that not be the case--should she succeed in making her way intothat lady's presence, how should she find the eloquence wherewith toplead her cause? At the end of the fifteen minutes, Lady Ongar herselfopened the door and entered the room. "Mrs. Burton, " she said, smiling, "I am really ashamed to have kept you so long; but open confession, theysay, is good for the soul, and the truth is that I was not dressed. "Then she led the way up stairs, and placed Mrs. Burton on a sofa, andplaced herself in her own chair--from whence she could see well, but inwhich she could not be well seen--and stretched out the folds of hermorning-dress gracefully, and made her visitor thoroughly understandthat she was at home and at her ease. 

We may, I think, surmise that Lady Ongar's open confession would do hersoul but little good, as it lacked truth, which is the first requisitefor all confessions. Lady Ongar had been sufficiently dressed to receiveany visitor, but had felt that some special preparation was necessaryfor the reception of the one who had now come to her. She knew well whowas Mrs. Burton, and surmised accurately the purpose for which Mrs. Burton had come. Upon the manner in which she now carried herself mighthang the decision of the question which was so important to her--whetherthat Phoebus in knickerbockers should or should not become lord of OngarPark? To effect success now, she must maintain an ascendency during thiscoming interview, and in the maintenance of all ascendency, much dependson the outward man or woman; and she must think a little of the wordsshe must use, and a little, too, of her own purpose. She was fullyminded to get the better of Mrs. Burton if that might be possible, butshe was not altogether decided on the other point. She wished that HarryClavering might be her own. She would have wished to pension off thatFlorence Burton with half her wealth, had such pensioning been possible. But not the less did she entertain some half doubts whether it would notbe well that she could abandon her own wishes, and give up her own hopeof happiness. Of Mrs. Burton personally she had known nothing, andhaving expected to see a somewhat strong-featured and perhaps rathervulgar woman, and to hear a voice painfully indicative of a strong mind, she was agreeably surprised to find a pretty, mild lady, who from thefirst showed that she was half afraid of what she herself was doing. "Ihave heard your name, Mrs. Burton, " said Lady Ongar, "from our mutualfriend, Mr. Clavering, and I have no doubt you have heard mine from himalso. " This she said in accordance with the little plan which, duringthose fifteen minutes, she had laid down for her own guidance. 

Mrs. Burton was surprised, and at first almost silenced, by this openmentioning of a name which she had felt that she would have the greatestdifficulty in approaching. She said, however, that it was so. She hadheard Lady Ongar's name from Mr. Clavering. "We are connected, youknow, " said Lady Ongar. "My sister is married to his first cousin, SirHugh; and when I was living with my sister at Clavering, he was at therectory there. That was before my own marriage. " She was perfectly easyin her manner, and flattered herself that the ascendency was complete. 

"I have heard so much from Mr. Clavering, " said Cecilia. 

"And he was very civil to me immediately on my return home. Perhaps youmay have heard that also. He took this house for me, and made himselfgenerally useful, as young men ought to do. I believe he is in the sameoffice with your husband; is he not? I hope I may not have been themeans of making him idle?"

This was all very well and very pretty, but Mrs. Burton was alreadybeginning to feel that she was doing nothing toward the achievement ofher purpose. "I suppose he has been idle, " she said, "but I did not meanto trouble you about that. " Upon hearing this, Lady Ongar smiled. Thissupposition that she had really intended to animadvert upon HarryClavering's idleness was amusing to her as she remembered how littlesuch idleness would signify if she could only have her way. 

"Poor Harry!" she said. "I supposed his sins would be laid at my door. But my idea is, you know, that he will never do any good at such work asthat. "

"Perhaps not--that is, I really can't say. I don't think Mr. Burton hasever expressed any opinion; and if he had--"

"If he had, you wouldn't mention it. "

"I don't suppose I should, Lady Ongar--not to a stranger. "

"Harry Clavering and I are not strangers, " said Lady Ongar, changing thetone of her voice altogether as she spoke. 

"No, I know that. You have known him longer than we have. I am aware ofthat. "

"Yes; before he ever dreamed of going into your husband's business, Mrs. Burton; long before he had ever been to--Stratton. "

The name of Stratton was an assistance to Cecilia, and seemed to havebeen spoken with the view of enabling her to commence her work. "Yes, "she said, "but nevertheless he did go to Stratton. He went to Stratton, and there he became acquainted with my sister-in-law, Florence Burton. "

"I am aware of it, Mrs. Burton. "

"And he also became engaged to her. "

"I am aware of that, too. He has told me as much himself. "

"And has he told you whether he means to keep or to break thatengagement?"

"Ah! Mrs. Burton, is that question fair? Is it fair either to him or tome? If he has taken me into his confidence and has not taken you, shouldI be doing well to betray him? Or if there can be anything in such asecret specially interesting to myself; why should I be made to tell itto you?"

"I think the truth is always the best, Lady Ongar. "

"Truth is always better than a lie--so at least people say, though theysometimes act differently; but silence may be better than either. "

"This is a matter, Lady Ongar, in which I cannot be silent. I hope youwill not be vexed with me for coming to you, or for asking you thesequestions--"

"Oh dear, no. "

"But I can not be silent. My sister-in-law must at any rate know what isto be her fate. "

"Then why do you not ask him?"

"He is ill at present. "

"Ill! Where is he ill? Who says he is ill?" And Lady Ongar, though shedid not quite leave her chair, raised herself up and forgot all herpreparations. "Where is he, Mrs. Burton? I have not heard of hisillness. "

"He is at Clavering--at the parsonage. "

"I have heard nothing of this. What ails him? If he be really ill, dangerously ill, I conjure you to tell me. But pray tell me the truth. Let there be no tricks in such a matter as this. "

"Tricks, Lady Ongar!"

"If Harry Clavering be ill, tell me what ails him. Is he in danger?"

"His mother, in writing to Florence, says that he is not in danger, butthat he is confined to the house. He has been taken by some fever. " Onthat very morning Lady Ongar had received a letter from her sister, begging her to come to Clavering Park during the absence of Sir Hugh, but in the letter no word had been said as to Harry's illness. Had hebeen seriously, or at least dangerously ill, Hermione would certainlyhave mentioned it. All this flashed across Julia's mind as these tidingsabout Harry reached her. If he were not really in danger, or even if hewere, why should she betray her feeling before this woman? "If there hadbeen much in it, " she said, resuming her former position and manners, "Ishould no doubt have heard of it from my sister. "

"We hear that it is not dangerous, " continued Mrs. Burton; "but he isaway, and we cannot see him. And, in truth, Lady Ongar, we can not seehim any more until we know that he means to deal honestly by us. "

"Am I the keeper of his honesty?"

"From what I have heard, I think you are. If you will tell me that Ihave heard falsely, I will go away and beg your pardon for my intrusion. But if what I have heard be true, you must not be surprised that I showthis anxiety for the happiness of my sister. If you knew her, LadyOngar, you would know that she is too good to be thrown aside withindifference. "

"Harry Clavering tells me that she is an angel--that she is perfect. "

"And if he loves her, will it not be a shame that they should beparted?"

"I said nothing about his loving her. Men are not always fond ofperfection. The angels may be too angelic for this world. "

"He did love her. "

"So I suppose--or, at any rate, he thought that he did. "

"He did love her, and I believe he loves her still. "

"He has my leave to do so, Mrs. Burton. "

Cecilia, though she was somewhat afraid of the task which she hadundertaken, and was partly awed by Lady Ongar's style of beauty anddemeanor, nevertheless felt that if she still hoped to do any good, shemust speak the truth out at once. She must ask Lady Ongar whether sheheld herself to be engaged to Harry Clavering. If she did not do this, nothing could come of the present interview. 

"You say that, Lady Ongar, but do you mean it?" she asked. "We have beentold that you also are engaged to marry Mr. Clavering. "

"Who has told you so?"

"We have heard it. I have heard it, and have been obliged to tell mysister that I had done so. "

"And who told you? Did you hear it from Harry Clavering himself?"

"I did. I heard it in part from him. "

"Then why have you come beyond him to me? He must know. If he has toldyou that he is engaged to marry me, he must also have told you that hedoes not intend to marry Miss Florence Burton. It is not for me todefend him or to accuse him. Why do you come to me?"

"For mercy and forbearance, " said Mrs. Burton, rising from her seat andcoming over to the side of the room in which Lady Ongar was seated. 

"And Miss Burton has sent you?"

"No; she does not know that I am here; nor does my husband know it. Noone knows it. I have come to tell you that before God this man isengaged to become the husband of Florence Burton. She has learned tolove him, and has now no other chance of happiness. "

"But what of his happiness?"

"Yes, we are bound to think of that. Florence is bound to think of thatabove all things. "

"And so am I. I love him too--as fondly, perhaps, as she can do. I lovedhim first, before she had even heard his name. "

"But, Lady Ongar--"

"Yes, you may ask the question if you will, and I will answer it truly. "They were both standing now and confronting each other. "Or I willanswer it without your asking it. I was false to him. I would not marryhim because he was poor, and then I married another because he was rich. All that is true. But it does not make me love him the less now. I haveloved him through it all. Yes, you are shocked, but it is true; I haveloved him through it all. And what am I to do now, if he still loves me?I can give him wealth now. "

"Wealth will not make him happy. "

"It has not made me happy, but it may help to do so with him. But withme, at any rate, there can be no doubt. It is his happiness to which Iam bound to look. Mrs. Burton, if I thought that I could make him happy, and if he would come to me, I would marry him to-morrow, though I brokeyour sister's heart by doing so. But if I felt that she could do so morethan I, I would leave him to her though I broke my own. I have spoken toyou very openly. Will she say as much as that?"

"She would act in that way. I do not know what she would say. "

"Then let her do so, and leave him to be the judge of his own happiness. Let her pledge herself that no reproaches shall come from her, and Iwill pledge myself equally. It was I who loved him first, and it is Iwho have brought him into this trouble. I owe him everything. Had I beentrue to him, he would never have thought of; never have seen MissFlorence Burton. "

All that was no doubt true, but it did not touch the question ofFlorence's right. The fact on which Mrs. Burton wished to insist, ifonly she knew how, was this, that Florence had not sinned at all, andthat Florence therefore ought not to bear any part of the punishment. Itmight be very true that Harry's fault was to be excused in part becauseof Lady Ongar's greater and primary fault, but why should Florence bethe scapegoat?

"You should think of his honor as well as his happiness, " said Mrs. Burton at last. 

"That is rather severe, Mrs. Burton, considering that it is said to mein my own house. Am I so low as that, that his honor will be tarnishedif I become his wife?" But she, in saying this, was thinking of thingsof which Mrs. Burton knew nothing. 

"His honor will be tarnished, " said she, "if he do not marry her whom hehas promised to marry. He was welcomed by her father and mother to theirhouse, and then he made himself master of her heart. But it was not histill he had asked for it, and had offered his own and his hand in returnfor it. Is he not bound to keep his promise? He can not be bound to youafter any such fashion as that. If you are solicitous for his welfare, you should know that if he would live with the reputation of agentleman, there is only one course open to him. "

"It is the old story, " said Lady Ongar; "the old story! Has not somebodysaid that the gods laugh at the perjuries of lovers? I do not know thatmen are inclined to be much more severe than the gods. These brokenhearts are what women are doomed to bear. "

"And that is to be your answer to me, Lady Ongar?"

"No, that is not my answer to you. That is the excuse I make for HarryClavering. My answer to you has been very explicit. Pardon me if I saythat it has been more explicit than you had any right to expect. I havetold you that I am prepared to take any step that may be most conduciveto the happiness of the man whom I once injured, but whom I have alwaysloved. I will do this, let it cost myself what it may; and I will dothis, let the cost to any other woman be what it may. You can not expectthat I should love another woman better than myself. " She said this, still standing, not without something more than vehemence in her tone. In her voice, in her manner and in her eye there was that which amountedalmost to ferocity. She was declaring that some sacrifice must be made, and that she reeked little whether it should be of herself or ofanother. As she would immolate herself without hesitation if thenecessity should exist, so would she see Florence Burton destroyedwithout a twinge of remorse if the destruction of Florence would servethe purpose which she had in view. You and I, oh reader, may feel thatthe man for whom all this was to be done was not worth the passion. Hehad proved himself to be very far from such worth. But the passion, nevertheless, was there, and the woman was honest in what she wassaying. 

After this, Mrs Burton got herself out of the room as soon as she foundan opening which allowed her to go. In making her farewell speech, shemuttered some indistinct apology for the visit which she had been boldenough to make. "Not at all, " said Lady Ongar. "You have been quiteright; you are fighting your battle for the friend you love bravely; andwere it not that the cause of the battle must, I fear, separate ushereafter, I should be proud to know one who fights so well for herfriends. And when this is all over and has been settled, in whatever wayit may be settled, let Miss Burton know from me that I have been taughtto hold her name and character in the highest possible esteem. " Mrs. Burton made no attempt at further speech, but left the room with a lowcourtesy. 

Till she found herself out in the street, she was unable to thinkwhether she had done most harm or most good by her visit to BoltonStreet; whether she had in any way served Florence, or whether she hadsimply confessed to Florence's rival the extent of her sister's misery. That Florence herself would feel the latter to be the case when sheshould know it all, Mrs. Burton was well aware. Her own ears had tingledwith shame as Harry Clavering had been discussed as a grand prize forwhich her sister was contending with another woman, and contending withso small a chance of success. It was terrible to her that any woman dearto her should seem to seek for a man's love. And the audacity with whichLady Ongar bad proclaimed her own feelings had been terrible also toCecilia. She was aware that she was meddling with things which wereforeign to her nature, and which would be odious to her husband. Butyet, was not the battle worth fighting? It was not to be endured thatFlorence should seek after this thing; but, after all, the possession ofthe thing in question was the only earthly good that could give anycomfort to poor Florence. Even Cecilia, with all her partiality forHarry, felt that he was not worth the struggle; but it was for her nowto estimate him at the price which Florence might put upon him--not ather own price. 

But she must tell Florence what had been done, and tell her on that veryday of her meeting with Lady Ongar. In no other way could she stop thatletter which she knew that Florence would have already written to Mrs. Clavering. And could she now tell Florence that there was ground forhope? Was it not the fact that Lady Ongar had spoken the simple andplain truth when she had said that Harry must be allowed to choose thecourse which appeared to him to be the best for him? It was hard, veryhard, that it should be so. And was it not true also that men, as wellas gods, excuse the perjuries of lovers? She wanted to have back Harryamong them as one to be forgiven easily, to be petted much, and to beloved always; but, in spite of the softness of her woman's nature, shewished that he might be punished sorely if he did not so return. It wasgrievous to her that he should any longer have a choice in the matter. Heavens and earth! was he to be allowed to treat a woman as he hadtreated Florence, and was nothing to come of it? In spite both of godsand men, the thing was so grievous to Cecilia Burton that she could notbring herself to acknowledge that it was possible. Such things had notbeen done in the world which she had known. 

She walked the whole way home to Brompton, and had hardly perfected anyplan when she reached her own door. If only Florence would allow her towrite the letter to Mrs. Clavering, perhaps something might be done inthat way. So she entered the house prepared to tell the story of hermorning's work. 

And she must tell it also to her husband in the evening! It had beenhard to do the thing without his knowing of it beforehand, but it wouldbe impossible to her to keep the thing a secret from him now that it wasdone. 

Chapter XLV

How To Dispose Of A Wife

When Sir Hugh came up to town there did not remain to him quite a weekbefore the day on which he was to leave the coast of Essex in JackStuart's yacht for Norway, and he had a good deal to do in the mean timein the way of provisioning the boat. Fortnum and Mason, no doubt, wouldhave done it all for him without any trouble on his part, but he was nota man to trust any Fortnum or any Mason as to the excellence of thearticle to be supplied, or as to the price. He desired to have goodwine--very good wine, but he did not desire to pay a very high price. Noone knew better than Sir Hugh that good wine can not be bought cheap;but things may be costly and yet not dear, or they may be both. To suchmatters Sir Hugh was wont to pay very close attention himself. He haddone something in that line before he left London, and immediately onhis return he went to the work again, summoning Archie to hisassistance, but never asking Archie's opinion--as though Archie had beenhis head butler. 

Immediately on his arrival in London he cross-questioned his brother asto his marriage prospects. "I suppose you are going with us?" Hugh saidto Archie, as he caught him in the hall of the house in Berkeley Squareon the morning after his arrival. 

"Oh dear, yes, " said Archie. "I thought that was quite understood. Ihave been getting my traps together. " The getting of his traps togetherhad consisted in the ordering of a sailor's jacket with brass buttons, and three pair of white duck trousers. 

"All right, " said Sir Hugh. "You had better come with me into the citythis morning. I am going to Boxall's, in Great Thames Street. "

"Are you going to breakfast here?" asked Archie. 

"No; you can come to me at the Union in about an hour. I suppose youhave never plucked up courage to ask Julia to marry you?"

"Yes I did, " said Archie. 

"And what answer did you get?" Archie had found himself obliged torepudiate with alacrity the attack upon his courage which his brotherhad so plainly made, but beyond that, the subject was one which was notpleasing to him. "Well, what did she say to you?" asked his brother, whohad no idea of sparing Archie's feelings in such a matter. 

"She said--indeed, I don't remember exactly what it was that she didsay. "

"But she refused you. "

"Yes, she refused me. I think she wanted me to understand that I hadcome to her too soon after Ongar's decease. "

"Then she must be an infernal hypocrite, that's all. " But of anyhypocrisy in this matter the reader will acquit Lady Ongar, and willunderstand that Archie had merely lessened the severity of his own fallby a clever excuse. After that the two brothers went to Boxall's in thecity, and Archie, having been kept fagging all day, was sent in theevening to dine by himself at his own club. 

Sir Hugh also was desirous of seeing Lady Ongar, and had caused his wifeto say as much in that letter which she wrote to her sister. In this wayan appointment had been made without any direct intercourse between SirHugh and his sister-in-law. They two had never met since the day onwhich Sir Hugh had given her away in Clavering Church. To HughClavering, who was by no means a man of sentiment, this signified littleor nothing. When Lady Ongar had returned a widow, and when evil storiesagainst her had been rife, he had thought it expedient to have nothingto do with her. He did not himself care much about his sister-in-law'smorals, but should his wife become much complicated with a sisterdamaged in character, there might come of it trouble and annoyance. Therefore he had resolved that Lady Ongar should be dropped. But duringthe last few months things had in some respects changed. The Courtonpeople--that is to say, Lord Ongar's family--had given Hugh Clavering tounderstand that, having made inquiry, they were disposed to acquit LadyOngar, and to declare their belief that she was subject to no censure. They did not wish themselves to know her, as no intimacy between themcould now be pleasant, but they had felt it to be incumbent on them tosay as much as that to Sir Hugh. Sir Hugh had not even told his wife, but he had twice suggested that Lady Ongar should be asked to ClaveringPark. In answer to both these invitations, Lady Ongar had declined to goto Clavering Park. 

And now Sir Hugh had a commission on his hands from the same Courtonpeople, which made it necessary that he should see his sister-in-law, and Julia had agreed to receive him. To him, who was very hard in suchmatters, the idea of his visit was not made disagreeable by anyremembrance of his own harshness to the woman whom he was going to see. He cared nothing about that, and it had not occurred to him that shewould care much. But, in truth, she did care very much, and when thehour was coming on which Sir Hugh was to appear, she thought much of themanner in which it would become her to receive him. He had condemned herin that matter as to which any condemnation is an insult to a woman, andhe had so condemned her, being her brother-in-law and her only naturalmale friend. In her sorrow she should have been able to lean upon him;but from the first, without any inquiry, he had believed the worst ofher, and had withdrawn from her altogether his support, when theslightest support from him would have been invaluable to her. Could sheforgive this? Never! never! She was not a woman to wish to forgive suchan offence. It was an offence which it would be despicable in her toforgive. Many had offended her, some had injured her, one or two hadinsulted her; but, to her thinking, no one had so offended her, had soinjured her, had so grossly insulted her as he had done. In what way, then, would it become her to receive him?

Before his arrival she had made up her mind on this subject, and hadresolved that she would, at least, say no word of her own wrongs. 

"How do you do, Julia?" said Sir Hugh, walking into the room with a stepwhich was perhaps unnaturally quick, and with his hand extended. LadyOngar had thought of that, too. She would give much to escape the touchof his hand, if it were possible; but she had told herself that shewould best consult her own dignity by declaring no actual quarrel. Soshe put out her fingers and just touched his palm. 

"I hope Hermy is well?" she said. 

"Pretty well, thank you. She is rather lonely since she lost her poorlittle boy, and would be very glad if you would go to her. "

"I cannot do that, but if she would come to me I should be delighted. "

"You see it would not suit her to be in London so soon after Hughy'sdeath. "

"I am not bound to London. I would go anywhere else--except toClavering. "

"You never go to Ongar Park, I am told. "

"I have been there. "

"But they say you do not intend to go again. "

"Not at present, certainly. Indeed, I do not suppose I shall ever gothere. I do not like the place. "

"That's just what they have told me. It is about that--partly--that Iwant to speak to you. If you don't like the place, why shouldn't yousell your interest in it back to the family? They'd give you more thanthe value for it. "

"I do not know that I should care to sell it. "

"Why not, if you don't mean to use the house? I might as well explain atonce what it is that has been said to me. John Courton, you know, isacting as guardian for the young earl, and they don't want to keep up solarge a place as the Castle. Ongar Park would just suit Mrs. Courton"--Mrs. Courton was the widowed mother of the young earl--"andthey would be very happy to buy your interest. "

"Would not such a proposition come best through a lawyer?" said LadyOngar. 

"The fact is this--they think they have been a little hard on you. "

"I have never accused them. "

"But they feel it themselves, and they think that you might perhaps takeit amiss if they were to send you a simple message through an attorney. Courton told me that he would not have allowed any such proposition tobe made, if you had seemed disposed to use the place. They wish to becivil, and all that kind of thing. "

"Their civility or incivility is indifferent to me, " said Julia. 

"But why shouldn't you take the money?"

"The money is equally indifferent to me. "

"You mean then to say that you won't listen to it? Of course they can'tmake you part with the place if you wish to keep it. "

"Not more than they can make you sell Clavering Park. I do not, however, wish to be uncivil, and I will let you know through my lawyer what Ithink about it. All such matters are best managed by lawyers. "

After that Sir Hugh said nothing, further about Ongar Park. He was wellaware, from the tone in which Lady Ongar answered him, that she wasaverse to talk to him on that subject; but he was not conscious that hispresence was otherwise disagreeable to her, or that she would resent anyinterference from him on any subject because he had been cruel to her. So, after a little while, he began again about Hermione. As the worldhad determined upon acquitting Lady Ongar, it would be convenient to himthat the two sisters should be again intimate, especially as Julia was arich woman. His wife did not like Clavering Park, and he certainly didnot like Clavering Park himself. If he could once get the house shut up, he might manage to keep it shut for some years to come. His wife was nowno more than a burden to him, and it would suit him well to put off theburden on to his sister-in-law's shoulders. It was not that he intendedto have his wife altogether dependent on another person, but he thoughtthat if they two were established together, in the first instance merelyas a Summer arrangement, such establishment might be made to assume somepermanence. This would be very pleasant to him. Of course he would pay aportion of the expense--as small a portion as might be possible--butsuch a portion as might enable him to live with credit before the world. 

"I wish I could think that you and Hermy might be together while I amabsent, " he said. 

"I shall be very happy to have her, if she will come to me, " Juliareplied. 

"What--here, in London? I am not quite sure that she wishes to come upto London at present. "

"I have never understood that she had any objection to being in town, "said Lady Ongar. 

"Not formerly, certainly; but now, since her boy's death--"

"Why should his death make more difference to her than to you?" To thisquestion Sir Hugh made no reply. "If you are thinking of society, shecould be nowhere safer from any such necessity than with me. I never goout anywhere. I have never dined out, or even spent an evening incompany, since Lord Ongar's death. And no one would come here to disturbher. "

"I didn't mean that. "

"I don't quite know what you did mean. From different causes, she and Iare left pretty nearly equally without friends. "

"Hermione is not left without friends, " said Sir Hugh, with a tone ofoffence. 

"Were she not, she would not want to come to me. Your society is inLondon, to which she does not come, or in other country houses than yourown, to which she is not taken. She lives altogether at Clavering, andthere is no one there except your uncle. "

"Whatever neighborhood there is she has--just like other women. "

"Just like some other women, no doubt. I shall remain in town foranother month, and after that I shall go somewhere, I don't much carewhere. If Hermy will come to me as my guest, I shall be most happy tohave her; and the longer she will stay with me the better. Your cominghome need make no difference, I suppose. "

There was a keenness of reproach in her tone as she spoke which even hecould not but feel and acknowledge. He was very thick-skinned to suchreproaches, and would have left this unnoticed had it been possible. Hadshe continued speaking he would have done so. But she remained silent, and sat looking at him, saying with her eyes the same thing that she hadalready spoken with her words. Thus he was driven to speak. "I don'tknow, " said he, "whether you intend that for a sneer. "

She was perfectly indifferent whether or no she offended him. Only thatshe had believed that the maintenance of her own dignity forbade it, shewould have openly rebuked him, and told him that he was not welcome inher house. No treatment from her could, as she thought, be worse than hehad deserved from her. His first enmity had injured her, but she couldafford to laugh at his present anger. "It is hard to talk to you aboutHermy without what you are pleased to call a sneer. You simply wish torid yourself of her. "

"I wish to do no such thing, and you have no right to say so. "

"At any rate, you are ridding yourself of her society; and under thosecircumstances, she likes to come to me, I shall be glad to receive her. Our life together will not be very cheerful, but neither she nor I oughtto expect a cheerful life. "

He rose from his chair now with a cloud of anger upon his brow. "I cansee how it is, " said he; "because everything has not gone smooth withyourself; you choose to resent it upon me. I might have expected thatyou would not have forgotten in whose house you met Lord Ongar. "

"No, Hugh, I forget nothing: neither when I met him, nor how I marriedhim, nor any of the events that have happened since. My memory, unfortunately, is very good. "

"I did all I could for you, and should have been safe from yourinsolence. "

"You should have continued to stay away from me, and you would have beenquite safe. But our quarrelling in this way is foolish. We can never befriends, you and I, but we need not be open enemies. Your wife is mysister, and I say again that, if she likes to come to me, I shall bedelighted to have her. "

"My wife, " said he, "will go to the house of no person who is insolentto me. " Then he took his hat and left the room without further word orsign of greeting. In spite of his calculations and caution as tomoney--in spite of his well-considered arrangements and the comfortableprovision for his future ease which he had proposed to himself; he was aman who had not his temper so much under control as to enable him topostpone his anger to his prudence. That little scheme for getting ridof his wife was now at an end. He would never permit her to go to hersister's house after the manner in which Julia had just treated him. 

When he was gone, Lady Ongar walked about her own room smiling, and atfirst was well pleased with herself. She had received Archie's overturewith decision, but at the same time with courtesy, for Archie was weakand poor and powerless. But she had treated Sir Hugh with scorn, and hadbeen enabled to do so without the utterance of any actual reproach as tothe wrongs which she herself had endured from him. He had put himself inher power, and she had not thrown away the opportunity. She had told himthat she did not want his friendship, and would not be his friend; butshe had done this without any loud abuse unbecoming to her either as acountess, a widow, or a lady. For Hermione she was sorry. Hermione nowcould hardly come to her. But even as to that, she did not despair. Asthings were going on, it would become almost necessary that her sisterand Sir Hugh should be parted. Both must wish it; and if this werearranged, then Hermione should come to her. 

But from this she soon came to think again about Harry Clavering. Howwas that matter to be decided, and what steps would it become her totake as to its decision? Sir Hugh had proposed to her that she shouldsell her interest in Ongar Park, and she had promised that she wouldmake known her decision on that matter through her lawyer. As she hadbeen saying this, she was well aware that she would never sell theproperty; but she had already resolved that she would at once give itback, without purchase-money, to the Ongar family, were it not kept thatshe might hand it over to Harry Clavering as a fitting residence for hislordship. If he might be there, looking after his cattle, going aboutwith the steward subservient at his heels, ministering justice to theEnoch Gubbys and others, she would care nothing for the wants of any ofthe Courton people. But if such were not to be the destiny of OngarPark--if there were to be no such Adam in that Eden--then the mother ofthe little lord might take herself thither, and revel among the richblessings of the place without delay, and with no difficulty as toprice. As to price--had she not already found the money-bag that hadcome to her to be too heavy for her hands?

But she could do nothing till that question was settled; and how was sheto settle it? Every word that had passed between her and Cecilia Burtonhad been turned over and over in her mind, and she could only declare toherself; as she had then declared to her visitor, that it must be asHarry should please. She would submit if he required her submission, butshe could not bring herself to take steps to secure her own misery. 

At last came the day on which the two Claverings were to go down toHarwich and put themselves on board Jack Stuart's yacht. The hail of thehouse in Berkeley Square was strewed with portmanteaus, gun cases, andfishing rods, whereas the wine and packets of preserved meat, and thebottled beer and fish in tins, and the large box of cigars, and theprepared soups, had been sent down by Boxall, and were by this time onboard the boat. Hugh and Archie were to leave London this day by trainat 5 p. M. , and were to sleep on board. Jack Stuart was already there, having assisted in working the yacht round from Brightlingsea. 

On that morning Archie had a farewell breakfast at his club withDoodles, and after that, having spent the intervening hours in thebilliard-room, a farewell luncheon. There had been something ofmelancholy in this last day between the friends, originating partly inthe failure of Archie's hopes as to Lady Ongar, and partly, perhaps; inthe bad character which seemed to cling to Jack Stuart and his craft. "He has been at it for years, and always coming to grief;" said Doodles. "He is just like a man I know, who has been hunting for the last tenyears, and can't sit a horse at a fence yet. He has broken every bone inhis side, and I don't suppose he ever saw a good thing to a finish. Henever knows whether hounds are in cover, or where they are. His onlyidea is to follow another man's red coat till he comes to grief--and yethe will go on hunting. There are some people who never will understandwhat they can do and what they can't. " In answer to this, Archiereminded his friend that on this occasion Jack Stuart would have theadvantage of an excellent dry nurse, acknowledged to do very great onsuch occasions. Would not he, Archie Clavering, be there to pilot JackStuart and his boat? But, nevertheless, Doodles was melancholy, and wenton telling stories about that unfortunate man who would continue tobreak his bones, though he had no aptitude for out-of-door sports. "He'll be carried home on a stretcher some day, you know, " said Doodles. 

"What does it matter if he is?" said Archie, boldly, thinking of himselfand of the danger predicted for him. "A man can only die once. "

"I call it quite a tempting of Providence, " said Doodles. 

But their conversation was chiefly about Lady Ongar and the Spy. It wasonly on this day that Doodles had learned that Archie had in truthoffered his hand and been rejected, and Captain Clavering was surprisedby the extent of his friend's sympathy. "It's a doosed disagreeablething--a very disagreeable thing indeed, " said Doodles. Archie, who didnot wish to be regarded as specially unfortunate, declined to look atthe matter in this light; but Doodles insisted. "It would cut me up likethe very mischief;" he said. "I know that; and the worst of it is, thatperhaps you wouldn't have gone on, only for me. I meant it all for thebest, old fellow! I did, indeed. There--that's the game to you. I'mplaying uncommonly badly this morning; but the truth is, I'm thinking ofthose women. " Now, as Doodles was playing for a little money, this wasreally civil on his part. 

And he would persevere in talking about the Spy, as though there weresomething in his remembrance of the lady which attracted himirresistibly to the subject. He had always boasted that in his interviewwith her he had come off with the victory, nor did he now cease to makesuch boasts; but still he spoke of her and her powers with an awe whichwould have completely opened the eyes of any one a little more sharp onsuch matters than Archie Clavering. He was so intent on this subjectthat he sent the marker out of the room so that he might discuss it withmore freedom, and might plainly express his views as to her influence onhis friend's fate. 

"By George! she's a wonderful woman. Do you know I can't help thinkingof her at night? She keeps me awake-she does, upon my honor. "

"I can't say she keeps me awake, but I wish I had my seventy pounds backagain. "

"Do you know, if I were you, I shouldn't grudge it? I should think itworth pretty nearly all the money to have had the dealing with her. "

"Then you ought to go halves. "

"Well, yes--only that I ain't flush, I would. When one thinks of it, herabsolutely taking the notes out of your waistcoat pocket--upon my-word, it's beautiful! She'd have had it out of mine if I hadn't been doosedsharp. "

"She understood what she was about, certainly. "

"What I should like to know is this: did she or did she not tell LadyOngar what she was to do--about you, I mean? I dare say she did, afterall. "

"And took my money for nothing. "

"Because you didn't go high enough, you know. "

"But that was your fault. I went as high as you told me. "

"No you didn't, Clavvy, not if you remember. But the fact is, I don'tsuppose you could go high enough. I shouldn't be surprised if such awoman as that wanted--thousands! I shouldn't indeed. I shall neverforget the way in which she swore at me and how she abused me about myfamily. I think she must have had some special reason for dislikingWarwickshire, she said such awful hard things about it. "

"How did she know that you came from Warwickshire?"

"She did know it. If I tell you something, don't you say anything aboutit. I have an idea about her. "

"What is it?"

"I didn't mention it before, because I don't talk much of those sort ofthings. I don't pretend to understand them, and it is better to leavethem alone. "

"But what do you mean?"

Doodles looked very solemn as he answered, "I think she's a medium--or amedia, or whatever it ought to be called. "

"What! one of those spirit-rapping people?" And Archie's hair almoststood on end as he asked the question. 

"They don't rap now--not the best of them, that is. That was the oldway, and seems to have been given up. "

"But what do you suppose she did?"

"How did she know that the money was in your waistcoat pocket, now? Howdid she know that I came from Warwickshire? And then she had a way ofgoing about the room as though she could have raised herself off herfeet in a moment if she had chosen. And then her swearing, and the restof it--so unlike any other woman, you know. "

"But do you think she could have made Julia hate me?"

"Ah! I can't tell that. There are such lots of things going onnow-a-days that a fellow can understand nothing about! But I've no doubtof this--if you were to tie her up with ropes ever so, I don't in theleast doubt but what she'd get out. " Archie was awe-struck, and made twoor three strokes after this but then he plucked up his courage and askeda question--"Where do you suppose they get it from, Doodles?"

"That's just the question. "

"Is it from--the devil, do you think?" said Archie, whispering the nameof the Evil One in a very low voice. 

"Well, yes, I suppose that's most likely. "

"Because they don't seem to do a great deal of harm with it, after all. As for my money, she would have had that any way, for I intended to giveit to her. "

"There are people who think, " said Doodles, "that the spirits don't comefrom anywhere, but are always floating about. "

"And then one person catches them, and another doesn't?" asked Archie. 

"They tell me that it depends upon what the mediums or medias eat anddrink, " said Doodles, "and upon what sort of minds they have. They mustbe cleverish people, I fancy, or the spirits wouldn't come to them. "

"But you never hear of any swell being a medium. Why don't the spiritsgo to a prime minster or some of those fellows? Only think what a helpthey'd be. "

"If they come from the devil, " suggested Doodles, "he wouldn't let themdo any real good. "

"I've heard a deal about them, " said Archie, "and it seems to me thatthe mediums are always poor people, and that they come from nobody knowswhere. The Spy is a clever woman I dare say--"

"There isn't much doubt about that, " said the admiring Doodles. 

"But you can't say she's respectable, you know. If I was a spirit, Iwouldn't go to a woman who wore such dirty stockings as she had on. "

"That's nonsense, Clavvy. What does a spirit care about a woman'sstockings?"

"But why don't they ever go to the wise people? that's what I want toknow. " And as he asked the question boldly he struck his ball sharply, and, lo! the three balls rolled vanquished into three different pockets. "I don't believe about it, " said Archie, as he readjusted the score. "The devil can't do such things as that, or there'd be an end ofeverything; and as to spirits in the air, why should there be morespirits now than there were four-and-twenty years ago?"

"That's all very well, old fellow, " said Doodles, "but you and I ain'tclever enough to understand everything. " Then that subject was dropped, and Doodles went back for a while to the perils of Jack Stuart's yacht. 

After the lunch, which was, in fact, Archie's early dinner, Doodles wasgoing to leave his friend, but Archie insisted that his brother captainshould walk with him up to Berkeley Square, and see the last of him intohis cab. Doodles had suggested that Sir Hugh would be there, and thatSir Hugh was not always disposed to welcome his brother's friends to hisown house after the most comfortable modes of friendship; but Archieexplained that on such an occasion as this there need be no fear on thathead; he and his brother were going away together, and there was acertain feeling of jollity about the trip which would divest Sir Hugh ofhis roughness. "And besides, " said Archie, "as you will be there to seeme off; he'll know that you're not going to stay yourself. " Convinced bythis, Doodles consented to walk up to Berkeley Square. 

Sir Hugh had spent the greatest part of this day at home, immersed amonghis guns and rods, and their various appurtenances. He also hadbreakfasted at his club, but had ordered his luncheon to be prepared forhim at home. He had arranged to leave Berkeley Square at four, and haddirected that his lamb chops should be brought to him exactly at three. He was himself a little late in coming down stairs, and it was tenminutes past the hour when he desired that the chops might be put on thetable, saying that he himself would be in the drawing-room in time tomeet them. He was a man solicitous about his lamb chops, and carefulthat the asparagus should be hot--solicitous also as to that bottle ofLafitte by which those comestibles were to be accompanied, and whichwas, of its own nature, too good to be shared with his brother Archie. But as he was on the landing by the drawing-room door, descendingquickly, conscious that, in obedience to his orders, the chops had beenalready served, he was met by a servant who, with disturbed face andquick voice, told him that there was a lady waiting for him in the hall. 

"D---- it, " said Sir Hugh. 

"She has just come, Sir Hugh, and says that she specially wants to seeyou. "

"Why the devil did you let her in?"

"She walked in when the door was opened, Sir Hugh, and I couldn't helpit. She seemed to be a lady, Sir Hugh, and I didn't like not to let herinside the door. "

"What's the lady's name?" asked the master. 

"It's a foreign name, Sir Hugh. She said she wouldn't keep you fiveminutes. " The lamb chops and the asparagus and the Lafitte were in thedining-room, and the only way to the dining-room lay through the hall towhich the foreign lady had obtained an entrance. Sir Hugh, making suchcalculations as the moments allowed, determined that he would face theenemy, and pass on to his banquet over her prostrate body. He wentquickly down into the hall, and there was encountered by SophieGordeloup, who, skipping over the gun-cases, and rushing through theportmanteaus, caught the baronet by the arm before he had been able toapproach the dining-room door. "Sir 'Oo, " she said, "I am so glad tohave caught you. You are going away, and I have things to tell you whichyou must hear--yes; it is well for you I have caught you, Sir 'Oo. " SirHugh looked as though he by no means participated in this feeling, and, saying something about his great hurry, begged that he might be allowedto go to his food. Then he added that, as far as his memory served him, he had not the honor of knowing the lady who was addressing him. 

"You come in to your little dinner, " said Sophie, "and I will tell youeverything as you are eating. Don't mind me. You shall eat and drink, and I will talk. I am Madam Gordeloup--Sophie Gordeloup. Ah! you knowthe name now. Yes. That is me. Count Pateroff is my brother. You knowCount Pateroff? He knowed Lord Ongar, and I knowed Lord Ongar. We knowLady Ongar. Ah! you understand now that I can have much to tell. It iswell you was not gone without seeing me! Eh! yes. You shall eat anddrink; but suppose you send that man into the kitchen!"

Sir Hugh was so taken by surprise that he hardly knew how to act on thespur of the moment. He certainly had heard of Madam Gordeloup, though hehad never before seen her. For years past her name had been familiar tohim in London, and when Lady Ongar had returned as a widow it had been, to his thinking, one of her worst offences that this woman had been herfriend. Under ordinary circumstances, his judgment would have directedhim to desire the servant to put her out into the street as an impostor, and to send for the police if there was any difficulty. But it certainlymight be possible that this woman had something to tell with referenceto Lady Ongar which it would suit his purposes to hear. At the presentmoment he was not very well inclined to his sister-in-law, and wasdisposed to hear evil of her. So he passed on into the dining-room anddesired Madam Gordeloup to follow him. Then he closed the room door, andstanding up with his back to the fire-place, so that he might be savedfrom the necessity of asking her to sit down, he declared himself readyto hear anything that his visitor might have to say. 

"But you will eat your dinner, Sir 'Oo. You will not mind me. I shallnot care. "

"Thank you, no; if you will just say what you have got to say, I will beobliged to you. "

"But the nice things will be so cold! Why should you mind me? Nobodyminds me. "

"I will wait, if you please, till you have done me the honor ofleaving. "

"Ah! well, you Englishmen are so cold and ceremonious. But Lord Ongarwas not with me like that. I knew Lord Ongar so well. "

"Lord Ongar was more fortunate than I am. "

"He was a poor man who did kill himself. Yes. It was always that bottleof Cognac. And there was other bottles that was worser still. Nevermind; he has gone now, and his widow has got the money. It is she hasbeen a fortunate woman. Sir 'Oo, I will sit down here in the arm chair. "Sir Hugh made a motion with his hand, not daring to forbid her to do asshe was minded. "And you, Sir 'Oo--will not you sit down also?"

"I will continue to stand if you will allow me. "

"Very well; you shall do as most pleases you. As I did walk here, andshall walk back, I will sit down. "

"And now, if you have any thing to say, Madam Gordeloup, " said SirHugh, looking at the silver covers which were hiding the chops and theasparagus, and looking also at his watch, "perhaps you will be goodenough to say it. "

"Any thing to say! Yes, Sir 'Oo, I have something to say. It is a pityyou will not sit at your dinner. "

"I will not sit at my dinner till you have left me. So now, if you willbe pleased to proceed--"

"I will proceed. Perhaps you don't know that Lord Ongar died in thesearms. " And Sophie, as she spoke, stretched out her skinny hands, and putherself as far as possible into the attitude in which it would be mostconvenient to nurse the head of a dying man upon her bosom. Sir Hugh, thinking to himself that Lord Ongar could hardly have received muchconsolation in his fate from this incident, declared that he had notheard the fact before. "No, you have not heard it. She have tell nothingto her friends here. He die abroad, and she has come back with all themoney; but she tell nothing to any body here, so I must tell. "

"But I don't care how he died, Madam Gordeloup. It is nothing to me. "

"But yes, Sir 'Oo. The lady, your wife, is the sister to Lady Ongar. Isnot that so? Lady Ongar did live with you before she was married. Is notthat so? Your brother and your cousin both wishes to marry her and haveall the money. Is not that so? Your brother has come to me to help him, and has sent the little man out of Warwickshire. Is not that so?"

"What the d---- is all that to me?" said Sir Hugh, who did not quiteunderstand the story as the lady was telling it. 

"I will explain, Sir 'Oo, what the d---- it is to you, only I wish youwere eating the nice things on the table. This Lady Ongar is treating mevery bad. She treat my brother very bad too. My brother is CountPateroff. We have been put to, oh, such expenses for her! It have nearlyruined me. I make a journey to your London here altogether for her. Then, for her, I go down to that accursed little island--what you callit? where she insult me. Oh, all my time is gone. Your brother and yourcousin, and the little man out of Warwickshire, all coming to my house, just as it please them. "

"But what is this to me?" shouted Sir Hugh. 

"A great deal to you, " screamed back Madam Gordeloup. "You see I knowevery thing--every thing. I have got papers. "

"What do I care for your papers? Look here Madam Gordeloup, you hadbetter go away. "

"Not yet, Sir 'Oo, not yet. You are going away to Norway--I know; and Iam ruined before you come back. "

"Look here, madam, do you mean that you want money from me?"

"I want my rights, Sir 'Oo. Remember, I know every thing--everything--oh, such things! If they were all known--in the newspapers, youunderstand, or that kind of thing, that lady in Bolton Street would loseall her money to-morrow. Yes. There is uncles to the little lord; yes!Ah! how much would they give me, I wonder? They would not tell me to goaway. "

Sophie was perhaps justified in the estimate she had made of Sir Hugh'sprobable character from the knowledge which she had acquired of hisbrother Archie; but, nevertheless, she had fallen into a great mistake. There could hardly have been a man then in London less likely to fallinto her present views than Sir Hugh Clavering. Not only was he too fondof his money to give it away without knowing why he did so, but he wassubject to none of that weakness by which some men are prompted tosubmit to such extortions. Had he believed her story, and had Lady Ongarbeen really dear to him, he would never have dealt with such a one asMadam Gordeloup otherwise than through the police. 

"Madam Gordeloup, " said he, "if you don't immediately take yourself off;I shall have you put out of the house. "

He would have sent for a constable at once, had he not feared that bydoing so he would retard his journey. 

"What!" said Sophie, whose courage was as good as his own. "Me put outof the house! Who shall touch me?"

"My servant shall; or, if that will not do, the police. Come, walk. " Andhe stepped over toward her as though he himself intended to assist inher expulsion by violence. 

"Well, you are there; I see you; and what next?" said Sophie. "You, andyour valk! I can tell you things fit for you to know, and you say, valk. If I valk, I will valk to some purpose. I do not often valk for nothingwhen I am told--valk!" Upon this Sir Hugh rang the bell with someviolence. "I care nothing for your bells, or for your servants, or foryour policemen. I have told you that your sister owe me a great deal ofmoney, and you say--valk. I will valk. " Thereupon the servant came intothe room, and Sir Hugh, in an angry voice, desired him to open the frontdoor. "Yes--open vide, " said Sophie, who, when anger came upon her, wasapt to drop into a mode of speaking English, which she was able to avoidin her cooler moments. "Sir 'Oo, I am going to valk, and you shall hearof my valking. "

"Am I to take that as a threat?" said he. 

"Not a tret at all, " said she; "only a promise. Ah! I am good to keep mypromises. Yes, I make a promise. Your poor wife--down with the daises; Iknow all, and she shall hear, too. That is another promise. And yourbrother, the captain. Oh! here he is, and the little man out ofWarwickshire. " She had got up from her chair, and had moved toward thedoor with the intention of going, but just as she was passing out intothe hall she encountered Archie and Doodles. Sir Hugh, who had beenaltogether at a loss to understand what she had meant by the man out ofWarwickshire, followed her into the hall, and became more angry thanbefore at finding that his brother had brought a friend to his house atso very inopportune a moment. The wrath in his face was so plainlyexpressed that Doodles could perceive it, and wished himself away. Thepresence also of the spy was not pleasant to the gallant captain. Wasthe wonderful woman ubiquitous, that he should thus encounter her again, and that so soon after all the things that he had spoken of her on thismorning? "How do you do, gentlemen?" said Sophie. "There is a great manyboxes here, and I with my crinoline have not got room. " Then she shookhands, first with Archie, and then with Doodles, and asked the latterwhy he was not as yet gone to Warwickshire. Archie, in almost mortalfear, looked up into his brother's face. Had his brother learned thestory of that seventy pounds? Sir Hugh was puzzled beyond measure atfinding that the woman knew the two men; but, having still an eye to hislamb chops, was chiefly anxious to get rid of Sophie and Doodlestogether. 

"This is my friend Boodle--Captain Boodle, " said Archie, trying to put abold face upon the crisis. "He has come to see me off. "

"Very kind of him, " said Sir Hugh. "Just make way for this lady, willyou? I want to get her out of the house if I can. Your friend seems toknow her; perhaps he'll be good enough to give her his arm. "

"Who--I ?" said Doodles. "No, I don't know her particularly. I did meether once before, just once--in a casual way. "

"Captain Booddle and me is very good friends, " said Sophie. "He come tomy house and behave himself very well; only he is not so handy a man asyour brother, Sir 'Oo. "

Archie trembled, and he trembled still more when his brother, turning tohim, asked him if he knew the woman. 

"Yes, he know the woman very well, " said Sophie. "Why do you not comeany more to see me? You send your little friend, but I like you betteryourself. You come again when you return, and all that shall be maderight. "

But still she did not go. She had now seated herself on a gun case whichwas resting on a portmanteau, and seemed to be at her ease. The time wasgoing fast, and Sir Hugh, if he meant to eat his chops, must eat them atonce. 

"See her out of the hall into the street, " he said to Archie; "and ifshe gives trouble, send for the police. She has come here to get moneyfrom me by threats, and only that we have no time, I would have hertaken to the lock-up house at once. " Then Sir Hugh retreated into thedining-room and shut the door. 

"Lock-up 'ouse!" said Sophie, scornfully. "What is dat?"

"He means a prison, " said Doodles. 

"Prison! I know who is most likely to be in a prison. Tell me of aprison! Is he a minister of state that he can send out order for me tobe made prisoner? Is there lettres de cachet now in England? I thinknot. Prison, indeed!"

"But really, Madam Gordeloup, you had better go-you had, indeed, " saidArchie. 

"You too--you bid me go? Did I bid you go when you came to me? Did I nottell you sit down? Was I not polite? Did I send for a police, or talk oflock-up 'ouse to you? No. It is English that do these things--onlyEnglish. "

Archie felt that it was incumbent on him to explain that his visit toher house had been made under other circumstances--that he had broughtmoney instead of seeking it; and had, in fact, gone to her simply in theway of her own trade. He did begin some preliminaries to thisexplanation; but as the servant was there, and as his brother might comeout from the dining-room, and as also he was aware that he could hardlytell the story much to his own advantage, he stopped abruptly, and, looking piteously at Doodles, implored him to take the lady away. 

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind just seeing her into Mount Street, " saidArchie. 

"Who--I?" said Doodles, electrified. 

"It is only just around the corner, " said Archie. 

"Yes, Captain Booddle, we will go, " said Sophie. "This is a bad house;and your Sir 'Oo--I do not like him at all. Lock-up, indeed! I tell youhe shall very soon be locked up himself. There is what you call Davy'slocker. I know--yes. "

Doodles also trembled when he heard this anathema, and thought once moreof the character of Jack Stuart and his yacht. 

"Pray go with her, " said Archie. 

"But I had come to see you off. "

"Never mind, " said Archie. "He is in such a taking, you know. God blessyou, old fellow--good-by! I'll write and tell you what fish we get, andmind you tell me what Turriper does for the Bedfordshire. Good-by, MadamGordeloup; good-by. "

There was no escape for him, so Doodles put on his hat and prepared towalk away to Mount Street with the Spy under his arm--the Spy as towhose avocations, over and beyond those of her diplomatic profession, hehad such strong suspicions! He felt inclined to be angry with hisfriend, but the circumstances of his parting hardly admitted of anyexpression of anger. 

"Good-by, Clavvy, " he said. "Yes, I'll write--that is, if I've gotanything to say. 

"Take care of yourself; captain, " said Sophie. 

"All right, " said Archie. 

"Mind you come and see me when you come back, " said Sophie. 

"Of course I will, " said Archie. 

"And we'll make that all right for you yet. Gentlemen, when they have somuch to gain, shouldn't take a no too easy. You come with your handyglove, and we'll see about it again. " Then Sophie walked off leaningupon the arm of Captain Boodle, and Archie stood at the door watchingthem till they turned out of sight round the corner of tire Square. Atlast he saw them no more, and then he returned to his brother. 

And as we shall see Doodles no more--or almost no more-we will now bidhim adieu civilly. The pair were not ill-matched, though the ladyperhaps had some advantage in acuteness, given to her no doubt by theexperience of a longer life. Doodles, as he walked along two sides ofthe square with the fair burden on his arm, felt himself to be in somesort proud of his position, though it was one from which he would nothave been sorry to escape, had escape been possible. A remarkablephenomenon was the Spy, and to have walked round Berkeley Square withsuch a woman leaning on his arm might in coming years be an event toremember with satisfaction. In the mean time he did not say much to her, and did not quite understand all that she said to him. At last he cameto the door which he well remembered, and then he paused. He did notescape even then. After a while the door was opened, and those who werepassing might have seen Captain Boodle, slowly and with hesitatingsteps, enter the narrow passage before the lady. Then Sophie followed, and closed the door behind her. As far as this story goes, what tookplace at that interview can not be known. Let us bid farewell toDoodles, and wish him a happy escape. 

"How did you come to know that woman?" said Hugh to his brother, as soonas Archie was in the dining-room. 

"She was a friend of Julia's, " said Archie. 

"You haven't given her money?" Hugh asked. 

"Oh dear, no, " said Archie. 

Immediately after that they got into their cab, the things were pitchedon the top, and, in a while, we may bid adieu to them also. 

Chapter XLVI

Showing How Mrs. Burton Fought Her Battle

"Florence, I have been to Bolton Street, and I have seen Lady Ongar. "Those were the first words which Cecilia Burton spoke to hersister-in-law, when she found Florence in the drawing-room on her returnfrom the visit which she had made to the countess. Florence had stillbefore her the desk on which she had been writing; and the letter in itsenvelope, addressed to Mrs. Clavering, but as yet unclosed, was lyingbeneath her blotting-paper. Florence, who had never dreamed of such anundertaking on Cecilia's part, was astounded at the tidings which sheheard. Of course her first effort was made to learn from her sister'stone and countenance what had been the result of this interview; but shecould learn nothing from either. There was no radiance as of joy in Mrs. Burton's face, nor was there written there anything of despair. Hervoice was serious and almost solemn, and her manner was very grave, butthat was all. "You have seen her?" said Florence, rising up from herchair. 

"Yes, dear, I may have done wrong. Theodore, I know, will say so. But Ithought it best to try to learn the truth before you wrote to Mrs. Clavering. "

"And what is the truth? But perhaps you have not learned it. "

"I think I have learned all that she could tell me. She has been veryfrank. "

"Well, what is the truth? Do not suppose, dearest, that I can not bearit. I hope for nothing now. I only want to have this settled, that I maybe at rest. "

Upon this Mrs. Burton took the suffering girl in her arms and caressedher tenderly. "My love, " said she, "it is not easy for us to be at rest. You can not be at rest as yet. "

"I can. I will be so, when I know that this is settled. I do not wish tointerfere with his fortune. There is my letter to his mother, and now Iwill go back to Stratton. "

"Not yet, dearest, not yet, " said Mrs. Burton, taking the letter in herhand, but refraining from withdrawing it at once from the envelope. "Youmust hear what I have heard to-day. "

"Does she say that she loves him?"

"Ah! yes--she loves him. We must not doubt that. "

"And he--what does she say of him?"

"She says what you also must say, Florence, though it is hard that itshould be so. It must be as he shall decide. "

"No. " said Florence, withdrawing herself from the arm that was stillaround her, "no, it shall not be as he may choose to decide. I will notso submit myself to him. It is enough as it is. I will never see himmore--never. To say that I do not love him would be untrue, but I willnever see him again. "

"Stop, dear, stop. What if it be no fault of his?"

"No fault of his that he went to her when we--we--we--he and I--were, aswe were, together!"

"Of course there has been some fault; but Flo, dearest, listen to me. You know that I would ask you to do nothing from which a woman shouldshrink. "

"I know that you would give your heart's blood for me; but nothing willbe of avail now. Do not look at me with melancholy eyes like that. Cissy, it will not kill me. It is only the doubt that kills one. "

"I will not look at you with melancholy eyes, but you must listen to me. She does-not herself know what his intention is. "

"But I know it, and I know my own. Read my letter, Cissy. There is notone word of anger in it, nor will I ever utter a reproach. He knew herfirst. If he loved her through it all, it was a pity he could not beconstant to his love, even though she was false to him. "

"But you won't hear me, Flo. As far as I can learn the truth--as Imyself most firmly believe-when he went to her on her return to England, he had no other intention than that of visiting an old friend. "

"But what sort of friend, Cissy?"

"He had no idea then of being untrue to you. But when he saw her, theold intimacy came back. That was natural. Thea he was dazzled by herbeauty. "

"Is she then so beautiful?"

"She is very beautiful. "

"Let him go to her, " said Florence, tearing herself away from hersister's arm, and walking across the room with a quick and almost angrystep. "Let her have him. Cissy, there shall be an end of it. I will notcondescend to solicit his love. If she is such as you say, and if beautywith him goes for everything, what chance could there be for such asme?"

"I did not say that beauty with him went for everything. "

"Of course it does. I ought to have known that it would be so with sucha one as him. And then she is rich also--wonderfully rich! What rightcan I have to think of him?"

"Florence, you are unjust. You do not even suspect that it is hermoney. "

"To me it is the same thing. I suppose that a woman who is so beautifulhas a right to everything. I know that I am plain, and I willbe--content--in future--to think no more--" Poor Florence, when she hadgot as far as that, broke down, and could go on no further with thedeclaration which she had been about to make as to her future prospects. Mrs. Burton, taking advantage of this, went on with her story, struggling, not altogether unsuccessfully, to assume a calm tone ofunimpassioned reason. 

"As I said before, he was dazzled--"

"Dazzled! oh!"

"But even then he had no idea of being untrue to you. "

"No; he was untrue without an idea. That is worse. "

"Florence, you are perverse, and are determined to be unfair. I must begthat you will hear me to the end, so that then you may be able to judgewhat course you ought to follow. " This Mrs. Burton said with an air ofgreat authority; after which she continued in a voice something lessstern--"He thought of doing no injury to you when he went to see her;but something of the feeling of his old love grew upon him when he wasin her company, and he became embarrassed by his position before he wasaware of his own danger. He might, of course, have been stronger. " HereFlorence exhibited a gesture of strong impatience, though she did notspeak. "I am not going to defend him altogether, but I think you mustadmit that he was hardly tried. Of course I can not say what passedbetween them, but I can understand how easily they might recur to theold scenes--how naturally she would wish for a renewal of the love whichshe had been base enough to betray! She does not, however, considerherself as at present engaged to him. That you may know for certain. Itmay be that she has asked him for such a promise, and that he hashesitated. If so, his staying away from us, and his not writing to you, can be easily understood. "

"And what is it you would have me do?"

"He is ill now. Wait till he is well. He would have been here beforethis had not his illness prevented him. Wait till he comes. "

"I can not do that, Cissy. Wait I must, but I can not wait withoutoffering him, through his mother, the freedom which I have so muchreason to know that he desires. "

"We do not know that he desires it. We do not know that his mother evensuspects him of any fault toward you. Now that he is there--athome--away from Bolton Street--"

"I do not care to trust to such influences as that, Cissy. If he couldnot spend this morning with her in her own house, and then, as he lefther, feel that he preferred me to her, and to all the world, I wouldrather be as I am than take his hand. He shall not marry me from pity, nor yet from a sense of duty. We know the old story--how the Devil wouldbe a monk when he was sick. I will not accept his sick-bed allegiance, or have to think that I owe my husband to a mother's influence over himwhile he is ill. "

"You will make me think, Flo, that you are less true to him than sheis. "

"Perhaps it is so. Let him have what good such truth as hers can do him. For me, I feel that it is my duty to be true to myself. I will notcondescend to indulge my heart at the cost of my pride as a woman. "

"Oh, Florence, I hate that word pride. "

"You would not hate it for yourself in my place. "

"You need take no shame to love him. "

"Have I taken shame to love him?" said Florence, rising again from herchair. "Have I been missish or coy about my love? From the moment inwhich I knew that it was a pleasure to myself to regard him as my futurehusband, I have spoken of my love as being always proud of it. I haveacknowledged it as openly as you can do yours for Theodore. Iacknowledge it still, and will never deny it. Take shame that I haveloved him! No. But I should take to myself great shame should I ever bebrought so low as to ask him for his love, when once I had learned tothink that he had transferred it from myself to another woman. " Then shewalked the length of the room, backward and forward, with hasty steps, not looking at her sister-in-law, whose eyes were now filled with tears. "Come, Cissy, " she then said, "we will make an end of this. Read myletter if you choose to read it--though indeed it is not worthreading--and then let me send it to the post. "

Mrs. Burton now opened the letter and read it very slowly. It was sternand almost unfeeling in the calmness of the words chosen; but in thosewords her proposed marriage with Harry Clavering was absolutelyabandoned. "I know, " she said, "that your son is more warmly attached toanother lady than he is to me, and under those circumstance; for hissake as well as for mine, it is necessary that we should part. Dear Mrs. Clavering, may I ask you to make him understand that he and I are neverto recur to the past? If he will send me back any letters ofmine--should any have been kept--and the little present which I oncegave him, all will have been done which need be done, and all have beensaid which need be said. He will receive in a small parcel his ownletters and the gifts which he has made me. " There was in this a tone ofcompleteness--as of business absolutely finished--of a judgmentadmitting no appeal, which did not at all suit Mrs. Burton's views. Aletter, quite as becoming on the part of Florence, might, she thought, be written, which would still leave open a door for reconciliation. ButFlorence was resolved, and the letter was sent. 

The part which Mrs. Burton had taken in this conversation had surprisedeven herself. She had been full of anger with Harry Clavering--aswrathful with him as her nature permitted her to be, and yet she hadpleaded his cause with all her eloquence, going almost so far in herdefence of him as to declare that he was blameless. And, in truth, shewas prepared to acquit him of blame--to give him full absolution withoutpenance--if only he could be brought back again into the fold. Her wrathagainst him would be very hot should he not so return; but all should bemore than forgiven, if he would only come back, and do his duty withaffectionate and patient fidelity. Her desire was, not so much thatjustice should be done, as that Florence should have the thing coveted, and that Florence's rival should not have it. According to the argumentsas arranged by her feminine logic, Harry Clavering would be all sight orall wrong according as he might at last bear himself. She desiredsuccess, and, if she could only be successful, was prepared to forgiveevery thing. And even yet she would not give up the battle, though sheadmitted to herself that Florence's letter to Mrs. Clavering made thecontest more difficult than ever. It might, however, be that Mrs. Clavering would be good enough, just enough, true enough, clever enough, to know that such a letter as this, coming from such a girl, and writtenunder such circumstances, should be taken as meaning nothing. Mostmothers would wish to see their sons married to wealth, should wealththrow itself in their way; but Mrs. Clavering, possibly, might not besuch a mother as that. 

In the mean time, there was before her the terrible necessity ofexplaining to her husband the step which she had taken without hisknowledge, and of which she knew that she must tell him the historybefore she could sit down to dinner with him in comfort. "Theodore, " shesaid, creeping in out of her own chamber to his dressing-room, while hewas washing his hands, "you mustn't be angry with me, but I have donesomething to-day. "

"And why must I not be angry with you?"

"You know what I mean. You mustn't be angry--especially aboutthis--because I don't want you to be. "

"That's conclusive, " said he. It was manifest to her that he was in agood humor, which was a great blessing. He had not been tired with hiswork, as he was often wont to be, and was therefore willing to beplayful. 

"What do you think I've done?" said she. "I have been to Bolton Street, and have seen Lady Ongar. "

"No!"

"I have, Theodore, indeed. "

Mr. Burton had been rubbing his face vehemently with a rough towel atthe moment in which the communication had been made to him, and sostrongly was he affected by it that he was stopped in his operation andbrought to a stand in his movement, looking at his wife over the towelas he held it in both hands. "What on earth has made you do such a thingas that?" he said. 

"I thought it best. I thought that I might hear the truth--and so Ihave. I could not bear that Florence should be sacrificed while anything remained undone that was possible. "

"Why didn't you tell me that you were going?"

"Well, my dear, I thought it better not. Of course I ought to have toldyou, but in this instance I thought it best just to go without the fussof mentioning it. "

"What you really mean is, that if you had told me I should have askedyou not to go. "

"Exactly. "

"And you were determined to have your own way. "

"I don't think, Theodore, I care so much about my own way as some womendo. I am sure I always think your opinion is better than my own--thatis, in most things. "

"And what did Lady Ongar say to you?" He had now put down the towel, andwas seated in his arm-chair, looking up into his wife's face. 

"It would be a long story to tell you all that she said. "

"Was she civil to you?"

"She was not uncivil. She is a handsome, proud woman, prone to speak outwhat she thinks, and determined to have her own way when it is possible;but I think that she intended to be civil to me personally. "

"What is her purpose now?"

"Her purpose is clear enough. She means to marry Harry Clavering if shecan get him. She said so. She made no secret of what her wishes are. "

"Then, Cissy, let her marry him; and do not let us trouble ourselvesfurther in the matter. "

"But Florence, Theodore! Think of Florence!"

"I am thinking of her, and I think that Harry Clavering is not worth heracceptance. She is as the traveller that fell among thieves. She is hurtand wounded, but not dead. It is for you to be the good Samaritan, butthe oil which you should pour into her wounds is not a renewed hope asto that worthless man. Let Lady Ongar have him. As far as I can see, they are fit for each other. "

Then she went through with him, diligently, all the arguments which shehad used with Florence, palliating Harry's conduct, and explaining thecircumstances of his disloyalty, almost as those circumstances had intruth occurred. "I think you are too hard on him, " she said. "You can'tbe too hard on falsehood, " he replied. "No, not while it exists. But youwould not be angry with a man forever because he should once have beenfalse? But we do not know that he is false. " "Do we not?" said he. "Butnever mind; we must go to dinner now. Does Florence know of your visit?"Then, before she would allow him to leave his room, she explained to himwhat had taken place between herself and Florence, and told him of theletter that had been written to Mrs. Clavering. "She is right, " said he. "That way out of her difficulty is the best that is left to her. " But, nevertheless, Mrs. Burton was resolved that she would not as yetsurrender. 

Theodore Burton, when he reached the drawing-room, went up to his sisterand kissed her. Such a sign of the tenderness of love was not commonwith him, for he was one of those who are not usually demonstrative intheir affection. At the present moment he said nothing of what waspassing in his mind, nor did she. She simply raised her face to meet hislips, and pressed his hand as she held it. What need was there of anyfurther sign between them than this? Then they went to dinner, and theirmeal was eaten almost in silence. Almost every moment Cecilia's eye wason her sister-in-law. A careful observer, had there been one there, might have seen this; but, while they remained together down stairs, there occurred among them nothing else to mark that all was not wellwith them. 

Nor would the brother have spoken a word during the evening on thesubject that was so near to all their hearts had not Florence led theway. When they were at tea, and when Cecilia had already made up hermind that there was to be no further discussion that night, Florencesuddenly broke forth. 

"Theodore, " she said, "I have been thinking much about it, and I believeI had better go home, to Stratton, to-morrow. "

"Oh, no, " said Cecilia, eagerly. 

"I believe it will be better that I should, " continued Florence. "Isuppose it is very weak in me to own it; but I am unhappy, and, like thewounded bird, I feel that it will be well that I should hide myself. "

Cecilia was at her feet in a moment. "Dearest Flo, " she said, "is notthis your home as well as Stratton?"

"When I am able to be happy, it is. Those who have light hearts may havemore homes than one, but it is not so with those whose hearts are heavy. I think it will be best for me to go. "

"You shall do exactly as you please, " said her brother. "In such amatter I will not try to persuade you. I only wish that we could tend tocomfort you. "

"You do comfort me. If I know that you think I am doing right, that willcomfort me more than anything. Absolute and immediate comfort is not tobe had when one is sorrowful. "

"No, indeed, " said her brother. "Sorrow should not be killed tooquickly. I always think that those who are impervious to grief most beimpervious also to happiness. If you have feelings capable of the one, you must have them capable also of the other. "

"You should, wait, at any rate, till you get an answer from Mrs. Clavering, " said Cecilia. 

"I do not know that she has any answer to send to me. "

"Oh yes, she must answer you, if you will think of it. If she acceptswhat you have said--"

"She can not but accept it. "

"Then she must reply to you. There is something which you have asked herto send to you; and I think you should wait, at any rate, till itreaches you here. Mind, I do not think her answer will be of thatnature, but it is clear that you should wait for it, whatever it maybe. " Then Florence, with the concurrence of her brother's opinion, consented to remain in London for a few days, expecting the answer whichwould be sent by Mrs. Clavering; and after that no further discussiontook place as to her trouble. 

Chapter XLVII

The Sheep Returns To The Fold

Harry Clavering had spoken solemn words to his mother, during hisillness, which both he and she regarded as a promise that Florenceshould not be deserted by him. After that promise nothing more was saidbetween them on the subject for a few days. Mrs. Clavering was contentedthat the promise had been made, and Harry himself; in the weaknessconsequent upon his illness, was willing enough to accept the excusewhich his illness gave him for postponing any action in the matter. Butthe fever had left him, and he was sitting up in his mother's room, whenFlorence's letter reached the parsonage, and with the letter, the littleparcel which she herself had packed up so carefully. On the day beforethat a few words had passed between the rector and his wife, which willexplain the feelings of both of them in the matter. 

"Have you heard, " said he, speaking in a voice hardly above a whisper, although no third person was in the room, "that Harry is again thinkingof making Julia his wife?"

"He is not thinking of doing so, " said Mrs. Clavering. "They who say sodo him wrong. "

"It would be a great thing for him as regards money. "

"But he is engaged--and Florence Burton has been received here as hisfuture wife. I could not endure to think that it should be so. At anyrate, it is not true. "

"I only tell you what I heard, " said the rector, gently sighing, partlyin obedience to his wife's implied rebuke, and partly at the thoughtthat so grand a marriage should not be within his son's reach. Therector was beginning to be aware that Harry would hardly make a fortuneat the profession which he had chosen, and that a rich marriage would bean easy way out of all the difficulties which such a failure promised. The rector was a man who dearly loved easy ways out of difficulties. Butin such matters as these his wife he knew was imperative and powerful, and he lacked the courage to plead for a cause that was prudent, butungenerous. 

When Mrs. Clavering received the letter and parcel on the next morning, Harry Clavering was still in bed. With the delightful privilege of aconvalescent invalid, he was allowed in these days to get up just whengetting up became more comfortable than lying in bed, and that time didnot usually come till eleven o'clock was past; but the postman reachedthe Clavering parsonage by nine. The letter, as we know, was addressedto Mrs. Clavering herself, as was also the outer envelope whichcontained the packet; but the packet itself was addressed in Florence'sclear handwriting to Harry Clavering, Esq. 

"That is a large parcel to come by post, mamma, " said Fanny. 

"Yes, my dear; but it is something particular. "

"It's from some tradesman, I suppose, " said the rector. 

"No, it's not from a tradesman, " said Mrs. Clavering. But she saidnothing further, and both husband and daughter perceived that it was notintended that they should ask further questions. 

Fanny, as usual, had taken her brother his breakfast, and Mrs. Claveringdid not go up to him till that ceremony had been completed and removed. Indeed it was necessary that she should study Florence's letter in herown room before she could speak to him about it. What the parcelcontained she well knew, even before the letter had been thoroughlyread; and I need hardly say that the treasure was sacred in her hands. When she had finished the perusal of the letter there was a tear--agentle tear--in each eye. She understood it all, and could fathom thestrength and weakness of every word which Florence had written. But shewas such a woman--exactly such a woman--as Cecilia Burton had picturedto herself. Mrs. Clavering was good enough, great enough, true enough, clever enough to know that Harry's love for Florence should besustained, and his fancy for Lady Ongar overcome. At no time would shehave been proud to see her son prosperous only in the prosperity of awife's fortune; but she would have been thoroughly ashamed of him had heresolved to pursue such prosperity under his present circumstances. 

But her tears--though they were there in the corners of her eyes--werenot painful tears. Dear Florence! She is suffering bitterly now. Thisvery day would be a day of agony to her. There had been for her, doubtless, many days of agony during the past month. That the letter wastrue in all its words Mrs. Clavering did not doubt. That Florencebelieved that all was over between her and Harry, Mrs. Clavering was assure as Florence had intended that she should be. But all should not beover, and the days of agony should soon be at an end. Her boy hadpromised her, and to her he had always been true. And she understood, too, the way in which these dangers had come upon him, and her judgmentwas not heavy upon her son--her gracious boy, who had ever been so goodto her! It might be that he had been less diligent at his work than heshould have been--that on that account further delay would still benecessary; but Florence would forgive that, and he had promised thatFlorence should not be deserted. 

Then she took the parcel in her hands, and considered all itscircumstances--how precious had once been its contents, and how preciousdoubtless they still were, though they had been thus repudiated! And shethought of the moments--nay, rather the hours--which had been passed inthe packing of that little packet. She well understood how a girl wouldlinger over such dear pain, touching the things over and over again, allowing herself to read morsels of the letters at which she had alreadyforbidden herself even to look, till every word had been again seen andweighed, again caressed and again abjured. She knew how those littletrinkets would have been fondled! How salt had been the tears that hadfallen on them, and how carefully the drops would have been removed. Every fold in the paper of the two envelopes, with the little morsels ofwax just adequate for their purpose, told of the lingering, painful carewith which the work had been done. Ah! the parcel should go back at oncewith words of love that should put an end to all that pain. She who hadsent these loved things away, should have her letters again, and shouldtouch her little treasures with fingers that should take pleasure in thetouching. She should again read her lover's words with an enduringdelight. Mrs. Clavering understood it all, as though she were still agirl with a lover of her own. 

Harry was beginning to think that the time had come in which getting upwould be more comfortable than lying in bed, when his mother knocked athis door and entered his room. "I was just going to make a move, mother, " he said, having reached that stage of convalescence in whichsome shame comes upon the idler. 

"But I want to speak to you first, my dear, " said Mrs. Clavering. "Ihave got a letter for you, or rather a parcel. " Harry held out his hand, and, taking the packet, at once recognized the writing of the address. 

"You know from whom it comes, Harry?"

"Oh yes, mother. "

"And do you know what it contains?" Harry, still holding the packet, looked at it, but said nothing. "I know, " said his mother, "for she haswritten and told me. Will you see her letter to me?" Again Harry heldout his hand, but his mother did not at once give him the letter. "Firstof all, my dear, let us know that we understand each other. This deargirl--to me she is inexpressibly dear--is to be your wife. "

"Yes, mother, it shall be so. "

"That is my own boy! Harry, I have never doubted you--have never doubtedthat you would be right at last. Now you shall see her letter. But youmust remember that she has had cause to make her unhappy. "

"I will remember. "

"Had you not been ill, every thing would of course have been all rightbefore now. " As to the correctness of this assertion the reader probablywill have doubts of his own. Then she handed him the letter, and sat onhis bedside while he read it. At first he was startled, and made almostindignant at the firmness of the girl's words. She gave him up as thoughit were a thing quite decided, and uttered no expression of her ownregret in doing so. There was no soft woman's wail in her words. Butthere was in them something which made him unconsciously long to getback the thing which he had so nearly thrown away from him. Theyinspired him with a doubt whether he might yet succeed, which very doubtgreatly increased his desire. As he read the letter for the second time, Julia became less beautiful in his imagination; and the charm ofFlorence's character became stronger. 

"Well, dear, " said his mother, when she saw that he had finished thesecond reading of the epistle. 

He hardly knew how to express, even to his mother, all his feelings--theshame that he felt, and with the shame something of indignation that heshould have been so repulsed. And of his love, too, he was afraid tospeak. He was willing enough to give the required assurance, but afterthat he would have preferred to have been left alone. But his mothercould not leave him without some further word of agreement between themas to the course which they would pursue. 

"Will you write to her, mother, or shall I?"

"I shall write, certainly--by to-day's post. I would not leave her anhour, if I could help it, without an assurance of your unalteredaffection. "

"I could go to town to-morrow, mother--could I not?"

"Not to-morrow, Harry. It would be foolish. Say on Monday. "

"And you will write to-day?"

"Certainly. "

"I will send a line also--just a line. "

"And the parcel?"

"I have not opened it yet. "

"You know what it contains. Send it back at once, Harry--at once. If Iunderstand her feelings, she will not be happy till she gets it into herhands again. We will send Jem over to the post-office, and have itregistered. "

When so much was settled, Mrs. Clavering went away about the affairs ofher house, thinking as she did so of the loving words with which shewould strive to give back happiness to Florence Burton. 

Harry, when he was alone, slowly opened the parcel. He could not resistthe temptation of doing this, and of looking again at the things whichshe had sent back to him. And he was not without an idea--perhaps ahope--that there might be with them some short note--some scrapcontaining a few words for himself. If he had any such hope he wasdisappointed. There were his own letters, all scented with lavender fromthe casket in which they had been preserved; there was the rich braceletwhich had been given with some little ceremony, and the cheap broochwhich he had thrown to her as a joke, and which she had sworn that shewould value the most of all because she could wear it every day; andthere was the pencil-case which he had fixed on to her watch-chain, while her fingers were touching his fingers, caressing him for his lovewhile her words were rebuking him for his awkwardness. He remembered itall as the things lay strewed upon his bed. And he re-read every word ofhis own words. "What a fool a man makes of himself!" he said to himselfat last, with something of the cheeriness of laughter about his heart. But as he said so he was quite ready to make himself a fool after thesame fashion again, if only there were not in his way that difficulty ofrecommencing. Had it been possible for him to write again at once in theold strain, without any reference to his own conduct during the lastmonth, he would have begun his fooling without waiting to finish hisdressing. 

"Did you open the parcel?" his mother asked him, some hour or so beforeit was necessary that Jem should be started on his mission. 

"Yes, I thought it best to open it. "

"And have you made it up again?"

"Not yet, mother. "

"Put this with it, dear. " And his mother gave him a little jewel, acupid in mosaic surrounded by tiny diamonds, which he remembered her towear ever since he had first noticed the things she had worn. "Not fromme, mind. I give it to you. Come--will you trust me to pack them?" ThenMrs. Clavering again made up the parcel, and added the trinket which shehad brought with her. 

Harry at last brought himself to write a few words. 

 DEAREST, DEAREST FLORENCE:--They will not let me out, or I would go to you at once. My mother has written, and though I have not seen her letter, I know what it contains. Indeed, indeed you may believe it all. May I not venture to return the parcel? I do send it back, and implore you to keep it. I shall be in town, I think, on Monday, and will go to Onslow Crescent--instantly. 

 Your own, H. C. 

Then there was scrawled a postscript which was worth all the rest puttogether--was better than his own note, better than his mother's letter, better than the returned packet. "I love no one better than you--no onehalf so well--neither now, nor ever did. " These words, whether whollytrue or only partially so, were at least to the point, and were taken byCecilia Burton, when she heard of them, as a confession of faith thatdemanded instant and plenary absolution. 

The trouble which had called Harry down to Clavering remained I regretto say, almost in full force now that his prolonged visit had beenbrought so near its close. Mr. Saul, indeed, had agreed to resign hiscuracy, and was already on the look-out for similar employment in someother parish. And, since his interview with Fanny's father, he had neverentered the rectory or spoken to Fanny. Fanny had promised that thereshould be no such speaking, and, indeed, no danger of that kind wasfeared. Whatever Mr. Saul might do, he would do openly--nay, audaciously. But, though there existed this security, neverthelessthings as regarded Fanny were very unpleasant. When Mr. Saul hadcommenced his courtship, she had agreed with her family in almostridiculing the idea of such a lover. There had been a feeling with heras with the others, that poor Mr. Saul was to be pitied. Then she hadcome to regard his overtures as matters of grave import--not, indeed, avowing to her mother anything so strong as a return of his affection, but speaking of his proposal as one to which there was no otherobjection than that of a want of money. Now, however, she went mopingabout the house as though she were a victim of true love, condemned torun unsmoothly forever--as though her passion for Mr. Saul were too muchfor her, and she were waiting in patience till death should relieve herfrom the cruelty of her parents. She never complained. Such victimsnever do complain. But she moped and was wretched, and when her motherquestioned her, struggling to find out how strong this feeling might intruth be, Fanny would simply make her dutiful promises--promises whichwere wickedly dutiful--that she would never mention the name of Mr. Saulany more. Mr. Saul, in the mean time, went about his parish duties withgrim energy, supplying the rector's shortcomings without a word. Hewould have been glad to preach all the sermons and read all the servicesduring these six months, had he been allowed to do so. He was constantin the schools--more constant than ever in his visitings. He was verycourteous to Mr. Clavering when the necessities of their positionbrought them together. For all this, Mr. Clavering hated him--unjustly. For a man placed as Mr. Saul was placed, a line of conduct exactly levelwith that previously followed is impossible, and it was better that heshould become more energetic in his duties than less so. It will beeasily understood that all these things interfered much with the generalhappiness of the family at the rectory at this time. 

The Monday came, and Harry Clavering, now convalescent, and simplyinteresting from the remaining effects of his illness, started on hisjourney for London. There had come no further letters from OnslowTerrace to the parsonage, and, indeed, owing to the intervention ofSunday, none could have come unless Florence had written by return ofpost. Harry made his journey, beginning with some promise of happinessto himself; but becoming somewhat uneasy as his train drew near toLondon. He had behaved badly, and he knew that in the first place hemust own that he had done so. To men such a necessity is alwaysgrievous. Women not unfrequently like the task. To confess, submit, andbe accepted as confessing and submitting, comes naturally to thefeminine mind. The cry of peccavi sounds soft and pretty when made bysweet lips in a loving voice. But a man who can own that he has doneamiss without a pang--who can so own it to another man, or even to awoman--is usually but a poor creature. Harry must now make suchconfession, and therefore he became uneasy. And then, for him, there wasanother task behind the one which he would be called upon to performthis evening--a task which would have nothing of pleasantness in it toredeem its pain. He must confess not only to Florence--where hisconfession might probably have its reward--but he must confess also toJulia. This second confession would, indeed, be a hard task to him. That, however was to be postponed till the morrow. On this evening hehad pledged himself that he would go direct to Onslow Terrace, and thishe did as soon after he had reached his lodgings as was possible. It waspast six when he reached London, and it was not yet eight when, withpalpitating heart, he knocked at Mr. Burton's door. 

I must take the reader back with me for a few minutes, in order that wemay see after what fashion the letters from Clavering were received bythe ladies in Onslow Terrace. On that day Mr. Burton had been requiredto go out of London by one of the early trains, and had not been in thehouse when the postman came. Nothing had been said between Cecilia andFlorence as to their hopes or fears in regard to an answer fromClavering--nothing, at least, since that conversation in which Florencehad agreed to remain in London for yet a few days; but each of them wasvery nervous on the matter. Any answer, if sent at once from Clavering, would arrive on this morning, and, therefore, when the well-known knockwas heard, neither of them was able to maintain her calmness perfectly. But yet nothing was said, nor did either of them rise from her seat atthe breakfast table. Presently the girl came in with apparently a bundleof letters, which she was still sorting when she entered the room. Therewere two or three for Mr. Burton, two for Cecilia, and then two besidesthe registered packet for Florence. For that a receipt was needed, andas Florence had seen the address and recognized the writing, she washardly able to give her signature. As soon as the maid was gone Ceciliacould keep her seat no longer. "I know those are from Clavering, " shesaid, rising from her chair, and coming round to the side of the table. Florence instinctively swept the packet into her lap, and, leaningforward, covered the letters with her hands. "Oh, Florence, let us seethem--let us see them at once. If we are to be happy, let us know it. "But Florence paused, still leaning over her treasures, and hardly daringto show her burning face. Even yet it might be that she was rejected. Then Cecilia went back to her seat, and simply looked at her sister withbeseeching eyes. "I think I'll go up stairs, " said Florence. "Are youafraid of me, Flo?" Cecilia answered reproachfully. "Let me see theoutside of them. " Then Florence brought them round the table, and putthem into her sister's hands. "May I open this one from Mrs. Clavering?"Florence nodded her head. Then the seal was broken, and in one minutethe two women were crying in each other's arms. "I was quite sure ofit, " said Cecilia, through her tears--"perfectly sure. I never doubtedit for a moment. How could you have talked of going to Stratton?" Atlast Florence got herself away up to the window, and gradually musteredcourage to break the envelope of her lover's letter. It was not at oncethat she showed the postscript to Cecilia, nor at once that the packetwas opened. That last ceremony she did perform in the solitude of herown room. But before the day was over the postscript had been shown, andthe added trinket had been exhibited. "I remember it well, " saidFlorence. "Mrs. Clavering wore it on her forehead when we dined at LadyClavering's. " Mrs. Burton in all this saw something of the gentlepersuasion which the mother had used, but of that she said nothing. Thathe should be back again, and should have repented, was enough for her. 

Mr. Burton was again absent when Harry Clavering knocked in person atthe door, but on this occasion his absence had been specially arrangedby him with a view to Harry's comfort. "He won't want to see me thisevening, " he had said. "Indeed, you'll all get along a great deal betterwithout me. " He therefore had remained away from home, and, not being aclub man, had dined most uncomfortably at an eating-house. "Are theladies at home?" Harry asked, when the door was opened. Oh yes, theywere at home. There was no danger that they should be found out on suchan occasion as this. The girl looked at him pleasantly, calling him byhis name as she answered him, as though she too desired to show him thathe had again been taken into favor--into her favor as well as that ofher mistress. 

He hardly knew what he was doing as he ran up the steps to thedrawing-room. He was afraid of what was to come, but nevertheless herushed at his fate as some young soldier rushes at the trench in whichhe feels that he may probably fall. So Harry Clavering hurried on, andbefore he had looked round upon the room which he had entered, found hisfate with Florence on his bosom. 

Alas! alas! I fear that justice was outraged in the welcome that Harryreceived on that evening. I have said that he would be called upon toown his sins, and so much, at least, should have been required of him. But he owned no sin. I have said that a certain degradation must attendhim in that first interview after his reconciliation. Instead of this, the hours that he spent that evening in Onslow Terrace were hours of onelong ovation. He was, as it were, put upon a throne as a king who hadreturned from his conquest, and those two women did him honor, almostkneeling at his feet. Cecilia was almost as tender with him as Florence, pleading to her own false heart the fact of his illness as his excuse. There was something of the pallor of the sick-room left with him--aslight tenuity in his hands and brightness in his eye which did himyeoman's service. Had he been quite robust, Cecilia might have felt thatshe could not justify to herself the peculiar softness of her words. After the first quarter of an hour he was supremely happy. Hisawkwardness had gone, and as he sat with his arm round Florence's waist, he found that the little pencil-case had again been attached to herchain, and as he looked down upon her he saw that the cheap brooch wasagain on her breast. It would have been pretty, could an observer havebeen there, to see the skill with which they both steered clear of anyword or phrase which could be disagreeable to him. One might havethought that it would have been impossible to avoid all touch of arebuke. The very fact that he was forgiven would seem to imply somefault that required pardon. But there was no hint at any fault. The tactof women excels the skill of men and so perfect was the tact of these, that not a word was said which wounded Harry's ear. He had come againinto their fold, and they were rejoiced and showed their joy. He who hadgone astray had repented, and they were beautifully tender to therepentant sheep. 

Harry staid a little too long with his love--a little longer, at least, than had been computed, and, in consequence, met Theodore Burton in theCrescent as he was leaving it. This meeting could hardly be made withoutsomething of pain, and perhaps it was well for Harry that he should havesuch an opportunity as this for getting over it quickly. But when he sawMr. Burton under the bright gas-lamp, he would very willingly haveavoided him, had it been possible. 

"Well, Harry, " said Burton, giving his hand to the repentant sheep. 

"How are you, Burton?" said Harry, trying to speak with an unconcernedvoice. Then, in answer to an inquiry as to his health, he told of hisown illness, speaking of that confounded fever having made him very low. He intended no deceit, but he made more of the fever than was necessary. 

"When will you come back to the shop?" Burton asked. It must beremembered that, though the brother could not refuse to welcome back tohis home his sister's lover, still he thought that the engagement was amisfortune. He did not believe in Harry as a man of business, and hadalmost rejoiced when Florence had been so nearly quit of him. And nowthere was a taint of sarcasm in his voice as he asked as to Harry'sreturn to the chambers in the Adelphi. 

"I can hardly quite say as yet, " said Harry, still pleading his illness. "They were very much against my coming up to London so soon. Indeed, Ishould not have done it had I not felt so very--very anxious to seeFlorence. I don't know, Burton, whether I ought to say anything to youabout that. "

"I suppose you have said what you had to say to the women. "

"Oh yes. I think they understand me completely, and I hope that Iunderstand them. "

"In that case, I don't know that you need say anything to me. Come tothe Adelphi as soon as you can--that's all. I never think myself that aman becomes a bit stronger after an illness by remaining idle. " ThenHarry passed on, and felt that he had escaped easily in that interview. 

But as he walked home he was compelled to think of the step which hemust next take. When he had last seen Lady Ongar he had left her with apromise that Florence was to be deserted for her sake. As yet thatpromise would by her be supposed to be binding. Indeed, he had thoughtit to be binding on himself till he had found himself under his mother'sinfluence at the parsonage. During his last few weeks in London he hadendured an agony of doubt, but in his vacillations the pendulum hadalways veered more strongly toward Bolton Street than to OnslowCrescent. Now the swinging of the pendulum had ceased altogether. Fromhenceforth Bolton Street must be forbidden ground to him, and thesheepfold in Onslow Crescent must be his home till he should haveestablished a small peculiar fold for himself. But, as yet, he had stillbefore him the task of communicating his final decision to the lady inBolton Street. As he walked home he determined that he had better do soin the first place by letter, and so eager was he as to the propriety ofdoing this at once, that on his return to his lodgings he sat down andwrote the letter before he went to his bed. It was not very easilywritten. Here, at any rate, he had to make those confessions of which Ihave before spoken--confessions which it may be less difficult to makewith pen and ink than with spoken words, but which, when so made, aremore degrading. The word that is written is a thing capable of permanentlife, and lives frequently to the confusion of its parent. A man shouldmake his confessions always by word of mouth, if it be possible. Whethersuch a course would have been possible to Harry Clavering may bedoubtful. It might have been that in a personal meeting the necessaryconfession would not have got itself adequately spoken. Thinking, perhaps, of this, he wrote his letter as follows on that night:

 BLOOMSBURY SQUARE, July, 186-. 

The date was easily written, but how was he to go on after that? In whatform of affection or indifference was he to address her whom he had atthat last meeting called his own, his dearest Julia? He got out of hisdifficulty ill the way common to ladies and gentlemen under such stress, and did not address her by any name or any epithet. The date he allowedto remain, and then he went away at once to the matter of his subject. 

 I feel that I owe it you at once to tell you what has been my history during the last few weeks. I came up from Clavering to-day, and have since that been with Mrs. And Miss Burton. Immediately on my return from them I sit down to write you. 

After having said so much, Harry probably felt that the rest of hisletter would be surplusage. Those few words would tell her all that itwas required that she should know. But courtesy demanded that he shouldsay more, and he went on with his confession. 

 You know that I became engaged to Miss Burton soon after your own marriage. I feel now that I should have told you this when we first met; but yet, had I done so, it would have seemed as though I told it with a special object. I don't know whether I make myself understood in this. I can only hope that I do so. 

Understood! Of course she understood it all. She required no blunderingexplanation from him to assist her intelligence. 

 I wish now that I had mentioned it. It would have been better for both of us. I should have been saved much pain, and you, perhaps, some uneasiness. 

 I was called down to Clavering a few weeks ago about some business in the family, and then became ill, so that I was confined to my bed instead of returning to town. Had it not been for this I should not have left you so long in suspense--that is, if there has been suspense. For myself, I have to own that I have been very weak--worse than weak, I fear you will think. I do not know whether your old regard for me will prompt you to make any excuse for me, but I am well sure that I can make none for myself which will not have suggested itself to you without my urging it. If you choose to think that I have been heartless--or, rather, if you are able so to think of me, no words of mine, written or spoken now, will remove that impression from your mind. 

 I believe that I need write nothing further. You will understand from what I have said all that I should have to say were I to refer at length to that which has passed between us. All that is over now, and it only remains for me to express a hope that you may be happy. Whether we shall ever see each other again, who shall say? but if we do I trust that we may not meet as enemies. May God bless you here and hereafter. 

 HARRY CLAVERING

When the letter was finished, Harry sat for a while by his open windowlooking at the moon, over the chimney-pots of his square, and thinkingof his career in life as it had hitherto been fulfilled. The greatpromise of his earlier days had not been kept. His plight in the worldwas now poor enough, though his hopes had been so high. He was engagedto be married, but had no income on which to marry. He had narrowlyescaped great wealth. Ah! it was hard for him to think of that without aregret; but he did strive so to think of it. Though he told himself thatit would have been evil for him to have depended on money which had beenprocured by the very act which had been to him an injury--to havedressed himself in the feathers which had been plucked from Lord Ongar'swings--it was hard for him to think of all he had missed, and rejoicethoroughly that he had missed it. But he told himself that he sorejoiced, and endeavored to be glad that he had not soiled his handswith riches which never would have belonged to the woman he had lovedhad she not earner them by being false to him. Early on the followingmorning he sent off his letter, and then, putting himself into a cab, bowled down to Onslow Crescent. The sheepfold was now very pleasant tohim when the head shepherd was away, and so much gratification it wasnatural that he should allow himself. 

That evening, when he came from his club, he found a note from LadyOngar. It was very short, and the blood rushed to his face as he feltashamed at seeing with how much apparent ease she had answered him. Hehad written with difficulty, and had written awkwardly. But there wasnothing awkward in her words:

 DEAR HARRY:--We are quits now. I do not know why we should ever meet as enemies. I shall never feel myself to be an enemy of yours. I think it would be well that we should see each other, and, if you have no objection to seeing me, I will be at home any evening that you may call. Indeed, I am at home always in the evening. Surely, Harry, there can be no reason why we should not meet. You need not fear that there will be danger in it. 

 Will you give my compliments to Miss Florence Burton, with my best wishes for her happiness? Your Mrs. Burton I have seen--as you may have heard, and I congratulate you on your friend. Yours always, J. O. 

The writing of this letter seemed to have been easy enough, andcertainly there was nothing in it that was awkward; but I think that thewriter had suffered more in the writing than Harry had done in producinghis longer epistle. But she had known how to hide her suffering, and hadused a tone which told no tale of her wounds. We are quits now, she hadsaid, and she had repeated the words over and over again to herself asshe walked up and down her room. Yes, they were quits now, if thereflection of that fact could do her any good. She had ill-treated himin her early days; but, as she had told herself so often, she had servedhim rather than injured him by that ill-treatment. She had been false tohim; but her falsehood had preserved him from a lot which could not havebeen fortunate. With such a clog as she would have been round hisneck--with such a wife, without a shilling of fortune, how could he haverisen in the world? No! Though she had deceived him, she had served him. Then, after that, had come the tragedy of her life, the terrible days inthinking of which she still shuddered, the days of her husband andSophie Gordeloup--that terrible death-bed, those attacks upon her honor, misery upon misery, as to which she never now spoke a word to any one, and as to which she was resolved she never would speak again. She hadsold herself for money, and had got the price, but the punishment of heroffence had been very heavy. And now, in these latter days, she hadthought to compensate the man she had loved for the treachery with whichshe had used him. That treachery had been serviceable to him, but notthe less should the compensation be very rich. And she would love himtoo. Ah! yes, she had always loved him. He should have it all now--everything, if only he would consent to forget that terrible episode in herlife, as she would strive to forget it. All that should remain to remindthem of Lord Ongar would be the wealth that should henceforth belong toHarry Clavering. Such had been her dream, and Harry had come to her withwords of love which made it seem to be a reality. He had spoken to herwords of love which he was now forced to withdraw, and the dream wasdissipated. It was not to be allowed to her to escape her penalty soeasily as that! As for him, they were now quits. That being the case, there could be no reason why they should quarrel. 

But what now should she do with her wealth, and especially how shouldshe act in respect to that place down in the country? Though she hadlearned to hate Ongar Park during her solitary visit there, she hadstill looked forward to the pleasure the property might give her whenshe should be able to bestow it upon Harry Clavering. But that had beenpart of her dream, and the dream was now over. Through it all she hadbeen conscious that she might hardly dare to hope that the end of herpunishment should come so soon--and now she knew that it was not come. As far as she could see, there was no end to the punishment in prospectfor her. From her first meeting with Harry Clavering on the platform ofthe railway station, his presence, or her thoughts of him, had sufficedto give some brightness to her life--had enabled her to support thefriendship of Sophie Gordeloup, and also to support her solitude whenpoor Sophie had been banished. But now she was left without anyresource. As she sat alone, meditating on all this, she endeavored toconsole herself with the repetition that, after all, she was the onewhom Harry loved--whom Harry would have chosen had he been free tochoose. But the comfort to be derived from that was very poor. Yes, hehad loved her once--nay, perhaps he loved her still. But when that lovewas her own she had rejected it. She had rejected it, simply declaringto him, to her friends, and to the world at large, that she preferred tobe rich. She had her reward, and, bowing her head upon her hands, sheacknowledged that the punishment was deserved. 

Her first step after writing her note to Harry was to send for Mr. Turnbull, her lawyer. She had expected to see Harry on the evening ofthe day on which she had written, but instead of that she received anote from him in which he said that he would come to her before long. Mr. Turnbull was more instant in obeying her commands, and was with heron the morning after he received her injunction. He was almost a perfectstranger to her, having only seen her once, and that for a few momentsafter her return to England. Her marriage settlements had been preparedfor her by Sir Hugh's attorney; but during her sojourn in Florence ithad become necessary that she should have some one in London to lookafter her own affairs, and Mr. Turnbull had been recommended to her bylawyers employed by her husband. He was a prudent, sensible man, whorecognized it to be his imperative interest to look after his client'sinterest. And he had done his duty by Lady Ongar in that trying timeimmediately after her return. An offer had then been made by the Courtonfamily to give Julia her income without opposition if she wouldsurrender Ongar Park. To this she had made objections with indignation, and Mr. Turnbull, though he had at first thought that she would be wiseto comply with the terms proposed, had done her work for her withsatisfactory expedition. Since those days she had not seen him, but nowshe had summoned him, and he was with her in Bolton Street. 

"I want to speak to you, Mr. Turnbull, " she said, "about that place downin Surrey. I don't like it. "

"Not like Ongar Park?" he said, "I have always heard that it is socharming. "

"It is not charming to me. It is a sort of property that I don't want, and I mean to give it up. "

"Lord Ongar's uncles would buy your interest in it, I have no doubt. "

"Exactly. They have sent to me, offering to do so. My brother-in-law, Sir Hugh Clavering, called on me with a message from them saying so. Ithought that he was very foolish to come, and so I told him. Such thingsshould be done by one's lawyers. Don't you think so, Mr. Turnbull?" Mr. Turnbull smiled as he declared that, of course, he, being a lawyer, wasof that opinion. "I am afraid they will have thought me uncivil, "continued Julia, "as I spoke rather brusquely to Sir Hugh Clavering. Iam not inclined to take any steps through Sir Hugh Clavering, but I donot know that I have any reason to be angry with the little lord'sfamily. "

"Really, Lady Ongar, I think not. When your ladyship returned there wassome opposition thought of for a while, but I really do not think it wastheir fault. "

"No, it was not their fault. "

"That was my feeling at the time; it was, indeed. "

"It was the fault of Lord Ongar--of my husband. As regards all theCourtons, I have no word of complaint to make. It is not to beexpected--it is not desirable that they and I should be friends. It isimpossible, after what has passed, that there should be such friendship. But they have never injured me, and I wish to oblige them. Had OngarPark suited me, I should doubtless have kept it; but it does not suitme, and they are welcome to have it back again. 

"Has a price been named, Lady Ongar?"

"No price need be named. There is to be no question of a price. LordOngar's mother is welcome to the place--or rather to such interest as Ihave in it. "

"And to pay a rent?" suggested Mr. Turnbull. 

"To pay no rent. Nothing would induce me to let the place, or to sell myright in it. I will have no bargain about it. But as nothing also willinduce me to live there, I am not such a dog in the manger as to wish tokeep it. If you will have the kindness to see Mr. Courton's lawyer, andto make arrangements about it. "

"But, Lady Ongar, what you call your right in the estate is worth overtwenty thousand pounds--it is, indeed. You could borrow twenty thousandpounds on the security of it to-morrow. "

"But I don't want to borrow twenty thousand pounds. "

"No, no, exactly--of course you don't. But I point out that fact to showthe value. You would be making a present of that sum of money to peoplewho do not want it--who have no claim upon you. I really don't see howthey could take it. "

"Mrs. Courton wishes to have the place very much. "

"But, my lady, she has never thought of getting it without paying forit. Lady Ongar, I really can not advise you to take any such step asthat--indeed, I can not. I should be wrong, as your lawyer, if I did notpoint out to you that such a proceeding would be quite romantic--quiteso--what the world would call Quixotic. People don't expect such thingsas that--they don't, indeed. "

"People don't often have such reasons as I have, " said Lady Ongar. Mr. Turnbull sat silent for a while, looking as though he were unhappy. Theproposition made to him was one which, as a lawyer, he felt to be verydistasteful to him. He knew that his client had no male friends in whomshe confided, and he felt that the world would blame him if he allowedthis lady to part with her property in the way she had suggested. "Youwill find that I am in earnest, " she continued, smiling, "and you may aswell give way to my vagaries with a good grace. "

"They would not take it, Lady Ongar. "

"At any rate, we can try them. If you will make them understand that Idon't at all want the place, and that it will go to rack and ruinbecause there is no one to live there, I am sure they will take it. "

Then Mr. Turnbull again sat silent and unhappy, thinking with what wordshe might best bring forward his last and strongest argument against thisrash proceeding. 

"Lady Ongar, " he said, "in your peculiar position, there are doublereasons why you should not act in this way. "

"What do you mean, Mr. Turnbull? What is my peculiar position?"

"The world will say that you have restored Ongar Park because you wereafraid to keep it. Indeed, Lady Ongar, you had better let it remain asit is. "

"I care nothing for what the world says, " she exclaimed, rising quicklyfrom her chair--"nothing, nothing!"

"You should really hold by your rights--you should, indeed. Who canpossibly say what other interests may be concerned? You may marry, andlive for the next fifty years, and have a family. It is my duty, LadyOngar, to point out these things to you. "

"I am sure you are quite right, Mr. Turnbull. " she said, struggling tomaintain a quiet demeanor. "You, of course, are only doing your duty. But whether I marry or whether I remain as I am, I shall give up thisplace. And as for what the world, as you call it, may say, I will notdeny that I cared much for that on my immediate return. What people saidthen made me very unhappy. But I care nothing for it now. I haveestablished my rights, and that has been sufficient. To me it seems thatthe world, as you call it, has been civil enough in its usage of melately. It is only of those who should have been my friends that I havea right to complain. If you will please to do this thing for me, I willbe obliged to you. "

"If you are quite determined about it--"

"I am quite determined. What is the use of the place to me? I nevershall go there. What is the use even of the money that comes to me? Ihave no purpose for it. I have nothing to do with it. "

There was something in her tone as she said this which well filled himwith pity. 

"You should remember, " he said, "how short a time it is since you becamea widow. Things will be different with you soon. "

"My clothes will be different, if you mean that, " she answered, "but Ido not know that there will be any other change in me. But I am wrong totrouble you with all this. If you will let Mr. Courton's lawyer know, with my compliments to Mrs. Courton, that I have heard that she wouldlike to have the place, and that I do not want it, I will be obliged toyou. " Mr. Turnbull having by this time perceived that she was quite inearnest, took his leave, having promised to do her bidding. 

In this interview she had told her lawyer only a part of the plan whichwas now running in her head. As for giving up Ongar Park, she took toherself no merit for that. The place had been odious to her ever sinceshe had endeavored to establish herself there, and had found that theclergyman's wife would not speak to her--that even her own housekeeperwould hardly condescend to hold converse with her. She felt that shewould be a dog in the manger to keep the place in her possession. Butshe had thoughts beyond this--resolutions only as yet half formed as toa wider surrender. She had disgraced herself, ruined herself; robbedherself of all happiness by the marriage she had made. Her misery hadnot been simply the misery of that lord's lifetime. As might have beenexpected, that was soon over. But an enduring wretchedness had comeafter that from which she saw no prospect of escape. What was to be herfuture life, left as she was and would be, in desolation? If she were togive it all up--all the wealth that had been so ill-gotten--might therenot then be some hope of comfort for her?

She had been willing enough to keep Lord Ongar's money, and use it forthe purposes of her own comfort, while she had still hoped that comfortmight come from it. The remembrance of all that she had to give had beenvery pleasant to her, as long as she had hoped that Harry Claveringwould receive it at her hands. She had not at once felt that the fruithad all turned to ashes. But now--now that Harry was gone from her--nowthat she had no friend left to her whom she could hope to make happy byher munificence, the very knowledge of her wealth was a burden to her. And as she thought of her riches in these first days of her desertion, as she had indeed been thinking since Cecilia Burton had been with her, she came to understand that she was degraded by their acquisition. Shehad done that which had been unpardonably bad, and she felt like Judaswhen he stood with the price of his treachery in his hand. He had givenup his money, and would not she do as much? There had been a moment inwhich she had nearly declared all her purpose to the lawyer, but she washeld back by the feeling that she ought to make her plans certain beforeshe communicated them to him. 

She must live. She could not go out and hang herself as Judas had done. And then there was her title and rank, of which she did not know whetherit was within her power to divest herself. She sorely felt the want ofsome one from whom in her present need she might ask counsel; of somefriend to whom she could trust to tell her in what way she might nowbest atone for the evil she had done. Plans ran through her head whichwere thrown aside almost as soon as made, because she saw that they wereimpracticable. She even longed in these days for her sister's aid, though of old she had thought but little of Hermy as a counsellor. Shehad no friend whom she might ask--unless she might still ask HarryClavering. 

If she did not keep it all, might she still keep something--enough fordecent life--and yet comfort herself with the feeling that she hadexpiated her sin? And what would be said of her when she had made thisgreat surrender? Would not the world laugh at her instead of praisingher--that world as to which she had assured Mr. Turnbull that she didnot care what its verdict about her might be? She had many doubts. Ah!why had not Harry Clavering remained true to her? But her punishment hadcome upon her with all its severity, and she acknowledged to herself nowthat it was not to be avoided. 

Chapter XLVIII

Lady Ongar's Revenge

At last came the night which Harry had fixed for his visit to BoltonStreet. He had looked forward certainly with no pleasure to theinterview, and, now that the time for it had come, was disposed to thinkthat Lady Ongar had been unwise in asking for it. But he had promisedthat he would go, and there was no possible escape. 

He dined that evening in Onslow Crescent, where he was now againestablished with all his old comfort. He had again gone up to thechildren's nursery with Cecilia, had kissed them all in their cots, andmade himself quite at home in the establishment. It was with them thereas though there had been no dreadful dream about Lady Ongar. It was soaltogether with Cecilia and Florence, and even Mr. Burton was allowinghimself to be brought round to a charitable view of Harry's character. Harry on this day had gone to the chambers in the Adelphi for an hour, and, walking away with Theodore Burton, had declared his intention ofworking like a horse. "If you were to say like a man, it would perhapsbe better, " said Burton. "I must leave you to say that, " answered Harry;"for the present I will content myself with the horse. " Burton waswilling to hope, and allowed himself once more to fill into his oldpleasant way of talking about the business, as though there were noother subject under the sun so full of manifold interest. He was verykeen at the present moment about Metropolitan railways, and wasridiculing the folly of those who feared that the railway projectorswere going too fast. "But we shall never get any thanks, " he said. "Whenthe thing has been done, and thanks are over due, people will look uponall our work so much as a matter of course that it will never occur tothem to think that they owe us anything. They will have forgotten alltheir cautions, and will take what they get as though it were simplytheir due. Nothing astonishes me so much as the fear people feel beforea thing is done when I join it with their want of surprise or admirationafterward. " In this way even Theodore Burton had resumed his terms ofintimacy with Harry Clavering. 

Harry had told both Cecilia and Florence of his intended visit to BoltonStreet, and they had all become very confidential on the subject. Inmost such cases, we may suppose that a man does not say much to onewoman of the love which another woman has acknowledged for himself. Norwas Harry Clavering at all disposed to make any such boast. But in thiscase, Lady Ongar herself had told everything to Mrs. Burton. She haddeclared her passion, and had declared also her intention of makingHarry her husband if he would take her. Everything was known, and therewas no possibility of sparing Lady Ongar's name. 

"If I had been her, I would not have asked for such a meeting, " Ceciliasaid. The three were at this time sitting together, for Mr. Burtonrarely joined them in their conversation. 

"I don't know, " said Florence. "I do not see why she and Harry shouldnot remain as friends. "

"They might be friends without meeting now, " said Cecilia. 

"Hardly. If the awkwardness were not got over at once, it would never begot over. I almost think she is right, though if I was her I should longto have it over. " That was Florence's judgment in the matter. Harry satbetween them, like a sheep as he was, very meekly--not without someenjoyment of his sheepdom, but still feeling that he was a sheep. Athalf-past eight he started up, having already been told that a cab waswaiting for him at the door. He pressed Cecilia's hand as he went, indicating his feeling that he had before him an affair of somemagnitude, and then, of course, had a word or two to say to Florence inprivate on the landing. Oh, those delicious private words, the need forwhich comes so often during those short halcyon days of one's lifetime!They were so pleasant that Harry would fain have returned to repeat themafter he was seated in his cab; but the inevitable wheels carried himonward with cruel velocity, and he was in Bolton Street before theminutes had sufficed for him to collect his thoughts. 

Lady Ongar, when he entered the room, was sitting in her accustomedchair, near a little work-table which she always used, and did not riseto meet him. It was a pretty chair, soft and easy, made with a back forlounging, but with no arms to impede the circles of a lady's hoops. Harry knew the chair well, and had spoken of sits graceful comfort insome of his visits to Bolton Street. She was seated there when heentered; and though he was not sufficiently experienced in the secretsof feminine attire to know at once that she had dressed herself withcare, he did perceive that she was very charming, not only by force ofher own beauty, but by the aid also of her dress. And yet she was indeep mourning--in the deepest mourning; nor was there anything about herof which complaint might fairly be made by those who do complain on suchsubjects. Her dress was high round her neck, and the cap on her head wasindisputably a widow's cap; but enough of her brown hair was to be seento tell of its rich loveliness; and the black dress was so made as toshow the full perfection of her form; and with it all there was thatgraceful feminine brightness that care and money can always give, andwhich will not come without care and money. It might be well, she hadthought, to surrender her income, and become poor and dowdy hereafter, but there could be no reason why Harry Clavering should not be made toknow all that he had lost. 

"Well, Harry, " she said, as he stepped up to her and took her offeredhand, "I am glad that you have come that I may congratulate you. Betterlate than never, eh, Harry?"

How was he to answer her when she spoke to him in this strain? "I hopeit is not too late, " he said, hardly knowing what the words were whichwere coming from his mouth. 

"Nay, that is for you to say. I can do it heartily, Harry, if you meanthat. And why not? Why should I not wish you happy? I have always likedyou--have always wished for your happiness. You believe that I amsincere when I congratulate you, do you not?"

"Oh yes, you are always sincere. "

"I have always been so to you. As to any sincerity beyond that, we needsay nothing now. I have always been your good friend--to the best of myability. Ah! Harry, you do not know how much I have thought of yourwelfare--how much I do think of it. But never mind that. Tell mesomething now of this Florence Burton of yours. Is she tall?" I believethat Lady Ongar, when she asked this question, knew well that Florencewas short of stature. 

"No, she is not tall, " said Harry. 

"What--a little beauty? Upon the whole, I think I agree with your taste. The most lovely women that I have ever seen have been small, bright, andperfect in their proportions. It is very rare that a tall woman has aperfect figure. " Julie's own figure was quite perfect. "Do you rememberConstance Vane? Nothing ever exceeded her beauty. " Now ConstanceVane--she, at least, who had in those days been Constance Vane, but whonow was the stout mother of two or three children--had been a waxen dollof a girl, whom Harry had known, but had neither liked nor admired. Butshe was highly bred, and belonged to the cream of English fashion; shehad possessed a complexion as pure in its tints as are the interiorleaves of a blush rose, and she had never had a thought in her head, andhardly ever a word on her lips. She and Florence Burton were as polesasunder in their differences. Harry felt this at once, and had anindistinct notion that Lady Ongar was as well aware of the fact as washe himself. "She is not a bit like Constance Vane, " he said. 

"Then what is she like? If she is more beautiful than what Miss Vaneused to be, she must be lovely indeed. "

"She has no pretensions of that kind, " said Harry, almost sulkily. 

"I have heard that she was so very beautiful!" Lady Ongar had neverheard a word about Florence's beauty--not a word. She knew nothingpersonally of Florence beyond what Mrs. Burton had told her. But whowill not forgive her the little deceit that was necessary to her littlerevenge?

"I don't know how to describe her, " said Harry. "I hope the time maysoon come when you will see her, and be able to judge for yourself. "

"I hope so too. It shall not be my fault if I do not like her. "

"I do not think you can fail to like her. She is very clever, and thatwill go further with you than mere beauty. Not but what I think hervery--very pretty. "

"Ah! I understand. She reads a great deal, and that sort of thing. Yes, that is very nice. But I shouldn't have thought that that would havetaken you. You used not to care much for talent and learning--not inwomen, I mean. "

"I don't know about that, " said Harry, looking very foolish. 

"But a contrast is what you men always like. Of course I ought not tosay that, but you will know of what I am thinking. A clever, highly-educated woman like Miss Burton will be a much better companionto you than I could have been. You see I am very frank, Harry. " Shewished to make him talk freely about himself; his future days, and hispast days, while he was simply anxious to say on these subjects aslittle as possible. Poor woman! The excitement of having a passion whichshe might indulge was over with her--at any rate, for the present. Shehad played her game and had lost woefully; but before she retiredaltogether from the gaming-table she could not keep herself from longingfor a last throw of the dice. 

"These things, I fear, go very much by chance, " said Harry. 

"You do not mean me to suppose that you are taking Miss Burton bychance. That would be as uncomplimentary to her as to yourself. "

"Chance, at any rate, has been very good to me in this instance. "

"Of that I am sure. Do not suppose that I am doubting that. It is notonly the paradise that you have gained, but the pandemonium that youhave escaped!" Then she laughed slightly, but the laughter was uneasy, and made her angry with herself. She had especially determined to be atease during this meeting, and was conscious that any falling off in thatrespect on her part would put into his hands the power which she wasdesirous of exercising. 

"You are determined to rebuke me, I see, " said he. "If you choose to doso, I am prepared to bear it. My defence, if I have a defence, is onethat I can not use. "

"And what would be your defence?"

"I have said that I can not use it!"

"As if I did not understand it all! What you mean to say is this--thatwhen your good stars sent you in the way of Florence Burton, you hadbeen ill treated by her who would have made your pandemonium for you, and that she therefore--she who came first, and behaved so badly, canhave no right to find fault with you in that you have obeyed your goodstars and done so well for yourself. That is what you call your defence. It would be perfect, Harry, perfect, if you had only whispered to me aword of Miss Burton when I first saw you after my return home. It is oddto me that you should not have written to me and told me when I wasabroad with my husband. It would have comforted me to have known thatthe wound which I had given had been cured--that is, if there was awound. "

"You know that there was a wound. "

"At any rate, it was not mortal. But when are such wounds mortal? Whenare they more than skin-deep?"

"I can say nothing as to that now. "

"No, Harry, of course you can say nothing. Why should you be made to sayanything? You are fortunate and happy, and have all that you want. Ihave nothing that I want. "

There was a reality in the tone of sorrow in which this was spoken whichmelted him at once, and the more so in that there was so much in hergrief which could not but be flattering to his vanity. "Do not say that, Lady Ongar, " he exclaimed. 

"But I do say it. What have I got in the world that is worth having? Mypossessions are ever so many thousands a year--and a damaged name. "

"I deny that. I deny it altogether. I do not think that there is one whoknows of your story who believes ill of you. "

"I could tell you of one, Harry, who thinks very ill of me--nay, of two;and they are both in this room. Do you remember how you used to teach methat terribly conceited bit of Latin--Nil conscire sibi? Do you supposethat I can boast that I never grow pale as I think of my own fault? I amthinking of it always, and my heart is ever becoming paler and paler. And as to the treatment of others--I wish I could make you know what Isuffered when I was fool enough to go to that place in Surrey. Thecoachman who drives me no doubt thinks that I poisoned my husband, andthe servant who let you in just now supposes me to be an abandoned womanbecause you are here. "

"You will be angry with me, perhaps, if I say that these feelings aremorbid and will die away. They show the weakness which has come from theill usage you have suffered. "

"You are right in part, no doubt. I shall become hardened to it all, andshall fall into some endurable mode of life in time. But I can lookforward to nothing. What future have I? Was there ever any one soutterly friendless as I am? Your kind cousin has done that for me; andyet he came here to me the other day, smiling and talking as though hewere sure that I should be delighted by his condescension. I do notthink that he will ever come again. "

"I did not know you had seen him. "

"Yes; I saw him, but I did not find much relief from his visit. We won'tmind that, however. We can talk about something better than HughClavering during the few minutes that we have together--can we not? Andso Miss Burton is very learned and very clever?"

"I did not quite say that. "

"But I know she is. What a comfort that will be to you! I am not clever, and I never should have become learned. Oh dear! I had but one merit, Harry--I was fond of you. "

"And how did you show it?" He did not speak these words, because hewould not triumph over her, nor was he willing to express that regret onhis own part which these words would have implied; but it was impossiblefor him to avoid a thought of them. He remained silent, therefore, taking up some toy from the table into his hands, as though that wouldoccupy his attention. 

"But what a fool I am talk of it--am I not? And I am worse than a fool. I was thinking of you when I stood up in church to be married--thinkingof that offer of your little savings. I used to think of you at everyharsh word that I endured--of your modes of life when I sat throughthose terrible nights by that poor creature's bed--of you when I knewthat the last day was coming. I thought of you always, Harry, when Icounted up my gains. I never count them up now. Ah! how I thought of youwhen I came to this house in the carriage which you had provided for me, when I had left you at the station almost without speaking a word toyou! I should have been more gracious had I not had you in my thoughtsthroughout my whole journey home from Florence. And after that I hadsome comfort in believing that the price of my shame might make you richwithout shame. Oh, Harry, I have been disappointed! You will neverunderstand what I felt when first that evil woman told me of MissBurton. "

"Oh, Julia, what am I to say?"

"You can say nothing; but I wonder that you had not told me. "

"How could I tell you? Would it not have seemed that I was vain enoughto have thought of putting you on your guard?"

"And why not? But never mind. Do not suppose that I am rebuking you. AsI said in my letter, we are quits now, and there is no place forscolding on either side. We are quits now; but I am punished and you arerewarded. "

Of course he could not answer this. Of course he was hard pressed forwords. Of course he could neither acknowledge that he had been rewarded, nor assert that a share of the punishment of which she spoke had fallenupon him also. This was the revenge with which she had intended toattack him. That she should think that he had in truth been punished andnot rewarded, was very natural. Had he been less quick in forgetting herafter her marriages he would have had his reward without any punishment. If such were her thoughts who shall quarrel with her on that account?

"I have been very frank with you, " she continued. "Indeed, why should Inot be so? People talk of a lady's secret, but my secret has been nosecret from you? That I was made to tell it under--under--what I willcall an error, was your fault, and it is that that has made us quits. "

"I know that I have behaved badly to you. "

"But then, unfortunately, you know also that I had deserved badtreatment. Well, we will say no more about it. I have been very candidwith you, but then I have injured no one by my candor. You have not saida word to me in reply; but then your tongue is tied by your duty to MissBurton--your duty and your love together, of course. It is all as itshould he, and now I will have done. When are you to be married, Harry?"

"No time has been flied. I am a very poor man, you know. "

"Alas! alas! yes. When mischief is done, how badly all the things turnout. You are poor and I am rich, and yet we can not help each other. "

"I fear not. "

"Unless I could adopt Miss Burton, and be a sort of mother to her. Youwould shrink, however, from any such guardianship on my part. But youare clever, Harry, and can work when you please, and will make your way?If Miss Burton keeps you waiting now by any prudent fear on her part, Ishall not think so well of her as I am inclined to do. "

"The Burtons are all prudent people. "

"Tell her, from me, with my love, not to be too prudent. I thought to beprudent, and see what has come of it. "

"I will tell her what you say. "

"Do, please; and, Harry, look here. Will she accept a little presentfrom me? You, at any rate, for my sake, will ask her to do so. Give herthis--it is only a trifle, " and she put her hand on a small jeweler'sbox which was close to her arm upon the table, "and tell her--of courseshe knows all our story, Harry?"

"Yes, she knows it all. "

"Tell her that she whom you have rejected sends it with her kindestwishes to her whom you have taken. "

"No, I will not tell her that. "

"Why not? It is all true. I have not poisoned the little ring, as theladies would have done some centuries since. They were grander then thanwe are now, and perhaps hardly worse, though more cruel. You will bidher take it, will you not?"

"I am sure she will take it without bidding on my part. "

"And tell her not to write me any thanks. She and I will both understandthat that had better be omitted. If, when I shall see her at some futuretime as your wife, it shall be on her finger, I shall know that I amthanked. " Then Harry rose to go. "I did not mean by that to turn youout, but perhaps it may be as well. I have no more to say; and as foryou, you can not but wish that the penance should be over. " Then hepressed her hand, and with some muttered farewell, bade her adieu. Againshe did not rise from her chair, but, nodding at him with a sweet smile, let him go without another word. 

Chapter XLIX

Showing What Happened Off Heligoland

During the six weeks after this, Harry Clavering settled down to hiswork at the chambers in the Adelphi with exemplary diligence. Florence, having remained a fortnight in town after Harry's return to thesheepfold, and having accepted Lady Ongar's present--not without a longand anxious consultation with her sister-in-law on the subject--hadreturned in fully restored happiness to Stratton. Mrs. Burton was atRamsgate with the children, and Mr. Burton was in Russia with referenceto a line of railway which was being projected from Moscow to Astracan. It was now September, and Harry, in his letters home, declared that hewas the only person left in London. It was hard upon him--much harderthan it was upon the Wallikers and other young men whom Fate retained intown for Harry was a man given to shooting--a man accustomed to pass theautumnal months in a country house. And then, if things had chanced togo one way instead of another, he would have had his own shooting downat Ongar Park with his own friends--admiring him at his heels; or, ifnot so this year, he would have been shooting elsewhere with theprospect of these rich joys for years to come. As it was, he hadpromised to stick to the shop, and was sticking to it manfully. Nor do Ithink that he allowed his mind to revert to those privileges which mighthave been his at all more frequently than any of my readers would havedone in his place. He was sticking to the shop; and, though he greatlydisliked the hot desolation of London in those days, being absolutelyafraid to frequent his club at such a period of the year, and though hehated Walliker mortally, he was fully resolved to go on with his work. Who could tell what might be his fate? Perhaps in another ten years hemight be carrying that Russian railway on through the deserts ofSiberia. Then there came to him suddenly tidings which disturbed all hisresolutions, and changed the whole current of his life. 

At first there came a telegram to him from the country, desiring him togo down at once to Clavering, but not giving him any reason. Added tothe message were these words: "We are all well at the parsonage"--wordsevidently added in thoughtfulness. But before he had left the office, there came to him there a young man from the bank at which his cousinHugh kept his account, telling him the tidings to which the telegram nodoubt referred. Jack Stuart's boat had been lost, and his two cousinshad gone to their graves beneath the sea! The master of the boat, andStuart himself, with a boy, had been saved. The other sailors whom theyhad with them, and the ship's steward, had perished with the Claverings. Stuart, it seemed, had caused tidings of the accident to be sent to therector of Clavering and to Sir Hugh's bankers. At the bank they hadascertained that their late customer's cousin was in town, and theirmessenger had thereupon been sent, first to Bloomsbury Square, and fromthence to the Adelphi. 

Harry had never loved his cousins. The elder he had greatly disliked, and the younger he would have disliked had he not despised him. But notthe less on that account was he inexpressibly shocked when he firstheard what had happened. The lad said that there could, as he imagined, be no mistake. The message had come, as he believed, from Holland, butof that he was not certain. There could, however, be no doubt about thefact. It distinctly stated that both brothers had perished. Harry hadknown, when he received the message from home, that no train would takehim till three in the afternoon, and had therefore remained at theoffice; but he could not remain now. His head was confused, and he couldhardly bring himself to think how this matter would affect himself. Whenhe attempted to explain his absence to an old serious clerk there, hespoke of his own return to the office as certain. He should be back, hesupposed, in a week at the furthest. He was thinking thus of hispromises to Theodore Burton, and had not begun to realize the fact thathis whole destiny in life would be changed. He said something, with along face, on the terrible misfortune which had occurred, but gave nohint that that misfortune would be important in its consequences tohimself. It was not till he had reached his lodging in Bloomsbury Squarethat he remembered that his own father was now the baronet, and that hewas his father's heir. And then for a moment he thought about theproperty. He believed that it was entailed, but even of that he was notcertain. But if it were unentailed, to whom could his cousin have leftit? He endeavored, however, to expel such thoughts from his mind, asthough there was something ungenerous in entertaining them. He tried tothink of the widow, but even in doing that he could not tell himselfthat there was much ground for genuine sorrow. No wife had ever had lessjoy from her husband's society than Lady Clavering had had from that ofSir Hugh. There was no child to mourn the loss--no brother, no unmarriedsister. Sir Hugh had had friends--as friendship goes with such men; butHarry could not but doubt whether among them all there would be one whowould feel anything like true grief for his loss. And it was the samewith Archie. Who in the world would miss Archie Clavering? What man orwoman would find the world to be less bright because Archie Claveringwas sleeping beneath the waves? Some score of men at his club would talkof poor Clavvy for a few days--would do so without any pretence at thetenderness of sorrow; and then even of Archie's memory there would be anend. Thinking of all this as he was carried down to Clavering, Harrycould not but acknowledge that the loss to the world had not been great;but, even while telling himself this, he would not allow himself to takecomfort in the prospect of his heirship. Once, perhaps, he did speculatehow Florence should bear her honors as Lady Clavering, but this idea heswept away from his thoughts as quickly as he was able. 

The tidings had reached the parsonage very late on the previousnight--so late that the rector had been disturbed in his bed to receivethem. It was his duty to make known to Lady Clavering the fact that shewas a widow, but this he could not do till the next morning. But therewas little sleep that night for him or for his wife! He knew well enoughthat the property was entailed. He felt with sufficient strength what itwas to become a baronet at a sudden blow, and to become also the ownerof the whole Clavering property. He was not slow to think of the removalto the great house, of the altered prospects of his son, and of the modeof life which would be fitting for himself in future. Before the morningcame he had meditated who should be the future rector of Clavering, andhad made some calculations as to the expediency of resuming his hunting. Not that he was a heartless man, or that he rejoiced at what hadhappened. But a man's ideas of generosity change as he advances in age, and the rector was old enough to tell himself boldly that this thingthat had happened could not be to him a cause of much grief. He hadnever loved his cousins, or pretended to love them. His cousin's wife hedid love, after a fashion, but in speaking to his own wife of the way inwhich this tragedy would affect Hermione, he did not scruple to speak ofher widowhood as a period of coining happiness. 

"She will be cut to pieces, " said Mrs. Clavering. "She was attached tohim as earnestly as though he had treated her always well. "

"I believe it; but not the less will she feel her release, unconsciously; and her life, which has been very wretched, willgradually become easy to her. "

Even Mrs. Clavering could not deny that this would be so, and then theyreverted to matters which more closely concerned themselves. "I supposeHarry will marry at once now?" said the mother. 

"No doubt; it is almost a pity, is it not?" The rector--as we still callhim--was thinking that Florence was hardly a fitting wife for his sonwith his altered prospects. Ah! what a grand thing it would have been ifthe Clavering property and Lady Ongar's jointure could have gonetogether!

"Not a pity at all, " said Mrs. Clavering. "You will find that Florencewill make him a very happy man. "

"I dare say--I dare say. Only he would hardly have taken her had thissad accident happened before he saw her. But if she will make him happy, that is everything. I have never thought much about money myself. If Ifind any comfort in these tidings, it is for his sake, not for my own. Iwould sooner remain as I am. " This was not altogether untrue, and yet hewas thinking of the big house and the bunting. 

"What will be done about the living?" It was early in the morning whenMrs. Clavering asked this question. She had thought much about theliving during the night, and so had the rector, but his thoughts had notrun in the same direction as hers. He made no immediate answer, and thenshe went on with her question. "Do you think that you will keep it inyour own hands?"

"Well--no; why should I? I am too idle about it as it is. I should bemore so under these altered circumstances. "

"I am sure you would do your duty if you resolved to keep it, but Idon't see why you should do so. "

"Clavering is a great deal better than Humbleton, " said the rector. Humbleton was the name of the parish held by Mr. Fielding, hisson-in-law. 

But the idea here put forward did not suit the idea which was running inMrs. Clavering's mind. "Edward and Mary are very well off, " she said. "His own property is considerable, and I don't think they want anything. Besides, he would hardly like to give up a family living. "

"I might ask him, at any rate. "

"I was thinking of Mr. Saul, " said Mrs. Clavering, boldly. 

"Of Mr. Saul!" The image of Mr. Saul, as rector of Clavering, perplexedthe new baronet egregiously. 

"Well--yes. He is an excellent clergyman. No one can deny that. " Thenthere was silence between them for a few moments. "In that case, he andFanny would of course marry. It is no good concealing the fact that sheis very fond of him. "

"Upon my word, I can't understand it, " said the rector. 

"It is so; and as to the excellence of his character, there can be nodoubt. " To this the rector made no answer, but went away into hisdressing-room, that he might prepare himself for his walk across thepark to the great house. While they were discussing who should be thefuture incumbent of the living, Lady Clavering was still sleeping inunconsciousness of her fate. Mr. Clavering greatly dreaded the taskwhich was before him, and had made a little attempt to induce his wifeto take the office upon herself; but she had explained to him that itwould be more seemly that he should be the bearer of the tidings. "Itwould seem that you were wanting in affection for her if you do not goyourself;" his wife had said to him. That the rector of Clavering wasmaster of himself and of his own actions, no one who knew the familyever denied, but the instances in which he declined to follow his wife'sadvice were not many. 

It was about eight o'clock when he went across the park. He had alreadysent a messenger with a note to beg that Lady Clavering would be up toreceive him. As he would come very early, he had said, perhaps she wouldsee him in her own room. The poor lady had, of course, been greatlyfrightened by this announcement; but this fear had been good for her, asthey had well understood at the rectory; the blow, dreadfully sudden asit must still be, would be somewhat less sudden under this preparation. When Mr. Clavering reached the house the servant was in waiting to showhim up stairs to the sitting-room which Lady Clavering usually occupiedwhen alone. She had been there waiting for him for the last half hour. "Mr. Clavering, what is it?" she exclaimed, as he entered with tidingsof death written on his visage. "In the name of heaven, what is it? Youhave something to tell me of Hugh. "

"Dear Hermione, " he said, taking her by the hand. 

"What is it? Tell me at once. Is he still alive?"

The rector still held her by the hand, but spoke no word. He had beentrying as he came across the park to arrange the words in which heshould tell his tale, but now it was told without any speech on hispart. 

"He is dead. Why do you not speak? Why are you so cruel?"

"Dearest Hermione, what am I to say to comfort you?"

What he might say after this was of little moment, for she had fainted. He rang the bell, and then, when the servants were there--the oldhousekeeper and Lady Clavering's maid--he told to them, rather than toher, what had been their master's fate. 

"And Captain Archie?" asked the housekeeper. 

The rector shook his head, and the housekeeper knew that the rector wasnow the baronet. Then they took the poor widow to her own room--should Inot rather call her, as I may venture to speak the truth, theenfranchised slave than the poor widow--and the rector, taking up hishat, promised that he would send his wife across to their mistress. Hismorning's task had been painful, but it had been easily accomplished. Ashe walked home among the oaks of Clavering Park, he told himself; nodoubt, that they were now all his own. 

That day at the rectory was very sombre, if it was not actually sad. Thegreater part of the morning Mrs. Clavering passed with the widow, and, sitting near her sofa, she wrote sundry letters to those who wereconnected with the family. The longest of these was to Lady Ongar, whowas now at Tenby, and in that there was a pressing request from Hermionethat her sister would come to her at Clavering Park: "Tell her, " saidLady Clavering, "that all her anger must be over now. " But Mrs. Clavering said nothing of Julia's anger. She merely urged the requestthat Julia would come to her sister. "She will be sure to come, " saidMrs. Clavering. "You need have no fear on that head. "

"But how can I invite her here, when the house is not my own?"

"Pray do not talk in that way, Hermione. The house will be your own forany time that you may want it. Your husband's relations are your dearfriends, are they not?" But this allusion to her husband brought her toanother fit of hysterical tears. "Both of them gone, " she said, "both ofthem gone!" Mrs. Clavering knew well that she was not alluding to thetwo brothers, but to her husband and her baby. Of poor Archie no one hadsaid a word--beyond that one word spoken by the housekeeper. For her, ithad been necessary that she should know who was now the master ofClavering Park. 

Twice in the day Mrs. Clavering went over to the big house, and on hersecond return, late in the evening, she found her son. When she arrived, there had already been some few words on the subject between him and hisfather. 

"You have heard of it, Harry?"

"Yes; a clerk came to me from the banker's. "

"Dreadful, is it not? Quite terrible to think of!"

"Indeed it is, sir. I was never so shocked in my life. "

"He would go in that cursed boat, though I know that he was advisedagainst it, " said the father, holding up his hands and shaking his head. "And now both of them gone--both gone at once!"

"How does she bear it?"

"Your mother is with her now. When I went in the morning--I had writtena line, and she expected bad news--she fainted. Of course, I could donothing. I can hardly say that I told her. She asked the question, andthen saw by my face that her fears were well founded. Upon my word, Iwas glad when she did faint; it was the best thing for her. "

"It must have been very painful for you. "

"Terrible--terrible;" and the rector shook his head. "It will make agreat difference in your prospects, Harry. "

"And in your life, sir! So to say, you are as young a man as myself. "

"Am I? I believe I was about as young when you were born. But I don'tthink at all about myself in this matter. I am too old to care to changemy manner of living. It won't affect me very much. Indeed, I hardly knowyet how it may affect me. Your mother thinks I ought to give up theliving. If you were in orders, Harry--"

"I'm very glad, sir, that I am not. "

"I suppose so. And there is no need--certainly there is no need. Youwill be able to do pretty nearly what you like about the property. Ishall not care to interfere. "

"Yes you will, sir. It feels strange now, but you will soon get used toit. I wonder whether he left a will. "

"It can't make any difference to you, you know. Every acre of theproperty is entailed. She has her settlement. Eight hundred a year, Ithink it is. She'll not be a rich woman like her sister. I wonder whereshe'll live. As far as that goes, she might stay at the house, if shelikes it. I'm sure your mother wouldn't object. "

Harry on this occasion asked no questions about the living, but he alsohad thought of that. He knew well that his mother would befriend Mr. Saul. And he knew also that his father would ultimately take hismother's advice. As regarded himself he had no personal objection to Mr. Saul, though he could not understand how his sister should feel anystrong regard for such a man. 

Edward Fielding would make a better neighbor at the parsonage, and thenhe thought whether an exchange might not be made. After that, and beforehis mother's return from the great house, he took a stroll through thepark with Fanny. Fanny altogether declined to discuss any of the familyprospects as they were affected by the accident which had happened. Toher mind the tragedy was so terrible that she could only feel its tragicelement. No doubt she had her own thoughts about Mr. Saul as connectedwith it. "What would he think of this sudden death of the two brothers?How would he feel it. If she could be allowed to talk to him on thematter, what would he say of their fate here and hereafter? Would he goto the great house to offer the consolations of religion to the widow?"Of all this she thought much; but no picture of Mr. Saul as rector ofClavering, or of herself as mistress in her mother's house, presenteditself to her mind. Harry found her to be a dull companion, and he, perhaps, consoled himself with some personal attention to the oak trees, which loomed larger upon him now than they had ever done before. 

On the third day the rector went up to London, leaving Harry at theparsonage. It was necessary that lawyers should be visited, and thatsuch facts as to the loss should be proved as were capable of proof. There was no doubt at all as to the fate of Sir Hugh and his brother. The escape of Mr. Stuart and of two of those employed by him preventedthe possibility of a doubt. The vessel had been caught in a gale offHeligoland, and had foundered. They had all striven to get into theyacht's boat, but those who had succeeded in doing so had gone down. Themaster of the yacht had seen the two brothers perish. Those who weresaved had been picked up off the spars to which they had attachedthemselves. There was no doubt in the way of the new baronet, and nodifficulty. 

Nor was there any will made either by Sir Hugh or his brother. PoorArchie had nothing to leave, and that he should have left no will wasnot remarkable. But neither had there been much in the power of Sir Hughto bequeath, nor was there any great cause for a will on his part. Hadhe left a son, his son would have inherited everything. He had, however, died childless, and his wife was provided for by her settlement. On hismarriage he had made the amount settled as small as his wife's friendswould accept, and no one who knew the man expected that he wouldincrease the amount after his death. Having been in town for three days, the rector returned, being then in full possession of the title; butthis he did not assume till after the second Sunday from the date of thetelegram which brought the news. 

In the mean time Harry had written to Florence, to whom the tidings wereas important as to any one concerned. She had left London verytriumphant, quite confident that she had nothing now to fear from LadyOngar or from any other living woman, having not only forgiven Harry hissins, but having succeeded also in persuading herself that there hadbeen no sins to forgive--having quarrelled with her brother half a dozentimes in that he would not accept her arguments on this matter. He toowould forgive Harry--had forgiven him--was quite ready to omit allfurther remark on the matter--but could not bring himself; when urged byFlorence, to admit that her Apollo had been altogether godlike. Florencehad thus left London in triumph, but she had gone with a conviction thatshe and Harry must remain apart for some indefinite time, which probablymust be measured by years. "Let us see at the end of two years, " she hadsaid; and Harry had been forced to be content. But how would it be withher now?

Harry of course began his letter by telling her of the catastrophe, withthe usual amount of epithets. It was very terrible, awful, shocking--thesaddest thing that had ever happened! The poor widow was in a desperatestate, and all the Claverings were nearly beside themselves. But whenthis had been duly said, he allowed himself to go into their own homequestion. "I can not fail, " he wrote, "to think of this chiefly as itconcerns you--or rather as it concerns myself in reference to you. Isuppose I shall leave the business now. Indeed, my father seems to thinkthat my remaining there would be absurd, and my mother agrees with him. As I am the only son, the property will enable me to live easily withouta profession. When I say 'me, ' of course you will understand what 'me'means. The better part of 'me' is so prudent that I know she will notaccept this view of things without ever so much consideration, andtherefore she must come to Clavering to hear it discussed by the elders. For myself; I can not bear to think that I should take delight in theresults of this dreadful misfortune; but how am I to keep myself frombeing made happy by the feeling that we may now be married withoutfurther delay? After all that has passed, nothing will make me happy oreven permanently comfortable till I can call you fairly my own. Mymother has already said that she hopes you will come here in about afortnight--that is, as soon as we shall have fallen tolerably into ourplaces again; but she will write herself before that time. I havewritten a line to your brother, addressed to the office, which I supposewill find him. I have written also to Cecilia. Your brother, no doubt, will hear the news first through the French newspapers. " Then he said alittle, but a very little, as to their future modes of life, justintimating to her, and no more, that her destiny might probably callupon her to be the mother of a future baronet. 

The news had reached Clavering on a Saturday. On the following Sundayeveryone in the parish had no doubt heard of it, but nothing on thesubject was said in church on that day. The rector remained at homeduring the morning, and the whole service was performed by Mr. Saul. Buton the second Sunday Mr. Fielding had come over from Humbleton, and hepreached a sermon on the loss which the parish had sustained in thesudden death of the two brothers. It is perhaps well that such sermonsshould be preached. The inhabitants of Clavering would have felt thattheir late lords had been treated like dogs had no word been said ofthem in the house of God. The nature of their fate had forbidden eventhe common ceremony of a burial service. It is well that some respectshould be maintained from the low in station toward those who are high, even where no respect has been deserved; and, for the widow's sake, itwas well that some notice should be taken in Clavering of this death ofthe head of the Claverings; but I should not myself have liked the dutyof preaching a eulogistic sermon on the lives and death of HughClavering and his brother Archie. What had either of them ever done tomerit a good word from any man, or to earn the love of any woman? ThatSir Hugh had been loved by his wife had come from the nature of thewoman, not at all from the qualities of the man. Both of the brothershad lived on the unexpressed theory of consuming, for the benefit oftheir own backs and their own bellies, the greatest possible amount ofthose good things which fortune might put in their way. I doubt whethereither of them had ever contributed any thing willingly to the comfortor happiness of any human being. Hugh, being powerful by nature, andhaving a strong will, had tyrannized over all those who were subject tohim. Archie, not gifted as was his brother, had been milder, softer, andless actively hateful; but his principle of action had been the same. Everything for himself! Was it not well that two such men should beconsigned to the fishes, and that the world--especially the Claveringworld, and that poor widow, who now felt herself to be so inexpressiblywretched when her period of comfort was in truth only commencing--was itnot well that the world and Clavering should be well quit of them? Thatidea is the one which one would naturally have felt inclined to put intoone's sermon on such an occasion; and then to sing some song ofrejoicing--either to do that, or to leave the matter alone. 

But not so are such sermons preached, and not after that fashion did theyoung clergyman who had married the first cousin of these Claveringsbuckle himself to the subject. He indeed had, I think, but littledifficulty, either inwardly with his conscience, or outwardly with hissubject. He possessed the power of a pleasant, easy flow of words, andof producing tears, if not from other eyes, at any rate from his own. Hedrew a picture of the little ship amid the storm, and of God's hand asit moved in its anger upon the waters, but of the cause of that divinewrath and its direction he said nothing. Then, of the suddenness ofdeath and its awfulness he said much, not insisting, as he did so, onthe necessity of repentance for salvation, as far as those two poorsinners were concerned. No, indeed; how could any preacher have donethat? But he improved the occasion by telling those around him that theyshould so live as to be ever ready for the hand of death. If that werepossible, where then indeed would be the victory of the grave? And atlast he came to the master and lord whom they had lost. Even here therewas no difficulty for him. The heir had gone first, and then the fatherand his brother. Who among them would not pity the bereaved mother andthe widow? Who among them would not remember with affection the babewhom they had seen at that font, and with respect the landlord underwhose rule they had lived? How pleasant it must be to ask thosequestions which no one can rise to answer! Farmer Gubbins, as he sat by, listening with what power of attention had been vouchsafed to him, felthimself to be somewhat moved, but soon released himself from the task, and allowed his mind to run away into other ideas. The rector was akindly man and a generous. The rector would allow him to inclose thatlittle bit of common land, that was to be taken in, without addinganything to his rent. The rector would be there on audit days, andthings would be very pleasant. Farmer Gubbins, when the slight murmuringgurgle of the preacher's tears was heard, shook his own head by way of aresponsive wail; but at that moment he was congratulating himself on thecoming comfort of the new reign. Mr. Fielding, however, got great creditfor his own sermon; and it did, probably, more good than harm--unless, indeed, we should take into our calculation, in giving our award on thissubject, the permanent utility of all truth, and the permanent injury ofall falsehood. 

Mr. Fielding remained at the parsonage during the greater part of thefollowing week, and then there took place a great deal of familyconversation respecting the future incumbent of the living. At thesefamily conclaves, however, Fanny was not asked to be present. Mrs. Clavering, who knew well how to do such work, was gradually bringing herhusband round to endure the name of Mr. Saul. Twenty times had heasserted that he could not understand it; but, whether or no suchunderstanding might ever be possible, he was beginning to recognize itas true that the thing not understood was a fact. His daughter Fanny waspositively in love with Mr. Saul, and that to such an extent that hermother believed her happiness to be involved in it. "I can't understandit--upon my word I can't, " said the rector for the last time, and thenhe gave way. There was now the means of giving an ample provision forthe lovers, and that provision was to be given. 

Mr. Fielding shook his head--not, in this instance, as to Fanny'spredilection for Mr. Saul, though in discussing that matter with his ownwife he had shaken his head very often, but he shook it now withreference to the proposed change. He was very well where he was. Andalthough Clavering was better than Humbleton, it was not so much betteras to induce him to throw his own family over by proposing to send Mr. Saul among them. Mr. Saul was an excellent clergyman, but perhaps hisuncle, who had given him his living, might not like Mr. Saul. Thus itwas decided in these conclaves that Mr. Saul was to be the future rectorof Clavering. 

In the mean time poor Fanny moped--wretched in her solitude, anticipating no such glorious joys as her mother was preparing for her;and Mr. Saul was preparing with energy for his departure into foreignparts. 

Lady Ongar was at Tenby when she received Mrs. Clavering's letter, andhad not heard of the fate of her brother-in-law till the news reachedher in that way. She had gone down to a lodging at Tenby with noattendant but one maid, and was preparing herself for the greatsurrender of her property which she meditated. Hitherto she had heardnothing from the Courtons or their lawyer as to the offer she had madeabout Ongar Park; but the time had been short, and lawyer's work, as sheknew, was never done in a hurry. She had gone to Tenby, flying, intruth, from the loneliness of London to the loneliness of the sea-shore, but expecting she knew not what comfort from the change. She would takewith her no carriage, and there would, as she thought, be excitementeven in that. She would take long walks by herself--she would read--nay, if possible, she would study, and bring herself to some habits ofindustry. Hitherto she had failed in everything, but now she would tryif some mode of success might not be open to her. She would ascertain, too, on what smallest sum she could live respectably and without penury, and would keep only so much out of Lord Ongar's wealth. 

But hitherto her life at Tenby had not been successful. Solitary dayswere longer there even than they had been in London. People stared ather more; and, though she did not own it to herself, she missed greatlythe comforts of her London house. As for reading, I doubt whether shedid much better by the sea-side than she had done in the town. Men andwomen say that they will read, and think so--those, I mean, who haveacquired no habit of reading--believing the work to be, of all works, the easiest. It may be work, they think, but of all works it must be theeasiest of achievement. Given the absolute faculty of reading, the taskof going through the pages of a book must be, of all tasks, the mostcertainly within the grasp of the man or woman who attempts it. Alas!no; if the habit be not there, of all tasks it is the most difficult. Ifa man have not acquired the habit of reading till he be old, he shallsooner in his old age learn to make shoes than learn the adequate use ofa book. And worse again--under such circumstances the making of shoesshall be more pleasant to him than the reading of a book. Let those whoare not old, who are still young, ponder this well. Lady Ongar, indeed, was not old, by no means too old to clothe herself in new habits; buteven she was old enough to find that the doing so was a matter of muchdifficulty. She had her books around her; but, in spite of her books, she was sadly in want of some excitement when the letter from Claveringcame so her relief. 

It was indeed a relief. Her brother-in-law dead, and he also who had solately been her suitor! These two men whom she had so lately seen inlusty health--proud with all the pride of outward life--had both, by astroke of the winds, been turned into nothing. A terrible retributionhad fallen upon her enemy--for as her enemy she had ever regarded HughClavering since her husband's death. She took no joy in thisretribution. There was no feeling of triumph at her heart in that he hadperished. She did not tell herself that she was glad, either for her ownsake or for her sister's. But mingled with the awe she felt there was asomething of unexpressed and inexpressible relief. Her present life wasvery grievous to her, and now had occurred that which would open to hernew hopes and a new mode of living. Her brother-in-law had oppressed herby his very existence, and now he was gone. Had she had nobrother-in-law who ought to have welcomed her, her return to Englandwould not have been terrible to her as it had been. Her sister would benow restored to her, and her solitude would probably be at an end. Andthen the very excitement occasioned by the news was salutary to her. Shewas in truth, shocked. As she said to her maid, she felt it to be verydreadful. But, nevertheless, the day on which she received those tidingswas less wearisome to her than any other of the days that she had passedat Tenby. 

Poor Archie! Some feeling of a tear, some half-formed drop that wasalmost a tear, came to her eye as she thought of his fate. How foolishhe had always been, how unintelligent, how deficient in all thosequalities which recommend men to women! But the very memory of hisdeficiencies created something like a tenderness in his favor. Hugh wasdisagreeable, nay, hateful, by reason of the power which he possessed;whereas Archie was not hateful at all, and was disagreeable simplybecause nature had been a niggard to him. And then he had professedhimself to be her lover. There had not been much in this; for he hadcome, of course, for her money; but even when that is the case, a womanwill feel something for the man who has offered to link his lot withhers. Of all those to whom the fate of the two brothers had hithertobeen matter of moment, I think that Lady Ongar felt more than any otherfor the fate of poor Archie. 

And how would it affect Harry Clavering? She had desired to give Harryall the good things of the world, thinking that they would become himwell--thinking that they would become him very well as reaching him fromher hand. Now he would have them all, but would not have them from her. Now he would have them all, and would share them with Florence Burton. Ah! if she could have been true to him in those early days--in thosedays when she had feared his poverty--would it not have been well nowwith her also? The measure of her retribution was come full home to herat last! Sir Harry Clavering! She tried the name, and found that itsounded very well. And she thought of the figure of the man and of hisnature, and she knew that he would bear it with a becoming manliness. Sir Harry Clavering would be somebody in his county--would be a husbandof whom his wife would be proud as he went about among his tenants andhis gamekeepers, and perhaps on wider and better journeys, looking upthe voters of his neighborhood. Yes, happy would be the wife of SirHarry Clavering. He was a man who would delight in sharing his house, his hope; his schemes and councils with his wife. He would find acompanion in his wife. He would do honor to his wife, and make much ofher. He would like to see her go bravely. And then, if children came, how tender he would be to them! Whether Harry could ever have become agood head to a poor household might be doubtful, but no man had everbeen born fitter for the position which he was now called upon to fill. It was thus that Lady Ongar thought of Harry Clavering as she owned toherself that the full measure of her just retribution had come home toher. 

Of course she would go at once to Clavering Park. She wrote to hersister saying so, and the next day she started. She started so quicklyon her journey that she reached the house not very many hours after herown letter. She was there when the rector started for London, and therewhen Mr. Fielding preached his sermon; but she did not see Mr. Claveringbefore he went, nor was she present to hear the eloquence of the youngerclergyman. Till after that Sunday the only member of the family she hadseen was Mrs. Clavering, who spent some period of every day up at thegreat house. Mrs. Clavering had not hitherto seen Lady Ongar since herreturn, and was greatly astonished at the change which so short a timehad made. "She is handsomer than ever she was, " Mrs. Clavering said tothe rector; "-but it is that beauty which some women carry into middlelife, and not the loveliness of youth. " Lady Ongar's manner was cold andstately when first she met Mrs. Clavering. It was on the morning of hermarriage when they had last met--when Julia Brabazon was resolving thatshe would look like a countess, and that to be a countess should beenough for her happiness. She could not but remember this now, and wasunwilling at first to make confession of her failure by any meekness ofconduct. It behooved her to be proud, at any rate till she should knowhow this new Lady Clavering would receive her. And then it was more thanprobable that this new Lady Clavering knew all that had taken placebetween her and Harry. It behooved her, therefore, to hold her head onhigh. 

But, before the week was over, Mrs Clavering--for we will still call herso--had broken Lady Ongar's spirit by her kindness, and the poor, womanwho had so much to bear had brought herself to speak of the weight ofher burden. Julia had, on one occasion, called her Lady Clavering, andfor the moment this had been allowed to pass without observation. Thewidowed lady was then present, and no notice of the name was possible. But soon afterward Mrs. Clavering made her little request on thesubject. "I do not quite know what the custom may be, " she said, "but donot call me so just yet. It will only be reminding Hermy of herbereavement. "

"She is thinking of it always, " said Julia. 

"No doubt she is; but still the new name would wound her. And, indeed, it perplexes me also. Let it come by-and-by, when we are more settled. "

Lady Ongar had truly said that her sister was as yet always thinking ofher bereavement. To her now it was as though the husband she had losthad been a paragon among men. She could only remember of him hismanliness, his power--a dignity of presence which he possessed--and thefact that to her he had been everything. She thought of that last vaincaution which she had given him when with her hardly-permitted lastembrace she had besought him to take care of himself. She did notremember now how coldly that embrace had been received, how completelythose words had been taken as meaning nothing, how he had left her notonly without a sign of affection, but without an attempt to repress theevidences of his indifference. But she did remember that she had had herarm upon his shoulder, and tried to think of that embrace as though ithad been sweet to her. And she did remember how she had stood at thewindow, listening to the sounds of the wheels which took him off, andwatching his form as long as her eye could rest upon it. Ah! whatfalsehoods she told herself now of her love to him, and of his goodnessto her--pious falsehoods which would surely tend to bring some comfortto her wounded spirit. 

But her sister could hardly bear to hear the praises of Sir Hugh. Whenshe found how it was to be, she resolved that she would bear them--bearthem, and not contradict them; but her struggle in doing so was great, and was almost too much for her. 

"He had judged me and condemned me, " she said at last, "and therefore, as a matter of course, we were not such friends when we last met as weused to be before my marriage. "

"But, Julia, there was much for which you owed him gratitude. "

"We will say nothing about that now, Hermy. "

"I do not know why your mouth should be closed on such a subject becausehe has gone. I should have thought that you would be glad to acknowledgehis kindness to you. But you were always hard. "

"Perhaps I am hard. "

"And twice he asked you to come here since your return, but you wouldnot come. "

"I have come now, Hermy, when I have thought that I might be of use. "

"He felt it when you would not home before. I know he did. " Lady Ongarcould not but think of the way in which he had manifested his feelingson the occasion of his visit to Bolton Street. "I never could understandwhy you were so bitter. "

"I think, dear, we had better not discuss that. I also have had much tobear--I as well as you. What you have borne has come in no wise fromyour own fault. "

"No, indeed; I did not want him to go. I would have given anything tokeep him at home. "

Her sister had not been thinking of the suffering which had come to herfrom the loss of her husband, but of her former miseries. This, however, she did not explain. "No, " Lady Ongar continued to say, "you havenothing for which to blame yourself, whereas I have much--indeedeverything. If we are to remain together, as I hope we may, it will bebetter for us both that by-gones should be by-gones. "

"Do you mean that I am never to speak of Hugh?"

"No, I by no means intend that; but I would rather that you should notrefer to his feelings toward me. I think he did not quite understand thesort of life that I led while my husband was alive, and that he judgedme amiss. Therefore I would have by-gones be by-gones. "

Three or four days after this, when the question of leaving ClaveringPark was being mooted, the elder sister started a difficulty as to moneymatters. An offer had been made to her by Mrs. Clavering to remain atthe great house, but this she had declined, alleging that the placewould be distasteful to her after her husband's death. She, poor soul!did not allege that it had been made distasteful to her forever by thesolitude which she had endured there during her husband's lifetime! Shewould go away somewhere, and live as best she might upon her jointure. It was not very much, but it would be sufficient. She did not see, shesaid, how she could live with her sister, because she did not wish to bedependent. Julia, of course, would live in a style to which she couldmake no pretence. 

Mrs. Clavering, who was present, as was also Lady Ongar, declared thatshe saw no such difficulty. "Sisters together, " she said, "need hardlythink of a difference in such matters. "

Then it was that Lady Ongar first spoke to either of them of herhalf-formed resolution about her money, and then too, for the firsttime, did she come down altogether from that high horse on which she hadbeen, as it were, compelled to mount herself while in Mrs. Clavering'spresence. "I think I must explain, " said she, "something of what I meanto do--about my money, that is. I do not think that there will be muchdifference between me and Hermy in that respect. "

"That is nonsense, " said her sister, fretfully. 

"There will be a difference in income, certainly, " said Mrs. Clavering, "but I do not see that that need create any uncomfortable feeling. "

"Only one doesn't like to be dependent, " said Hermione. 

"You shall not be asked to give up any of your independence, " saidJulia, with a smile--a melancholy smile, that gave but little sign ofpleasantness within. Then, on a sudden, her face became stern and hard. "The fact is, " she said, "I do not intend to keep Lord Ongar's money. "

"Not to keep your income!" said Hermione. 

"No; I will give it back to them--or at least the greater part of it. Why should I keep it?"

"It is your own, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"Yes, legally it is my own. I know that. And when there was somequestion whether it should not be disputed, I would have fought for itto the last shilling. Somebody--I suppose it was the lawyer--wanted tokeep from me the place in Surrey. I told them that then I would notabandon my right to an inch of it. But they yielded, and now I havegiven them back the house. "

"You have given it back!" said her sister. 

"Yes; I have said they may have it. It is of no use to me. I hate theplace. "

"You have been very generous, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"But that will not affect your income, " said Hermione. 

"No, that would not affect my income. " Then she paused, not knowing howto go on with the story of her purpose. 

"If I may say so, Lady Ongar, " said Mrs. Clavering, "I would not, if Iwere you, take any steps in so important a matter without advice. "

"Who is there that can advise me? Of course the lawyer tells me that Iought to keep it all. It is his business to give such advice as that. But what does he know of what I feel? How can he understand me? How, indeed, can I expect that any one shall understand me?"

"But it is possible that people should misunderstand you, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"Exactly. That is just what he says. But, Mrs. Clavering, I care nothingfor that. I care nothing for what any body says or thinks. What is it tome what they say?"

"I should have thought it was every thing, " said her sister. 

"No, it is nothing--nothing at all. " Then she was again silent, and wasunable to express herself She could not bring herself to declare inwords that self-condemnation of her own conduct which was now weighingso heavily upon her. It was not that she wished to keep back her ownfeelings either from her sister or from Mrs. Clavering, but that thewords in which to express them were wanting to her. 

"And have they accepted the house?" Mrs. Clavering asked. 

"They must accept it. What else can they do? They can not make me callit mine if I do not choose. If I refuse to take the income which Mr. Courton's lawyer pays in to my bankers, they can not compel me to haveit. "

"But you are not going to give that up too?" said her sister. 

"I am. I will not have his money--not more than enough to keep me frombeing a scandal to his family. I will not have it. It is a curse to me, and has been from the first. What right have I to all that money, because--because--because--" She could not finish her sentence, butturned away from them, and walked by herself to the window. 

Lady Clavering looked at Mrs. Clavering as though she thought that hersister was mad. "Do you understand her?" said Lady Clavering, in awhisper. 

"I think I do, " said the other. "I think I know what is passing in hermind. " Then she followed Lady Ongar across the room, and, taking hergently by the arm, tried to comfort her--to comfort her and to arguewith her as to the rashness of that which she proposed to do. Sheendeavored to explain to the poor woman how it was that she should atthis moment be wretched, and anxious to do that which, if done, wouldput it out of her power afterward to make herself useful in the world. It shocked the prudence of Mrs. Clavering--this idea of abandoningmoney, the possession of which was questioned by no one. "They do notwant it, Lady Ongar, " she said. 

"That has nothing to do with it, " answered the other. 

"And nobody has any suspicion but what it is honorably and fairly yourown. "

"But does any body ever think how I got it?" said Lady Ongar, turningsharply round upon Mrs. Clavering. "You--you--you--do you dare to tellme what you think of the way in which it became mine? Could you bear it, if it had become yours after such a fashion? I can not bear it, and Iwill not. " She was now speaking with so much violence that her sisterwas awed into silence, and Mrs. Clavering herself found a difficulty inanswering her. 

"Whatever may have been the past, " said she, "the question now is how todo the best for the future. "

"I had hoped, " continued Lady Ongar, without noticing what was said toher, "I had hoped to make every thing straight by giving his money toanother. You know to whom I mean, and so does Hermy. I thought, when Ireturned, that, bad as I had been, I might still do some good in theworld. But it is as they tell us in the sermons. One can not make goodcome out of evil. I have done evil, and nothing but evil has come out ofthe evil which I have done. Nothing but evil will come from it. As forbeing useful in the world, I know of what use I am! When women hear howwretched I have been, they will be unwilling to sell themselves as Idid. " Then she made her way to the door and left the room, going outwith quiet steps, and closing the lock behind her with a sound. 

"I did not know that she was such as that, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"Nor did I. She has never spoken in that way before. "

"Poor soul! Hermione, you see there are those in the world whosesufferings are worse than yours. "

"I don't know, " said Lady Clavering. "She never lost what I havelost--never. "

"She has lost what I am sure you will never lose, her own self-esteem. But, Hermy, you should be good to her. We must all be good to her. Willit not be better that you should stay with us for a while--both of you. "

"What! here at the park?"

"We will make room for you at the rectory, if you would like it. "

"Oh no, I will go away. I shall be better away. I suppose she will notbe like that often, will she?"

"She was much moved just now. "

"And what does she mean about her income? She can not be in earnest. "

"She is in earnest now. "

"And can not it be prevented? Only think--it; after all, she were togive up her jointure! Mrs. Clavering, you do not think she is mad, doyou?"

Mrs. Clavering said what she could to comfort the elder and weakersister on this subject, explaining to her that the Courtons would not beat all likely to take advantage of any wild generosity on the part ofLady Ongar, and then she walked home across the park, meditating on thecharacter of the two sisters. 

Chapter L

Madam Gordeloup Retires From British Diplomacy

The reader must be asked to accompany me once more to that room in MountStreet in which poor Archie practised diplomacy, and whither thecourageous Doodles was carried prisoner in those moments in which he waslast seen of us. The Spy was now sitting alone before her desk, scribbling with all her energy--writing letters on foreign policy, nodoubt, to all the courts of Europe, but especially to that Russian courtto which her services were more especially due. She was hard at work, when there came the sound of a step upon the stairs. The practised earof the Spy became erect, and she at once knew who was her visitor. Itwas not one with whom diplomacy would much avail, or who was likely tohave money ready under his glove for her behoof. "Ah! Edouard, is thatyou? I am glad you have come, " she said, as Count Pateroff entered theroom. 

"Yes, it is I. I got your note yesterday. "

"You are good--very good. You are always good. " Sophie, as she saidthis, went on very rapidly with her letters--so rapidly that her handseemed to run about the paper wildly. Then she flung down her pen, andfolded the paper on which she had been writing with marvellousquickness. There was an activity about the woman in all her movementswhich was wonderful to watch. "There, " she said, "that is done; now wecan talk. Ah! I have nearly written off my fingers this morning. " Herbrother smiled, but said nothing about the letters. He never allowedhimself to allude in any way to her professional duties. 

"So you are going to St. Petersburg?" he said. 

"Well--yes, I think. Why should I remain here spending money with bothhands and through the nose?" At this idea the brother again smiledpleasantly. He had never seen his sister to be culpably extravagant asshe now described herself. "Nothing to get and every thing to lose, " shewent on saying. 

"You know your own affairs best, " he answered. 

"Yes, I know my own affairs. If I remained here I should be taken awayto that black building there;" and she pointed in the direction of theworkhouse, which fronts so gloomily upon Mount Street. "You would notcome to take me out. "

The count smiled again. "You are too clever for that, Sophie, I think. "

"Ah! it is well for a woman to be clever, or she must starve--yes, starve! Such a one as I must starve in this accursed country if I werenot what you call clever. " The brother and sister were talking inFrench, and she spoke now almost as rapidly as she had written. "Theyare beasts and fools, and as awkward as bulls--yes, as bulls. I hatethem--I hate them all. Men, women, children, they are all alike. Look atthe street out there. Though it is Summer, I shiver when I look out atits blackness. It is the ugliest nation! And they understand nothing. Oh, how I hate them!"

"They are not without merit. They have got money. "

"Money--yes. They have got money, and they are so stupid you may take itfrom under their eyes. They will not see you. But of their own heartsthey will give you nothing. You see that black building--the workhouse. I call it Little England. It is just the same. The naked, hungry, poorwretches lie at the door, and the great fat beadles swell about liketurkey-cocks inside. "

"You have been here long enough to know, at any rate. "

"Yes, I have been here long--too long. I have made my life a wilderness, staying here in this country of barracks. And what have I got for it? Icame back because of that woman, and she has thrown me over. That isyour fault--yours--yours!"

"And you have sent for me to tell me that again?"

"No, Edouard. I sent for you that you might see your sister oncemore--that I might once more see my brother. " This she said leaningforward on the table, on which her arms rested, and looking steadfastlyinto his face with eyes moist--just moist, with a tear in each. WhetherEdouard was too unfeeling to be moved by this show of affection, orwhether he gave more credit to his sister's histrionic powers than tothose of her heart, I will not say, but he was altogether irresponsiveto her appeal. "You will be back again before long, " he said. 

"Never! I will come back to this accursed country never again. No, I amgoing once and for all. I will soil myself with the mud of its guttersno more. I came for the sake of Julie; and now--how has she treated me?"Edouard shrugged his shoulders. "And you--how has she treated you?"

"Never mind me. "

"Ah! but I must mind you. Only that you would not let me manage, itmight be yours now--yes, all. Why did you come down to that accursedisland?"

"It was my way to play my game. Leave that alone, Sophie. " And therecame a frown over the brother's brow. 

"Your way to play your game! Yes; and what has become of mine? You havedestroyed mine, but you think nothing of that. After all that I havegone through, to have nothing; and through you--my brother! Ah! that isthe hardest of all--when I was putting all things in train for you. "

"You are always putting things in train. Leave your trains alone, whereI am concerned. "

"But why did you come to that place in the accursed island? I am ruinedby that journey. Yes, I am ruined. You will not help me to get ashilling from her--not even for my expenses. "

"Certainly not. You are clever enough to do your own work without myaid. "

"And is that all from a brother? Well! And, now that they have drownedthemselves--the two Claverings--the fool and the brute, and she can dowhat she pleases--"

"She could always do as she pleased since Lord Ongar died. "

"Yes; but she is more lonely than ever now. That cousin who is thegreatest fool of all, who might have had every thing--mon Dieu! yes, every thing--she would have given it all to him with a sweep of her handif he would have taken it. He is to marry himself to a little brown girlwho has not a shilling. No one but an Englishman could make follies soabominable as these. Ah! I am sick--I am sick when I remember it!" AndSophie gave unmistakable signs of a grief which could hardly have beenself interested. But, in truth, she suffered pain in seeing a good gamespoiled. It was not that she had any wish for Harry Clavering's welfare. Had he gone to the bottom of the sea in the same boat with his cousins, the tidings of his fate would have been pleasurable to her rather thanotherwise. But when she saw such cards thrown away as he had held in hishand, she encountered that sort of suffering which a good player feelswhen he sits behind the chair of one who plays up to his adversary'strump, and makes no tricks of his own kings and aces. 

"He may marry himself to the devil if he please--it is nothing to me, "said the count. 

"But she is there--by herself--at that place--what is it called?Ten--bie. Will you not go now, when you can do no harm?"

"No, I will not go now. "

"And in a year she will have taken some other one for her husband. "

"What is that to me? But look here, Sophie, far you may as wellunderstand me at once, if I were ever to think of Lady Ongar again as mywife, I should not tell you. "

"And why not tell me--your sister?"

"Because it would do me no good. If you had not been there she wouldhave been my wife now. "

"Edouard!"

"What I say is true. But I do not want to reproach you because of that. Each of us was playing his own game, and your game was not my game. Youare going now, and if I play my game again I can play it alone. "

Upon hearing this, Sophie sat a while in silence, looking at him. "Youwill play it alone, " she said at last. "You would rather do that?"

"Much rather, if I play any game at all. "

"And you will give me something to go?"

"Not one sou. "

"You will not--not a sou?"

"Not half a sou--for you to go or stay. Sophie, are you not a fool toask me for money?"

"And you are a fool--a fool who knows nothing. You need not look at melike that. I am not afraid. I shall remain here. I shall stay and do asthe lawyer tells me. He says that if I bring my action she must pay mefor my expenses. I will bring my action. I am not going to leave it allto you. No. Do you remember those days in Florence? I have not been paidyet, but I will be paid. One hundred and seventy-five thousand francs ayear--and, after all, I am to have none of it! Say--should it becomeyours, will you do something for your sister?"

"Nothing at all--nothing. Sophie, do you think I am fool enough tobargain in such a matter?"

"Then I will stay. Yes, I will bring my action. All the world shallhear, and they shall know how you have destroyed me and yourself. Ah!you think I am afraid--that I will not spend my money. I will spendall--all--all; and I will be revenged. "

"You may go or stay, it is the same thing to me. Now, if you please, Iwill take my leave. " And he got up from his chair to leave her. 

"It is the same thing to you?"

"Quite the same. "

"Then I will stay, and she shall hear my name every day of herlife--every hour. She shall be so sick of me and of youthat--that--that--Oh, Edouard!" This last appeal was made to himbecause he was already at the door, and could not be stopped in anyother way. 

"What else have you to say, my sister?"

"Oh, Edouard, what would I not give to see all those riches yours? Hasit not been my dearest wish? Edouard, you are ungrateful. All men areungrateful. " Now, having succeeded in stopping him, she buried her facein the corner of the sofa and wept plentifully. It must be presumed thather acting before her brother must have been altogether thrown away; butthe acting was, nevertheless, very good. 

"If you are in truth going to St. Petersburg, " he said, "I will bid youadieu now. If not--au revoir. "

"I am going. Yes, Edouard, I am. I can not bear this country longer. Myheart is being torn to pieces. All my affections are outraged. Yes, I amgoing--perhaps on Monday--perhaps on Monday week. But I go in truth. Mybrother, adieu. " Then she got up, and, putting a hand on each of hisshoulders, lifted up her face to be kissed. He embraced her in themanner proposed, and turned to leave her. But before he went she made tohim one other petition, holding him by the arm as she did so. "Edouard, you can lend me twenty napoleons till I am at St. Petersburg?"

"No, Sophie, no. "

"Not lend your sister twenty napoleons!"

"No, Sophie. I never lend money. It is a rule. "

"Will you give me five? I am so poor. I have almost nothing. "

"Things are not so bad with you as that, I hope?"

"Ah! yes, they are very bad. Since I have been in this accursedcity--now, this time, what have I got? Nothing--nothing. She was to beall in all to me, and she has given me nothing! It is very bad to be sopoor. Say that you will give me five napoleons--oh my brother. " she wasstill hanging by his arm, and, as she did so, she looked up into hisface with tears in her eyes. As he regarded her, bending down his faceover hers, a slight smile came upon his countenance. Then he put hishand into his pocket, and, taking out his purse, handed to her fivesovereigns. 

"Only five!" she said. 

"Only five, " he answered. 

"A thousand thanks, oh my brother. " Then she kissed him again, and afterthat he went. She accompanied him to the top of the stairs, and fromthence showered blessings on his head till she heard the lock of thedoor closed behind him. When he was altogether gone she unlocked aninner drawer in her desk, and, taking out an uncompleted rouleau ofgold, added her brother's sovereigns thereto. The sum he had given herwas exactly wanted to make up the required number of twenty-five. Shecounted them half a dozen times to be quite sure, and then rolled themcarefully in paper, and sealed the little packet at each end. "Ah!" shesaid, speaking to herself, "they are very nice. Nothing else English isnice, but only these. " There were many rolls of money there before herin the drawer of the desk--some ten, perhaps, or twelve. These she tookout one after another, passing them lovingly through her fingers, looking at the little seals at the ends of each, weighing them in herhand as though to make sure that no wrong had been done to them in herabsence, standing them up one against another to see that they were ofthe same length. We may be quite sure that Sophie Gordeloup brought nosovereigns with her to England when she came over with Lady Ongar afterthe earl's death, and that the hoard before her contained simply theplunder which she had collected during this her latest visit to the"accursed" country which she was going to leave. 

But before she started she was resolved to make one more attempt uponthat mine of wealth which, but a few weeks ago, had seemed to lie openbefore her. She had learned from the servants in Bolton Street that LadyOngar was with Lady Clavering at Clavering Park, and she addressed aletter to her there. This letter she wrote in English, and she threwinto her appeal all the pathos of which she was capable. 

 Mount Street, October 186--

 DEAREST JULIE:--I do not think you would wish me to go away from this country forever--forever, without one word of farewell to her I love so fondly. Yes, I have loved you with all my heart, and now I am going away--forever. Shall we not meet each other once, and have one embrace? No trouble will be too much to me for that. No journey will be too long. Only say, Sophie, come to your Julie. 

 I must go, because I am so poor. Yes, I can not live longer here without the means. I am not ashamed to say to my Julie, who is rich, that I am poor. No; nor would I be ashamed to wait on my Julie like a slave if she would let me. My Julie was angry with me because of my brother! Was it my fault that he came upon us in our little retreat, where we were so happy? Oh, no. I told him not to come. I knew his coming was for nothing--nothing at all. I knew where was the heart of my Julie--my poor Julie! But he was not worth that heart, and the pearl was thrown before a pig. But my brother--Ah! he has ruined me. Why am I separated from my Julie but for him? Well, I can go away, and in my own countries there are those who will not wish to be separated from Sophie Gordeloup. 

 May I now tell my Julie in what condition is her poor friend? She will remember how it was that my feet brought me to England--to England, to which I had said farewell forever--to England, where people must be rich like my Julie before they can eat and drink. I thought nothing then but of my Julie. I stopped not on the road to make merchandise--what you call a bargain--about my coming. No; I came at once, leaving all things--my little affairs--in confusion, because my Julie wanted me to come! It was in the Winter. Oh, that Winter! My poor bones shall never forget it. They are racked still with the pains which your savage winds have given them. And now it is Autumn. Ten months have I been here, and I have eaten up my little substance. Oh, Julie, you, who are so rich, do not know what is the poverty of your Sophie!

 A lawyer have told me--not a French lawyer, but an English--that somebody should pay me everything. He says the law would give it me. He have offered me the money himself, just to let him make an action. But I have said no. No, Sophie will not have an action with her Julie. She would scorn that; and so the lawyer went away. But if my Julie will think of this, and will remember her Sophie--how much she have expended, and now at last there is nothing left. She must go and beg among her friends. And why? Because she have loved her Julie too well. You, who are so rich, would miss it not at all. What would two-three hundred pounds be to my Julie?

 Shall I come to you? Say so; say so, and I will go at once, if I did crawl on my knees. Oh, what a joy to see my Julie! And do not think I will trouble you about money. No, your Sophie will be too proud for that. Not a word will I say but to love you. Nothing will I do but to print one kiss on my Julie's forehead, and then to retire forever, asking God's blessing for her dear head. 

 Thine-always thine, Sophie. 

Lady Ongar, when she received this letter, was a little perplexed by it, not feeling quite sure in what way she might best answer it. It was thespecial severity of her position that there was no one to whom, in suchdifficulties, she could apply for advice. Of one thing she was quitesure--that, willingly, she would never again see her devoted Sophie. Andshe knew that the woman deserved no money from her; that she haddeserved none, but had received much. Every assertion in her letter wasfalse. No one had wished her to come, and the expense of her coming hadbeen paid for her over and over again. Lady Ongar knew that she hadmoney, and knew also that she would have had immediate recourse to lawif any lawyer would have suggested to her, with a probability ofsuccess, that he could get more for her. No doubt she had been tellingher story to some attorney, in the hope that money might thus heextracted, and had been dragging her Julie's name through the mud, telling all she knew of that wretched Florentine story. As to all thatLady Ongar had no doubt, and yet she wished to send the woman money!

There are services for which one is ready to give almost any amount ofmoney payment, if only one can be sure that that money payment will betaken as sufficient recompense for the service in question. SophieGordeloup had been useful. She had been very disagreeable, but she hadbeen useful. She had done things which nobody else could have done, andshe had done her work well. That she had been paid for her work over andover again there was no doubt; but Lady Ongar was willing to give heryet further payment, if only there might be an end of it. But she fearedto do this, dreading the nature and cunning of the little woman--lestshe should take such payment as an acknowledgment of services for whichsecret compensation must be made, and should then proceed to furtherthreats. Thinking much of all this, Julie at last wrote to her Sophie asfollows:

 Lady Ongar presents her compliments to Madam Gordeloup, and must decline to see Madam Gordeloup again after what has passed. Lady Ongar is very sorry to hear that Madam Gordeloup is in want of funds. Whatever assistance Lady Ongar might have been willing to afford, she now feels that she is prohibited from giving any by the allusion which Madam Gordeloup has made to legal advice. If Madam Gordeloup has legal demands on Lady Ongar which are said by a lawyer to be valid, Lady Ongar would strongly recommend Madam Gordeloup to enforce them. 

 Clavering Park, October, 186--. 

This she wrote, acting altogether on her own judgment, and sent off byreturn of post. She almost wept at her own cruelty after the letter wasgone, and greatly doubted her own discretion. But of whom could she haveasked advice? Could she have told all the story of Madam Gordeloup tothe rector or to the rector's wife? The letter, no doubt, was a discreetletter, but she greatly doubted her own discretion, and when shereceived her Sophie's rejoinder, she hardly dared to break the envelope. 

Poor Sophie! Her Julie's letter nearly broke her heart. For sinceritylittle credit was due to her--but some little was perhaps due. That sheshould be called Madam Gordeloup, and have compliments presented to herby the woman--by the countess with whom and with whose husband she hadbeen on such closely familiar terms, did in truth wound some tenderfeelings within her breast. Such love as she had been able to give, shehad given to her Julie. That she had always been willing to rob herJulie--to make a milch-cow of her Julie--to sell her Julie--to threatenher Julie--to quarrel with her Julie, if aught might be done in thatway--to expose her Julie--nay, to destroy her Julie, if money was to bemade--all this did not hinder her love. She loved her Julie, and wasbroken-hearted that her Julie should have written to her in such astrain. 

But her feelings were much more acute when she came to perceive that shehad damaged her own affairs by the hint of a menace which she had thrownout. Business is business, and must take precedence of all sentiment andromance in this hard world in which bread is so necessary. Of that MadamGordeloup was well aware. And therefore, having given herself but twoshort minutes to weep over her Julie's hardness, she applied her mind atonce to the rectification of the error she had made. Yes, she had beenwrong about the lawyer--certainly wrong. But then these English peoplewere so pig-headed! A slight suspicion of a hint, such as that she hadmade, would have been taken by a Frenchman, by a Russian, by a Pole, asmeaning no more than it meant. "But these English are bulls the men andthe women are all like bulls--bulls!"

She at once sat down and wrote another letter--another in such anecstasy of eagerness to remove the evil impressions which she had made, that she wrote it almost with the natural effusions of her heart:

 DEAR FRIEND:--Your coldness kills me--kills me! But perhaps I have deserved it. If I said there were legal demands I did deserve it. No, there are none. Legal demands! Oh, no. What can your poor friend demand legally? The lawyer--he knows nothing; he was a stranger. It was my brother spoke to him. What should I do with a lawyer? Oh, my friend, do not be angry with your poor servant. I write now not to ask for money, but for a kind word--for one word of kindness and love to your Sophie before she have gone forever--yes, forever. Oh, Julie--oh, my angel, I would lie at your feet and kiss them if you were here. 

 Yours till death, even though you should still be hard to me, Sophie. 

To this appeal Lady Ongar sent no direct answer, but she commissionedMr. Turnbull, her lawyer, to call upon Madam Gordeloup and pay to thatlady one hundred pounds, taking her receipt for the same. Lady Ongar, inher letter to the lawyer, explained that the woman in question had beenuseful in Florence, and explained also that she might pretend that shehad further claims. "If so, " said Lady Ongar, "I wish you to tell herthat she can prosecute them at law, if she pleases. The money I now giveher is a gratuity made for certain services rendered in Florence duringthe illness of Lord Ongar. " This commission Mr. Turnbull executed, andSophie Gordeloup, when taking the money, made no demand for any furtherpayment. 

Four days after this a little woman, carrying a very big bandbox in herhands, might have been seen to scramble with difficulty out of a boat inthe Thames up the side of a steamer bound from thence for Boulogne; andafter her there climbed up an active little man, who, with peremptoryvoice, repulsed the boatman's demand for further payment. He also had abandbox on his arm, belonging, no doubt, to the little woman. And itmight have been seen that the active little man, making his way to thetable at which the clerk of the boat was sitting, out of his own pursepaid the passage-money for two passengers through to Paris. And thehead, and legs, and neck of that little man were like to the head, andlegs, and neck of--our friend Doodles, alias Captain Boodle, ofWarwickshire. 

Chapter LI

Showing How Things Settled Themselves At The Rectory

When Harry's letter, with the tidings of the fate of his cousins, reached Florence at Stratton, the whole family was, not unnaturally, thrown into great excitement. Being slow people, the elder Burtons hadhardly as yet realized the fact that Harry was again to be acceptedamong the Burton Penates as a pure divinity. Mrs. Burton, for some weekspast, had grown to be almost sublime in her wrath against him. That aman should live and treat her daughter as Florence was about to betreated! Had not her husband forbidden such a journey, as being uselessin regard to the expenditure, she would have gone up to London that shemight have told Harry what she thought of him. Then came the news thatHarry was again a divinity--an Apollo, whom the Burton Penates oughtonly to be too proud to welcome to a seat among them!

And now came this other news that this Apollo was to be an Apolloindeed! When the god first became a god again, there was still a cloudupon the minds of the elder Burtons as to the means by which thedivinity was to be sustained. A god in truth, but a god with so verymoderate an annual income--unless, indeed, those old Burtons made it upto an extent which seemed to them to be quite unnatural! There was joyamong the Burtons, of course, but the joy was somewhat dimmed by thesereflections as to the slight means of their Apollo. A lover who was notan Apollo might wait; but, as they had learned already, there was dangerin keeping such a god as this suspended on the tenter-hooks ofexpectation. 

But now there came the further news! This Apollo of theirs had already aplace of his own among the gods of Olympus. He was the eldest son of aman of large fortune, and would be a baronet! He had already declaredthat he would marry at once--that his father wished him to do so, andthat an abundant income would be forthcoming. As to his eagerness for animmediate marriage, no divinity in or out of the heavens could behavebetter. Old Mrs. Burton, as she went through the process of taking himagain to her heart, remembered that that virtue had been his even beforethe days of his backsliding had come--a warm-hearted, eager, affectionate divinity, with only this against him, that he wanted somecareful looking after in these his unsettled days. "I really do thinkthat he'll be as fond of his own fireside as any other man, when he hasonce settled down, " said Mrs. Burton. 

It will not, I hope, be taken as a blot on the character of this motherthat she was much elated at the prospect of the good things which wereto fall to her daughter's lot. For herself she desired nothing. For herdaughters she had coveted only good, substantial, painstaking husbands, who would fear God and mind their business. When Harry Clavering hadcome across her path and had demanded a daughter from her, after themanner of the other young men who had learned the secrets of theirprofession at Stratton, she had desired nothing more than that he andFlorence should walk in the path which had been followed by her sistersand their husbands. But then had come that terrible fear, and now hadcome these golden prospects. That her daughter should be Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park! She could not but be elated at the thought of it. Shewould not live to see it, but the consciousness that it would be so waspleasant in her old age. Florence had ever been regarded as the flowerof the flock, and now she would be taken up into high places, accordingto her deserts. 

First had come the letter from Harry, and then, after an interval of aweek, another letter from Mrs. Clavering, pressing her dear Florence togo to the parsonage. "We think that at present we all ought to betogether, " said Mrs. Clavering, "and therefore we want you to be withus. " It was very flattering. "I suppose I ought to go, mamma, " saidFlorence. Mrs. Burton was of opinion that she certainly ought to go. "You should write to her ladyship at once, " said Mrs. Burton, mindful ofthe change which had taken place. Florence, however, addressed herletter, as heretofore, to Mrs. Clavering, thinking that a mistake onthat side would be better than a mistake on the other. It was not forher to be over-mindful of the rank with which she was about to beconnected. "You won't forget your old mother now that you are going tobe so grand?" said Mrs. Burton, as Florence was leaving her. 

"You only say that to laugh at me, " said Florence. "I expect nograndness, and I am sure you expect no forgetfulness. "

The solemnity consequent upon the first news of the accident had wornitself off; and Florence found the family at the parsonage happy andcomfortable. Mrs. Fielding was still there, and Mr. Fielding wasexpected again after the next Sunday. Fanny also was there, and Florencecould see during the first half hour that she was very radiant. Mr. Saul, however, was not there, and it may as well be said at once thatMr. Saul as yet knew nothing of his coming fortune. Florence wasreceived with open arms by them all, and by Harry with arms which werealmost too open. "I suppose it may be in about three weeks from now, " hesaid at the first moment in which he could have her to himself. 

"Oh, Harry--no, " said Florence. 

"No--why no? That's what my mother proposes. "

"In three weeks! She could not have said that. Nobody has begun to thinkof such a thing yet at Stratton. "

"They are so very slow at Stratton!"

"And you are so very fast at Clavering! But, Harry, we don't know wherewe are going to live. "

"We should go abroad at first, I suppose. "

"And what then? That would only be for a month or so. "

"Only for a month? I mean for all the Winter--and the Spring. Why not?One can see nothing in a month. If we are back for the shooting nextyear, that would do; and then, of course, we should come here. I shouldsay next Winter--that is, the Winter after the next--we might as wellstay with them at the big house, and then we could look about us, youknow. I should like a place near to this, because of the hunting. "

Florence, when she heard all this, became aware that in talking about amonth she had forgotten herself. She had been accustomed to holidays ofa month's duration, and to honeymoon trips fitted to such vacations. Amonth was the longest holiday ever heard of in the chambers of theAdelphi, or at the house in Onslow Crescent. She had forgotten herself. It was not to be the lot of her husband to earn his bread, and fithimself to such periods as business might require. Then Harry went ondescribing the tour which he had arranged--which, as he said, he onlysuggested. But it was quite apparent that in this matter he intended tobe paramount. Florence indeed made no objection. To spend a fortnight inParis--to hurry over the Alps before the cold weather came--to spend amonth in Florence, and then go on to Rome--it would all be very nice. But she declared that it would suit the next year better than this. 

"Suit ten thousand fiddlesticks, " said Harry. 

"But it is October now. "

"And therefore there is no time to lose. "

"I haven't a dress in the world but the one I have on, and a few otherslike it. Oh, Harry, how can you talk in that way?"

"Well, say four weeks then from now. That will make it the seventh ofNovember, and we'll only stay a day or two in Paris. We can do Parisnext year--in May. If you'll agree to that, I'll agree. " But Florence'sbreath was taken away from her, and she could agree to nothing. She didagree to nothing till she had been talked into doing so by Mrs. Clavering. 

"My dear, " said her future mother-in-law, "what you say is undoubtedlytrue. There is no absolute necessity for hurrying. It is not an affairof life and death. But you and Harry have been engaged quite long enoughnow, and I really don't see why you should put it off. If you do as heasks you, you will just have time to make yourselves comfortable beforethe cold weather begins. "

"But mamma will be so surprised. "

"I'm sure she will wish it, my dear. You see Harry is a young man ofthat sort--so impetuous I mean, you know, and so eager--and so--you knowwhat I mean--that the sooner he is married the better. You can't buttake it as a compliment, Florence, that he is so eager. "

"Of course I do. "

"And you should reward him. Believe me, it will be best that it shouldnot be delayed. " Whether or no Mrs. Clavering had present in herimagination the possibility of any further danger that might result fromLady Ongar, I will not say, but if so she altogether failed incommunicating her idea to Florence. 

"Then I must go home at once, " said Florence, driven almost to bewailthe terrors of her position. 

"You can write home at once and tell your mother. You can tell her allthat I say, and I am sure she will agree with me. If you wish it, I willwrite a line to Mrs. Burton myself. " Florence said that she would wishit. "And we can begin, you know, to get your things ready here. Peopledon't take so long about all that now-a-days as they used to do. " WhenMrs. Clavering had turned against her, Florence knew that she had nohope, and surrendered, subject to the approval of the higher authoritiesat Stratton. The higher authorities at Stratton approved also, ofcourse, and Florence found herself fixed to a day with a suddenness thatbewildered her. Immediately--almost as soon as the consent had beenextorted from her--she began to be surrounded with incipient preparationfor the event, as to which, about three weeks since, she had made up hermind it would never come to pass. 

On the second day of her arrival, in the privacy of her bed-room, Fannycommunicated to her the decision of her family in regard to Mr. Saul. But she told the story at first as though this decision referred to theliving only--as though the rectory were to be conferred on Mr. Saulwithout any burden attached to it. "He has been here so long, dear, "said Fanny, "and understands the people so well. "

"I am so delighted, " said Florence. 

"I am sure it is the best thing papa could do--that is, if he quitemakes up his mind to give up the parish himself. "

This troubled Florence, who did not know that a baronet could hold aliving. 

"I thought he must give up being a clergyman now that Sir Hugh is dead?"

"Oh dear, no. " And then Fanny, who was great on ecclesiastical subjects, explained it all. "Even though he were to be a peer, he could hold aliving if he pleased. A great many baronets are clergymen, and some ofthem do hold preferments. As to papa, the doubt has been with himwhether he would wish to give up the work. But he will preach sometimes, you know, though of course he will not be able to do that unless Mr. Saul lets him. No one but the rector has a right to his own pulpitexcept the bishop, and he can preach three times a year if he likes it. "

"And suppose the bishop wanted to preach four times?"

"He couldn't do it--at least I believe not. But, you see, he never wantsto preach at all--not in such a place as this--so that does notsignify. "

"And will Mr. Saul come and live here, in this house?"

"Some day I suppose he will, " said Fanny, blushing. 

"And you, dear?"

"I don't know how that may be. "

"Come, Fanny. "

"Indeed I don't, Florence, or I would tell you. Of course Mr. Saul hasasked me. I never had any secret with you about that--have I?"

"No; you were very good. "

"Then he asked me again--twice again. And then there came--oh, such aquarrel between him and papa. It was so terrible. Do you know, I believethey wouldn't speak in the vestry! Not but what each of them has thehighest possible opinion of the other. But of course Mr. Saul couldn'tmarry on a curacy. When I think of it, it really seems that he must havebeen mad. "

"But you don't think him so mad now, dear?"

"He doesn't know a word about it yet--not a word. He hasn't been in thehouse since, and papa and he didn't speak--not in a friendly way--tillthe news came of peer Hugh's being drowned. Then he came up to papa, and, of course, papa took his hand. But he still thinks he is goingaway. "

"And when is he to be told that he needn't go?"

"That is the difficulty. Mamma will have to do it, I believe. But whatshe will say I'm sure I, for one, can't think. "

"Mrs. Clavering will have no difficulty. "

"You mustn't call her Mrs. Clavering. "

"Lady Clavering, then. "

"That's a great deal worse. She's your mamma now--not quite so much asshe is mine, but the next thing to it. "

"She'll know what to say to Mr. Saul. "

"But what is she to say?"

"Well, Fanny, you ought to know that. I suppose you do--love him?"

"I have never told him so. "

"But you will?"

"It seems so odd. Mamma will have to-- Suppose he were to turn round andsay he didn't want me. "

"That would be awkward. "

"He would in a minute, if that was what he felt. The idea of having theliving would not weigh with him a bit. "

"But when he was so much in love before, it won't make him out of love, will it?"

"I don't know, " said Fanny. "At any rate, mamma is to see him to-morrow, and after that I suppose--I'm sure I don't know--but I suppose he'llcome to the rectory as he used to do. "

"How happy you must be, " said Florence, kissing her. To this Fanny madesome unintelligible demur. It was undoubtedly possible that, under thealtered circumstances of the case, so strange a being as Mr. Saul mighthave changed his mind. 

There was a great trial awaiting Florence Burton. She had to be taken upto call on the ladies at the great house--on the two widowed ladies whowere still remaining there when she came to Clavering. It was only onthe day before her arrival that Harry had seen Lady Ongar. He hadthought much of the matter before he went across to the house, doubtingwhether it would not be better to let Julia go without troubling herwith a further interview. But he had not then seen even Lady Claveringsince the tidings of her bereavement had come, and he felt that it wouldnot be well that he should let his cousin's widow leave Claveringwithout offering her his sympathy. And it might be better, also, that heshould see Julia once again, if only that he might show himself capableof meeting her without the exhibition of any peculiar emotion. He went, therefore, to the house, and having inquired for Lady Clavering, sawboth the sisters together. He seen found that the presence of theyounger one was a relief to him. Lady Clavering was so sad, and sopeevish in her sadness--so broken-spirited, so far as yet fromrecognizing the great enfranchisement that had come to her, that withher alone he would have found himself almost unable to express thesympathy which he felt. But with Lady Ongar he had no difficulty. LadyOngar, her sister being with them in the room, talked to him easily, asthough there had never been anything between them to make conversationdifficult. That all words between them should, on such an occasion asthis, be sad, was a matter of course; but it seemed to Harry that Juliahad freed herself from all the effects of that feeling which had existedbetween them, and that it would become him to do this as effectually asshe had done it. Such an idea, at least, was in his mind for a moment;but when he left her she spoke one word which dispelled it. "Harry, " shesaid, "you must ask Miss Burton to come across and see me. I hear thatshe is to be at the rectory to-morrow. " Harry of course said that hewould send her. "She will understand why I can not go to her, as Ishould do-but for poor Hermy's position. You will explain this, Harry. "Harry, blushing up to his forehead, declared that Florence would requireno explanation, and that she would certainly make the visit as proposed. "I wish to see her, Harry--so much. And if I do not see her now, I maynever have another chance. "

It was nearly a week after this that Florence went across to the greathouse with Mrs. Clavering and Fanny. I think that she understood thenature of the visit she was called upon to make, and no doubt shetrembled much at the coming ordeal. She was going to see her greatrival--her rival, who had almost been preferred to her--nay, who hadbeen preferred to her for some short space of time, and whose claims asto beauty and wealth were so greatly superior to her own. And this womanwhom she was to see had been the first love of the man whom she nowregarded as her own, and would have been about to be his wife at thismoment had it not been for her own treachery to him. Was she sobeautiful as people said? Florence, in the bottom of her heart, wishedthat she might have been saved from this interview. 

The three ladies from the rectory found the two ladies at the greathouse sitting together in the small drawing-room. Florence was soconfused that she could hardly bring herself to speak to Lady Clavering, or so much as look at Lady Ongar. She shook hands with the elder sister, and knew that her hand was then taken by the other. Julia at first spokea very few words to Mrs. Clavering, and Fanny sat herself down besideHermione. Florence took a chair at a little distance, and was left therefor a few minutes without notice. For this she was very thankful, and bydegrees was able to fix her eyes on the face of the woman whom she sofeared to see, and yet on whom she so desired to look. Lady Claveringwas a mass of ill-arranged widow's weeds. She had assumed in all itsgrotesque ugliness those paraphernalia of outward woe which women havebeen condemned to wear, in order that for a time they may be shorn ofall the charms of their sex. Nothing could be more proper or unbecomingthan the heavy, drooping, shapeless blackness in which Lady Claveringhad enveloped herself. But Lady Ongar, though also a widow, though asyet a widow of not twelve months' standing, was dressed--in weeds, nodoubt, but in weeds which had been so cultivated that they were as goodas flowers. She was very beautiful. Florence owned to herself as she satthere in silence, that Lady Ongar was the most beautiful woman she hadever seen. But hers was not the beauty by which, as she would havethought, Harry Clavering would have been attracted. Lady Ongar's form, bust, and face were, at this period of her life, almost majestic, whereas the softness and grace of womanhood were the charms which Harryloved. He had sometimes said to Florence that, to his taste, CeciliaBurton was almost perfect as a woman; and there could be no contrastgreater than that between Cecilia Burton and Lady Ongar. But Florencedid not remember that the Julia Brabazon of three years since had notbeen the same as the Lady Ongar whom now she saw. 

When they had been there some minutes Lady Ongar came and sat besideFlorence, moving her seat as though she were doing the most naturalthing in the world. Florence's heart came to her mouth, but she made aresolution that she would, if possible, bear herself well. "You havebeen at Clavering before, I think, " said Lady Ongar. Florence said thatshe had been at the parsonage during the last Easter. "Yes, I heard thatyou dined here with my brother-in-law. " This she said in a low voice, having seen that Lady Clavering was engaged with Fanny and Mrs. Clavering. "Was it not terribly sudden?"

"Terribly sudden, " said Florence. 

"The two brothers! Had you not met Captain Clavering?"

"Yes; he was here when I dined with your sister. "

"Poor fellow! Is it not odd that they should have gone, and that theirfriend, whose yacht it was, should have been saved? They say, however, that Mr. Stuart behaved admirably, begging his friends to get into theboat first. He stayed by the vessel when the boat was carried away, andhe was saved in that way. But he meant to do the best he could for them. There's no doubt of that. "

"But how dreadful his feelings must be!"

"Men do not think so much of these things as we do. They have so muchmore to employ their minds. Don't you think so?" Florence did not at themoment quite know what she thought about men's feelings, but said thatshe supposed that such was the case. "But I think that, after all, theyare juster than we are, " continued Lady Ongar--"juster and truer, thoughnot so tender-hearted. Mr. Stuart, no doubt, would have been willing todrown himself to save his friends, because the fault was in some degreehis. I don't know that I should have been able to do so much. "

"In such a moment, it must have been so difficult to think of what oughtto be done. "

"Yes, indeed; and there is but little good in speculating upon it now. You know this place, do you not--the house, I mean, and the gardens?"

"Not very well. " Florence, as she answered this question, began again totremble. "Take a turn with me, and I will show you the garden. My hatand cloak are in the hall. " Then Florence got up to accompany her, trembling very much inwardly. "Miss Burton and I are going out for a fewminutes, " said Lady Ongar, addressing herself to Mrs. Clavering. "Wewill not keep you waiting very long. "

"We are in no hurry, " said Mrs. Clavering. Then Florence was carriedoff, and found herself alone with her conquered rival. 

"Not that there is much to show you, " said Lady Ongar--"indeed nothing;but the place must be of more interest to you than to any one else, andif you are fond of that sort of thing, no doubt you will make it allthat is charming. "

"I am very fond of a garden, " said Florence. 

"I don't know whether I am. Alone, by myself I think I should carenothing for the prettiest Eden in all England. I don't think I wouldcare for a walk through the Elysian fields by myself. I am a chameleon, and take the color of those with whom I live. My future colors will notbe very bright, as I take it. It's a gloomy place enough, is it not? Butthere are fine trees, you see, which are the only things which one cannot by any possibility command. Given good trees, taste and money may doanything very quickly, as I have no doubt you'll find. "

"I don't suppose I shall have much to do with it--at present. "

"I should think that you will have everything to do with it. There, MissBurton, I brought you here to show you this very spot, and to make toyou my confession here, and to get from you, here, one word ofconfidence, if you will give it me. " Florence was trembling nowoutwardly as well as inwardly. "You know my story--as far, I mean, as Ihad a story once, in conjunction with Harry Clavering?"

"I think I do, " said Florence. 

"I am sure you do, " said Lady Ongar. "He has told me that you do, andwhat he says is always true. It was here, on this spot, that I gave himback his troth to me, and told him that I would have none of his love, because he was poor. That is barely two years ago. Now he is poor nolonger. Now, had I been true to him, a marriage with him would havebeen, in a prudential point of view, all that any woman could desire. Igave up the dearest heart, the sweetest temper, ay, and the truest manthat, that-- Well, you have won him instead, and he has been the gainer. I doubt whether I ever should have made him happy, but I know that youwill do so. It was just here that I parted from him. "

"He has told me of that parting, " said Florence. 

"I am sure he has. And, Miss Burton, if you will allow me to say oneword further--do not be made to think any ill of him because of whathappened the other day. "

"I think no ill of him, " said Florence, proudly. 

"That is well. But I am sure you do not. You are not one to think evil, as I take it, of any body, much less of him whom you love. When he sawme again, free as I am, and when I saw him, thinking him also to befree, was it strange that some memory of old days should come back uponus? But the fault, if fault there has been, was mine. "

"I have never said that there was any fault. "

"No, Miss Burton, but others have said so. No doubt I am foolish to talkto you in this way, and I have not yet said that which I desired to say. It is simply this--that I do not begrudge you your happiness. I wishedthe same happiness to be mine, but it is not mine. It might have been, but I forfeited it. It is past, and I will pray that you may enjoy itlong. You will not refuse to receive my congratulations?"

"Indeed I will not. "

"Or to think of me as a friend of your husband's?"

"Oh no. "

"That is all, then. I have shown you the gardens, and now we may go in. Some day, perhaps, when you are Lady Paramount here, and your childrenare running about the place, I may come again to see them--if you and hewill have me. "

"I hope you will, Lady Ongar. In truth I hope so. "

"It is odd enough that I said to him once that I would never go toClavering Park again till I went there to see his wife. That was longbefore those two brothers perished--before I had ever heard of FlorenceBurton. And yet, indeed, it was not very long ago. It was since myhusband died. But that was not quite true, for here I am, and he has notyet got a wife. But it was odd, was it not?"

"I can not think what should have made you say that. "

"A spirit of prophecy comes on one sometimes, I suppose. Well, shall wego in? I have shown you all the wonders of the garden, and told you allthe wonders connected with it of which I know aught. No doubt therewould be other wonders more wonderful, if one could ransack the privatehistory of all the Claverings for the last hundred years. I hope, MissBurton, that any marvels which may attend your career here may be happymarvels. " She then took Florence by the hand, and, drawing close to her, stooped over and kissed her. "You will think me a fool, of course, " saidshe, "but I do not care for that. " Florence now was in tears, and couldmake no answer in words; but she pressed the hand which she still held, and then followed her companion back into the house. After that thevisit was soon brought to an end, and the three ladies from the rectoryreturned across the park to their house. 

Chapter LII

Conclusion

Florence Burton had taken upon herself to say that Mrs. Clavering wouldhave no difficulty in making to Mr. Saul the communication which was nowneeded before he could be received at the rectory, as the rector'ssuccessor and future son-in-law; but Mrs. Clavering was by no means soconfident of her own powers. To her it seemed as though the undertakingwhich she had in hand was one surrounded with difficulties. Her husband, when the matter was being discussed, at once made her understand that hewould not relieve her by an offer to perform the task. He had been madeto break the bad news to Lady Clavering, and, having been submissive inthat matter, felt himself able to stand aloof altogether as to this moredifficult embassy. "I suppose it would hardly do to ask Harry to see himagain, " Mrs. Clavering had said. "You would do it much better, my dear. "the rector had replied. Then Mrs. Clavering had submitted in her turn;and when the scheme was fully matured, and the time had come in whichthe making of the proposition could no longer be delayed with prudence, Mr. Saul was summoned by a short note. "Dear Mr. Saul:--If you aredisengaged, would you come to me at the rectory at eleven to-morrow?Yours ever, M. C. " Mr. Saul of course said that he would come. When theto-morrow had arrived and breakfast was over, the rector and Harry tookthemselves off somewhere about the grounds of the great house, countingup their treasures of proprietorship, as we can fancy that men socircumstanced would do, while Mary Fielding, with Fanny and Florence, retired up stairs, so that they might be well out of the way. They knew, all of them, what was about to be done, and Fanny behaved herself like awhite lamb, decked with bright ribbons for the sacrificial altar. To herit was a sacrificial morning--very sacred, very solemn, and very tryingto the nerves. 

"I don't think that any girl was ever in such a position before, " shesaid to her sister. 

"A great many girls would be glad to be in the same position, " Mrs. Fielding replied. 

"Do you think so? To me there is something almost humiliating in theidea that he should be asked to take me. "

"Fiddlestick, my dear, " replied Mrs. Fielding. 

Mr. Saul came, punctual as the church clock, of which he had theregulating himself and was shown into the rectory dining-room, whereMrs. Clavering was sitting alone. He looked, as he ever did, serious, composed, ill-dressed, and like a gentleman. Of course he must havesupposed that the present rector would make some change in his mode ofliving, and could not be surprised that he should have been summoned tothe rectory; but he was surprised that the summons should have come fromMrs. Clavering, and not from the rector himself. It appeared to him thatthe old enmity must be very enduring if, even now, Mr. Clavering couldnot bring himself to see his curate on a matter of business. 

"It seems a long time since we have seen you here, Mr. Saul, " said Mrs. Clavering. 

"Yes; when I have remembered how often I used to be here, my absence hasseemed long and strange. "

"It has been a source of great grief to me. "

"And to me, Mrs. Clavering. "

"But, as circumstances then were, in truth it could not be avoided. Common prudence made it necessary. Don't you think so, Mr. Saul?"

"If you ask me, I must answer according to my own ideas. Common prudenceshould not have made it necessary--at least not according to my view ofthings. Common prudence, with different people, means such differentthings! But I am not going to quarrel with your ideas of commonprudence, Mrs. Clavering. "

Mrs. Clavering had begun badly, and was aware of it. She should havesaid nothing about the past. She had foreseen, from the first, thedanger of doing so, but had been unable to rush at once into the goldenfuture. "I hope we shall have no more quarrelling, at any rate, " shesaid. 

"There shall be none on my part. Only, Mrs. Clavering, you must notsuppose, from my saying so, that I intend to give up my pretensions. Aword from your daughter would make me do so, but no words from any oneelse. "

"She ought to be very proud of such constancy on your part, Mr. Saul, and I have no doubt she will be. " Mr. Saul did not understand this, andmade no reply to it. "I don't know whether you have heard that Mr. Clavering intends to--give up the living. "

"I have not heard it. I have thought it probable that he would do so. "

"He has made up his mind that he will. The fact is that if he held it, he must neglect either that or the property. " We will not stop at thismoment to examine what Mr. Saul's ideas must have been as to theexigencies of the property, which would leave no time for theperformance of such clerical duties as had fallen for some years past tothe share of the rector himself. "He hopes that he may be allowed totake some part in the services, but he means to resign the living. "

"I suppose that will not much affect me for the little time that I haveto remain. "

"We think it will affect you, and hope that it may. Mr. Clavering wishesyou to accept the living. "

"To accept the living?" And for a moment even Mr. Saul looked as thoughhe were surprised. 

"Yes, Mr. Saul. "

"To be rector of Clavering?"

"If you see no objection to such an arrangement. "

"It is a most munificent offer, but as strange as it is munificent. Unless, indeed--" And then some glimpse of the truth made its way intothe chinks of Mr. Saul's mind. 

"Mr. Clavering would, no doubt, have made the offer to you himself hadit not been that I can, perhaps, speak to you about dear Fanny betterthan he could. Though our prudence has not been quite to your mind, youcan, at any rate, understand that we might very much object to hermarrying you when there was nothing for you to live on, even though wehad no objection to yourself personally. "

"But Mr. Clavering did object on both grounds. "

"I was not aware that he had done so; but if so, no such objection isnow made by him--or by me. My idea is that a child should be allowed toconsult her own heart, and to indulge her own choice, provided that indoing so she does not prepare for herself a life of indigence, whichmust be a life of misery; and of course providing also that there be nostrong personal objection. "

"A life of indigence need not be a life of misery, " said Mr. Saul, withthat obstinacy which formed so great a part of his character. 

"Well, well. "

"I am very indigent, but I am not at all miserable. If we are to be mademiserable by that, what is the use of all our teaching?"

"But, at any rate a competence is comfortable. "

"Too comfortable!" As Mr. Saul made this exclamation, Mrs. Claveringcould not but wonder at her daughter's taste. But the matter had gonetoo far now for any possibility of receding. 

"You will not refuse it, I hope, as it will be accompanied by what yousay you still desire. "

"No, I will not refuse it. And may God give her and me grace so to usethe riches of this world that they become not a stumbling-block to us, and a rock of offence. It is possible that the camel should be made togo through the needle's eye. It is possible. "

"The position, you know, is not one of great wealth. "

"It is to me, who have barely hitherto had the means of support. Willyou tell your husband from me that I will accept, and endeavor not tobetray the double trust he proposes to confer on me? It is much that heshould give to me his daughter. She shall be to me bone of my bone, andflesh of my flesh. If God will give me his grace thereto, I will watchover her, so that no harm shall come nigh her. I love her as the appleof my eye; and I am thankful--very thankful that the rich gift should bemade to me. "

"I am sure that you love her, Mr. Saul. "

"But, " continued he, not marking her interruption, "that other trust isone still greater, and requiring a more tender care and even a closersympathy. I shall feel that the souls of these people will be, as itwere, in my hand, and that I shall be called upon to give an account oftheir welfare. I will strive--I will strive. And she, also, will be withme to help me. "

When Mrs. Clavering described this scene to her husband, he shook hishead, and there came over his face a smile, in which there was much ofmelancholy, as he said, "Ah I yes, that is all very well now. He willsettle down as other men do, I suppose, when he has four or fivechildren around him. " Such were the ideas which the experience of theoutgoing and elder clergyman taught him to entertain as to the ecstaticpiety of his younger brother. 

It was Mrs. Clavering who suggested to Mr. Saul that perhaps he wouldlike to see Fanny. This she did when her story had been told, and he waspreparing to leave her. "Certainly, if she will come to me. "

"I will make no promise, " said Mrs. Clavering, "but I will see. " Thenshe went up stairs to the room where the girls were sitting, and thesacrificial lamb was sent down into the drawing-room. "I suppose, if yousay so, mamma--"

"I think, my dear, that you had better see him. You will meet then morecomfortably afterward. " So Fanny went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Saul was sent to her there. What passed between them all readers ofthese pages will understand. Few young ladies, I fear, will envy FannyClavering her lover; but they will remember that Love will still be lordof all, and they will acknowledge that he had done much to deserve thesuccess in life which had come in his way. 

It was long before the old rector could reconcile himself either to thenew rector or his new son-in-law. Mrs. Clavering had now so warmly takenup Fanny's part, and had so completely assumed a mother's interest inher coming marriage, that Mr. Clavering, or Sir Henry, as we may nowcall him, had found himself obliged to abstain from repeating to her thewonder with which he still regarded his daughter's choice. But to Harryhe could still be eloquent on the subject. "Of course it's all rightnow, " ho said. "He's a very good young man, and nobody would work harderin the parish. I always thought I was very lucky to have such anassistant; but, upon my word, I can not understand Fanny--I can not, indeed. "

"She has been taken by the religious side of her character, " said Harry. 

"Yes, of course. And no doubt it is very gratifying to me to see thatshe thinks so much of religion. It should be the first considerationwith all of us at all times. But she has never been used to men like Mr. Saul. "

"Nobody can deny that he is a gentleman. "

"Yes, he is a gentleman; God forbid that I should say he was not, especially now that he is going to marry your sister. But--I don't knowwhether you quite understand what I mean. "

"I think I do. He isn't quite one of our sort. "

"How on earth she can ever have brought herself to look at him in thatlight?"

"There's no accounting for tastes, sir. And, after all, as he's to havethe living, there will be nothing to regret. "

"No, nothing to regret. I suppose he'll be up at the other houseoccasionally? I never could make anything of him when he dined at therectory; perhaps he'll be better there. Perhaps, when he's married, he'll get into the way of drinking a glass of wine like any body else. Dear Fanny, I hope she'll be happy. That's every thing. " In answer tothis, Harry took upon himself to assure his father that Fanny would behappy; and then they changed the conversation, and discussed thealterations which they would make in reference to the preservation ofpheasants. 

Mr. Saul and Fanny remained long together on that occasion, and whenthey parted he went off about his work, not saying a word to any otherperson in the house, and she betook herself as fast as her feet couldcarry her to her own room. 

She said not a word either to her mother, or to her sister, or toFlorence as to what had passed at that interview; but, when she wasfirst seen by any of them, she was very grave in her demeanor, and verysilent. When her father congratulated her, which he did with as muchcordiality as he was able to assume, she kissed him, and thanked him forhis care and kindness; but even this she did almost solemnly. "Ah! I seehow it is to be, " said the old rector to his wife. "There are to be nomore cakes and ale in the parish. " Then his wife reminded him of what hehimself had said of the change which would take place in Mr. Saul's wayswhen he should have a lot of children running about his feet. "Then Ican only hope that they'll begin to run about very soon, " said the oldrector. 

To her sister, Mary Fielding, Fanny said little or nothing of her comingmarriage, but to Florence, who, as regarded that event, was in the sameposition as herself, she frequently did express her feelings, declaringhow awful to her was the responsibility of the thing she was about todo. "Of course that's quite true, " said Florence, "but it doesn't makeone doubt that one is right to marry. "

"I don't know, " said Fanny. "When I think of it, it almost makes medoubt. "

"Then, if I were Mr. Saul, I would not let you think of it at all. "

"Ah! that shows that you do not understand him. He would be the first toadvise me to hesitate if he thought that--that--that--I don't know thatI can quite express what I mean. " "Under those circumstances Mr. Saulwon't think that--that--"

"Oh, Florence, it is too serious for laughing--it is, indeed. " ThenFlorence also hoped that a time might come, and that shortly, in whichMr. Saul might moderate his views, though she did not express herselfexactly as the rector had done. 

Immediately after this Florence went back to Stratton in order that shemight pass what remained to her of her freedom with her mother andfather, and that she might prepare herself for her wedding. The affairwith her was so much hurried that she had hardly time to give her mindthose considerations which were weighing so heavily on Fanny's mind. Itwas felt by all the Burtons, especially by Cecilia, that there was needfor extension of their views in regard to millinery, seeing thatFlorence was to marry the eldest son and heir of a baronet. And old Mrs. Burton was awed almost into acquiescence by the reflections which cameupon her when she thought of the breakfast, and of the presence of SirHenry Clavering. She at once summoned her daughter-in-law from Ramsgateto her assistance, and felt that all her experience, gathered from thewedding breakfasts of so many elder daughters, would hardly carry herthrough the difficulties of the present occasion. 

The two widowed sisters were still at the great house when Sir HenryClavering, with Harry and Fanny, went to Stratton, but they left it onthe following day. The father and son went up together to bid themfarewell, on the eve of their departure, and to press upon them, overand over again, the fact that they were still to regard the Claveringsof Clavering Park as their nearest relations and friends. The eldestsister simply cried when this was said to her--cried easily withplenteous tears, till the weeds which enveloped her seemed to be dampfrom the ever-running fountain. Hitherto to weep had been her onlyrefuge; but I think that even this had already become preferable to herformer life. Lady Ongar assured Sir Henry, or Mr. Clavering, as he wasstill called till after their departure, that she would always rememberand accept his kindness. "And you will come to us?" said he. "Certainly;when I can make Hermy come. She will be better when the Summer is here. And then after that, we will think about it. " On this occasion sheseemed to be quite cheerful herself, and bade Harry farewell with allthe frank affection of an old friend. 

"I have given up the house in Bolton Street, " she said to him. 

"And where do you mean to live?"

"Anywhere; just as it may suit Hermy. What difference does it make? Weare going to Tenby now, and though Tenby seems to me to have as fewattractions as any place I ever knew, I dare say we shall stay there, simply because we shall be there. That consideration weighs most withsuch old women as we. Good-by, Harry. "

"Good-by, Julia. I hope I may yet see you--you and Hermy, happy beforelong. "

"I don't know much about happiness, Harry. There comes a dream of itsometimes--such as you have got now. But I will answer for this--youshall never hear of my being downhearted--at least not on my ownaccount, " she added, in a whisper. "Poor Hermy may sometimes drag medown; but I will do my best. And, Harry, tell your wife I shall write toher occasionally--once a year, or something like that, so that she neednot be afraid. Good-by, Harry. " "Good-by, Julia. " And so they parted. 

Immediately on her arrival at Tenby, Lady Ongar communicated to Mr. Turnbull her intention of giving back to the Courton family not only theplace called Ongar Park, but also the whole of her income with theexception of eight hundred a year, so that in that respect she might beequal to her sister. This brought Mr. Turnbull down to Tenby, and therewas interview after interview between the countess and the lawyer. Theproposition, however, was made to the Courtons, and was absolutelyrefused by them. Ongar Park was accepted on behalf of the mother of thepresent earl; but as regarded the money, the widow of the late earl wasassured by the elder surviving brother that no one doubted her right toit, or would be a party to accepting it from her. "Then, " said LadyOngar, "it will accumulate in my hands, and I can leave it as I pleasein my will. "

"As to that, no one can control you, " said her brother-in-law, who wentto Tenby to see her; "but you must not be angry if I advise you not tomake any such resolution. Such hoards never have good results. " Thisgood result, however, did come from the effort which the poorbroken-spirited woman was making--an intimacy, and at last a closefriendship, was formed between her and the relatives of her deceasedlord. 

And now my story is done. My readers will easily understand what wouldbe the future life of Harry Clavering and his wife after the completionof that tour in Italy and the birth of the heir, the preparations forwhich made the tour somewhat shorter than Harry had intended. Hisfather, of course, gave up to him the shooting, and the farming of thehome farm, and, after a while, the management of the property. Sir Henrypreached occasionally--believing himself able to preach much oftenerthan he did--and usually performed some portion of the morning service. "Oh yes, " said Theodore Burton in answer to some comfortable remark fromhis wife, "Providence has done very well for Florence. And Providencehas done very well for him also; but Providence was making a greatmistake when he expected him to earn his bread. "