[Illustration: Henry French, del. 

E. Evans, sc. 

"Mr. Granger seated himself by his wife's side and bentdown to kiss hisson without waking him. "]

THE

LOVELS OF ARDEN

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET, " "AURORA FLOYD, " "VIXEN, " "ISHMAEL, " ETC. , ETC. , ETC. 

CHEAP UNIFORM EDITION OF MISS BRADDON'S NOVELS. 

_Price 2s. Picture boards; 2s. 6d. Cloth gilt; 3s. 6d. Half parchment orhalf morocco; postage 4d. _

MISS BRADDON'S NOVELS

INCLUDING

"LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET, " "VIXEN, " "ISHMAEL, " ETC. 

"No one can be dull who has a novel by Miss Braddon in hand. The mosttiresome journey is beguiled, and the most wearisome illness is brightened, by any one of her books. "

"Miss Braddon is the Queen of the circulating libraries. "--_The World. _

N. B. --There are now 43 Novels always in print. For full list see back ofcover, or apply for a Catalogue, to be sent (post free). 

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

 I. COMING HOME II. BEGINNING THE WORLD III. FATHER AND DAUGHTER IV. CLARISSA IS "TAKEN UP" V. AT HALE CASTLE VI. AND THIS IS GEORGE FAIRFAX VII. DANGEROUS GROUND VIII. SMOULDERING FIRES IX. LADY LAURA DIPLOMATISES X. LADY LAURA'S PREPARATIONS XI. DANIEL GRANGER XII. MR. GRANGER IS INTERESTED XIII. OPEN TREASON XIV. THE MORNING AFTER XV. CHIEFLY PATERNAL XVI. LORD CHALDERWOOD IS THE CAUSE OF INCONVENIENCE XVII. "'TIS DEEPEST WINTER IN LORD TIMON'S PURSE" XVIII. SOMETHING FATAL XIX. MR. GRANGER IS PRECIPITATE XX. MODEL VILLAGERS XXI. VERY FAR GONE XXII. TAKING THE PLEDGE XXIII. "HE'S SWEETEST FRIEND, OR HARDEST FOE" XXIV. "IT MEANS ARDEN COURT" XXV. WEDDING BELLS XXVI. COMING HOME XXVII. IN THE SEASON XXVIII. MR. WOOSTER XXIX. "IF I SHOULD MEET THEE--" XXX. THE HEIR OF ARDEN XXXI. THE NEAREST WAY TO CARLSRUHE XXXII. AUSTIN XXXIII. ONLY A PORTRAIT-PAINTER XXXIV. AUSTIN'S PROSPECTS XXXV. SISTERS-IN-LAW XXXVI. "AND THROUGH THE LIFE HAVE I NOT WRIT MY NAME?" XXXVII. STOLEN HOURS XXXVIII. "FROM CLARISSA" XXXIX. THAT IS WHAT LOVE MEANS XL. LYING IN WAIT XLI. MR. GRANGER'S WELCOME HOME XLII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP XLIII. CLARISSA'S ELOPEMENT XLIV. UNDER THE SHADOW OF ST. GUDULE XLV. TEMPTATION XLVI. ON THE WING XLVII. IN TIME OF NEED XLVIII. "STRANGERS YET" XLIX. BEGINNING AGAIN L. HOW SUCH THINGS END

CHAPTER I. 

COMING HOME. 

The lamps of the Great Northern Terminus at King's Cross had not long beenlighted, when a cab deposited a young lady and her luggage at the departureplatform. It was an October twilight, cold and gray, and the place hada cheerless and dismal aspect to that solitary young traveller, to whomEnglish life and an English atmosphere were somewhat strange. 

She had been seven years abroad, in a school near Paris; rather anexpensive seminary, where the number of pupils was limited, the masters andmistresses, learned in divers modern accomplishments, numerous, and thedietary of foreign slops and messes without stint. 

Dull and gray as the English sky seemed to her, and dreary as was theaspect of London in October, this girl was glad to return to her nativeland. She had felt herself very lonely in the French school, forgotten anddeserted by her own kindred, a creature to be pitied; and hers was a natureto which pity was a torture. Other girls had gone home to England for theirholidays; but vacation after vacation went by, and every occasion broughtClarissa Lovel the same coldly worded letter from her father, telling herthat it was not convenient for him to receive her at home, that he hadheard with pleasure of her progress, and that experienced people with whomhe had conferred, had agreed with him that any interruption to the regularcourse of her studies could not fail to be a disadvantage to her in thefuture. 

"They are all going home except me, papa, " she wrote piteously on oneoccasion, "and I feel as if I were different from them, somehow. Do letme come home to Arden for this one year. I don't think my schoolfellowsbelieve me when I talk of home, and the gardens, and the dear old park. Ihave seen it in their faces, and you cannot think how hard it is to bear. And I want to see you, papa. You must not fancy that, because I speak ofthese things, I am not anxious for that. I do want to see you very much. By-and-by, when I am grown up, I shall seem a stranger to you. "

To this letter, and to many such, letters, Mr. Lovel's reply was always thesame. It did not suit his convenience that his only daughter should returnto England until her education was completed. Perhaps it would have suitedhim better could she have remained away altogether; but he did not say asmuch as that; he only let her see very clearly that there was no pleasurefor him in the prospect of her return. 

And yet she was glad to go back. At the worst it was going home. She toldherself again and again, in those meditations upon her future life whichwere not so happy as a girl's reveries should be, --she told herself thather father must come to love her in time. She was ready to love him so muchon her part; to be so devoted, faithful, and obedient, to bear so much fromhim if need were, only to be rewarded with his affection in the end. 

So at eighteen years of age Clarissa Lovel's education was finished, andshe came home alone from a quiet little suburban village just outsideParis, and having arrived to-night at the Great Northern Station, King'sCross, had still a long journey before her. 

Mr. Lovel lived near a small town called Holborough, in the depths ofYorkshire; a dreary little town enough, but boasting several estates ofconsiderable importance in its neighbourhood. In days gone by, the Lovelshad been people of high standing in this northern region, and Clarissa hadyet to learn how far that standing was diminished. 

She had been seated about five minutes in a comfortable corner of afirst-class carriage, with a thick shawl over her knees, and all her littlegirlish trifles of books and travelling, bags gathered about her, and shehad begun to flatter herself with the pleasing fancy that she was to havethe compartment to herself for the first stage of the journey, perhaps forthe whole of the journey, when a porter flung open the door with a bustlingair, and a gentleman came in, with more travelling-rugs, canes, andumbrellas, russia leather bags, and despatch boxes, than Clarissa had everbefore beheld a traveller encumbered with. He came into the carriage veryquietly, however, in spite of these impedimenta, arranged his belongings ina methodical manner, and without the slightest inconvenience to MissLovel, and then seated himself next the door, upon the farther side of thecarriage. 

Clarissa looked at him rather anxiously, wondering whether they two were tobe solitary companions throughout the whole of that long night journey. Shehad no prudish horror of such a position, only a natural girlish shyness inthe presence of a stranger. 

The traveller was a man of about thirty, tall, broad-shouldered, with longarms, and powerful-looking hands, ungloved, and bronzed a little by sun andwind. There was the same healthy bronze upon his face, Clarissa perceived, when he took off his hat, and hung it up above him; rather a handsome face, with a long straight nose, dark blue eyes with thick brown eyebrows, a wellcut mouth and chin, and a thick thatch of crisp dark brown hair wavinground a broad, intelligent-looking forehead. The firm, full upper lip washalf-hidden by a carefully trained moustache; and in his dress and bearingthe stranger had altogether a military air: one could fancy him a cavalrysoldier. That bare muscular hand seemed made to grasp the massive hilt of asabre. 

His expression was grave--grave and a little proud, Clarissa thought;and, unused as she was to lonely wanderings in this outer world, she feltsomehow that this man was a gentleman, and that she need be troubled by nofear that he would make is presence in any way unpleasant to her, let theirjourney together last as long as it would. 

She sank back into her corner with a feeling of relief. It would have beenmore agreeable for her to have had the carriage to herself; but if she mustneeds have a companion, there was nothing obnoxious in this one. 

For about an hour they sped on in silence. This evening train was notexactly an express, but it was a tolerably quick train, and the stoppageswere not frequent. The dull gray twilight melted into a fair tranquilnight. The moon rose early; and the quiet English landscape seemed veryfair to Clarissa Lovel in that serene light. She watched the shadowy fieldsflitting past; here and there a still pool, or a glimpse of running water;beyond, the sombre darkness of wooded hills; and above that dark backgrounda calm starry sky. Who shall say what dim poetic thoughts were in her mindthat night, as she looked at these things? Life was so new to her, thefuture such an unknown country--a paradise perhaps, or a drear gloomywaste, across which she must travel with bare bleeding feet. How should sheknow? She only knew that she was going home to a father who had never lovedher, who had deferred the day of her coming as long as it was possible forhim decently to do so. 

The traveller in the opposite corner of the carriage glanced at Miss Lovelnow and then as she looked out of the window. He could just contrive tosee her profile, dimly lighted by the flickering oil lamp; a very perfectprofile, he thought; a forehead that was neither too high nor too low, asmall aquiline nose, a short upper lip, and the prettiest mouth and chin inthe world. It was just a shade too pensive now, the poor little mouth, hethought pityingly; and be wondered what it was like when it smiled. Andthen he began to arrange his lines for winning the smile he wanted so muchto see from those thoughtful lips. It was, of course, for the gratificationof the idlest, most vagabond curiosity that he was eager to settle thisquestion: but then on such a long dreary journey, a man may be forgiven fora good deal of idle curiosity. 

He wondered who his companion was, and how she came to be travelling alone, so young, so pretty, so much in need of an escort. There was nothing in hercostume to hint at poverty, nor does poverty usually travel in first-classcarriages. She might have her maid lurking somewhere in the second-class, he said to himself. In any case, she was a lady. He had no shadow of doubtabout that. 

She was tall, above the ordinary height of women. There was a grace in thelong flowing lines of her figure more striking than the beauty of her face. The long slim throat, the sloping shoulder, not to be disguised even bythe clumsy folds of a thick shawl--these the traveller noted, in a lazycontemplative mood, as he lolled in his corner, meditating an easy openingfor a conversation with his fair fellow-voyager. 

He let some little time slip by in this way, being a man to whom haste wasalmost unknown. This idle artistic consideration of Miss Level's beauty wasa quiet kind of enjoyment for him. She, for her part, seemed absorbedin watching the landscape--a very commonplace English landscape in thegentleman's eyes--and was in no way disturbed by his placid admiration. 

He had a heap of newspapers and magazines thrown pell-mell into the emptyseat next him; and arousing himself with a faint show of effort presently, he began to turn these over with a careless hand. 

The noise of his movements startled Clarissa; she looked across at him, andtheir eyes met. This was just what he wanted. He had been curious to seeher eyes. They were hazel, and very beautiful, completing the charm of herface. 

"May I offer you some of these things?" he said. "I have a reading lampin one of my bags, which I will light for you in a moment. I won't pledgemyself for your finding the magazines very amusing, but anything is betterthan the blankness of a long dreary journey. "

"Thank you, you are very kind; but I don't care about reading to-night; Icould not give you so much trouble. "

"Pray don't consider that. It is not a question of a moments trouble. I'lllight the lamp, and then you can do as you like about the magazines. "

He stood up, unlocked one of his travelling-bags, the interior of whichglittered like a miniature arsenal, and took out a lamp, which he lightedin a rapid dexterous manner, though without the faintest appearance ofhaste, and fixed with a brass apparatus of screws and bolts to the armof Clarissa's seat. Then he brought her a pile of magazines, which shereceived in her lap, not a little embarrassed by this unexpected attention. He had called her suddenly from strange vague dreams of the future, and itwas not easy to come altogether back to the trivial commonplace present. 

She thanked him graciously for his politeness, but she had not smiled yet. 

"Never mind, " the traveller said to himself; "that will come in good time. "

He had the easiest way of taking all things in life, this gentleman; andhaving established Clarissa with her lamp and books, sank lazily back intohis corner, and gave himself up to a continued contemplation of the fairyoung face, almost as calmly as if it had been some masterpiece of thepainter's art in a picture gallery. 

The magazines were amusing to Miss Lovel. They beguiled her away from thoseshapeless visions of days to come. She began to read, at first with verylittle thought of the page before her, but, becoming interested by degrees, read on until her companion grew tired of the silence. 

He looked at his watch--the prettiest little toy in gold and enamel, withelaborate monogram and coat of arms--a watch that looked like a woman'sgift. They had been nearly three hours on their journey. 

"I do not mean to let you read any longer, " he said, changing his seat toone opposite Clarissa. "That lamp is very well for an hour or so, but afterthat time the effect upon one's eyesight is the reverse of beneficial. Ihope your book is not very interesting. "

"If you will allow me to finish this story, " Clarissa pleaded, scarcelylifting her eyes from the page. It was not particularly polite, perhaps, but it gave the stranger an admirable opportunity for remarking the darkthick lashes, tinged with the faintest gleam of gold, and the perfect curveof the full white eyelids. 

"Upon my soul, she is the loveliest creature I ever saw, " he said tohimself; and then asked persistently, "Is the story a long one?"

"Only about half-dozen pages more; O, do please let me finish it!"

"You want to know what becomes of some one, or whom the heroine marries, ofcourse. Well, to that extent I will be a party to the possible injury ofyour sight. "

He still sat opposite to her, watching her in the old lazy way, while sheread the last few pages of the magazine story. When she came to the end, a fact of which he seemed immediately aware, he rose and extinguished thelittle reading lamp, with an air of friendly tyranny. 

"Merciless, you see, " he said, laughing. "O, _la jeunesse_, what adelicious thing it is! Here have I been tossing and tumbling thoseunfortunate books about for a couple of hours at a stretch, without beingable to fix my attention upon a single page; and here are you so profoundlyabsorbed in some trivial story, that I daresay you have scarcely beenconscious of the outer world for the last two hours. O, youth andfreshness, what pleasant things they are while we can keep them!"

"We were not allowed to read fiction at Madame Marot's, " Miss Lovelanswered simply. "Anything in the way of an English story is a treat whenone has had nothing to read but Racine and Télémaque for about six years ofone's life. "

"The Inimical Brothers, and Iphigenia; Athalie, as performed before LouisQuatorze, by the young ladies of St. Cyr, and so on. Well, I confessthere are circumstances under which even Racine might become a bore; andTélémaque has long been a synonym for dreariness and dejection of mind. You have not seen Rachel? No, I suppose not. She was a great creature, andconjured the dry bones into living breathing flesh. And Madame Marot'sestablishment, where you were so hardly treated, is a school, I conclude?"

"Yes, it is a school at Belforêt, near Paris. I have been there a longtime, and am going home now to keep house for papa. "

"Indeed! And is your journey a long one? Are we to be travelling companionsfor some time to come?"

"I am going rather a long way--to Holborough. "

"I am very glad to hear that, for I am going farther myself, to the outeredge of Yorkshire, where I believe I am to do wonderful execution upon thebirds. A fellow I know has taken a shooting-box yonder, and writes me mostflourishing accounts of the sport. I know Holborough a little, by the way. Does your father live in the town?"

"O, no; papa could never endure to live in a small country town. Our houseis a couple of miles away--Arden Court; perhaps you know it?"

"Yes, I have been to Arden Court, " the traveller answered, with rather apuzzled air. "And your papa lives at Arden?--I did not know he had anyother daughter, " he added in a lower key, to himself rather than to hiscompanion. "Then I suppose I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss--"

"My name is Lovel My father is Marmaduke Level, of Arden Court. "

The traveller looked at her with a still more puzzled air, as if singularlyembarrassed by this simple announcement. He recovered himself quickly, however, with a slight effort. 

"I am proud and happy to have made your acquaintance, Miss Lovel, " he said;"your father's family is one of the best and oldest in the North Riding. "

After this, they talked of many things; of Clarissa's girlish experiencesat Belforêt; of the traveller's wanderings, which seemed to have extendedall over the world. 

He had been a good deal in India, in the Artillery, and was likely toreturn thither before long. 

"I had rather an alarming touch of sunstroke a year ago, " he said, "and wasaltogether such a shattered broken-up creature when I came home on sickleave, that my mother tried her hardest to induce me to leave the service;but though I would do almost anything in the world to please her, I couldnot bring myself to do that; a man without a profession is such a lostwretch. It is rather hard upon her, poor soul; for my elder brother diednot very long ago, and she has only my vagabond self left. 'He was the onlyson of his mother, and she was a widow. '"

"I have no mother, " Clarissa said mournfully; "mine died when I was quite alittle thing. I always envy people who can speak of a mother. "

"But, on the other hand, I am fatherless, you see, " the gentleman said, smiling. But Clarissa's face did not reflect his smile. 

"Ah, that is a different thing, " she said softly. 

They went on talking for a long while, talking about the widest range ofsubjects; and their flight across the moonlit country, which grew darkerby-and-by, as that tender light waned, seemed swifter than. Clarissa couldhave imagined possible, had the train been the most desperate thing in theway of an express. She had no vulgar commonplace shyness, mere school-girlas she was, and she had, above all, a most delightful unconsciousness ofher own beauty; so she was quickly at home with the stranger, listening tohim, and talking to him with a perfect ease, which seemed to him a naturalattribute of high breeding. 

"A Lovel, " he said to himself once, in a brief interval of silence; "and soshe comes of that unlucky race. It is scarcely strange that she should bebeautiful and gifted. I wonder what my mother would say if she knew that mynorthern journey had brought me for half-a-dozen hours _tête-à-tête_ witha Lovel? There would be actual terror for her in the notion of such anaccident. What a noble look this girl has!--an air that only comes aftergenerations of blue blood untainted by vulgar admixture. The last of sucha race is a kind of crystallisation, dangerously, fatally brilliant, theconcentration of all the forces that have gone before. "

At one of their halting-places, Miss Lovel's companion insisted uponbringing her a cup of coffee and a sponge-cake, and waited upon her with amost brotherly attention. At Normanton they changed to a branch line, andhad to wait an hour and a half in that coldest dreariest period of thenight that comes before daybreak. Here the stranger established Clarissa ina shabby little waiting-room, where he made up the fire with his own hands, and poked it into a blaze with his walking-stick; having done which, hewent out into the bleak night and paced the platform briskly for nearly anhour, smoking a couple of those cigars which would have beguiled his nightjourney, had he been alone. 

He had some thoughts of a third cigar, but put it back into his case, andreturned to the waiting-room. 

"I'll go and have a little more talk with the prettiest woman I ever met inmy life, " he said to himself. "It is not very likely that we two shall eversee each other again. Let me carry away the memory of her face, at anyrate. And she is a Lovel! Will she be as unfortunate as the rest of herrace, I wonder? God forbid!"

Clarissa was sitting by the fire in the dingy little waiting-room, with oneelbow resting on the arm of her chair, her chin leaning on her hand, andher eyes fixed thoughtfully upon a dull red chasm in the coals. She hadtaken off her gray felt hat, and she looked older without it, the travellerthought, in spite of her wealth of waving dark brown hair, gathered into agreat coil of plaits at the back of the graceful head. Perhaps it was thatthoughtful expression which made her look older than she had seemed to himin the railway carriage, the gentleman argued with himself; a very graveanxious expression for a girl's face. She had indeed altogether theaspect of a woman, rather than of a girl who had just escaped fromboarding-school, and to whom the cares of life must needs be unknown. 

She was thinking so deeply, that she did not hear the opening of the door, or her fellow-traveller's light footstep as he crossed the room. He wasstanding on the opposite side of the fireplace, looking down at her, beforeshe was aware of his presence. Then she raised her head with a start; andhe saw her blush for the first time. "You must have been absorbed in someprofound meditation, Miss Lovel, " he said lightly. 

"I was thinking of the future. "

"Meaning your own future. Why, at your age the future ought to be a mostradiant vision. "

"Indeed it is not that. It is all clouds and darkness. I do not see thatone must needs be happy because one is young. There has been very littlehappiness in my life yet awhile, only the dreary monotonous routine ofboarding-school. "

"But all that is over now, and life is just beginning for you. I wish Iwere eighteen instead of eight-and-twenty. "

"Would you live your life over again?"

The traveller laughed. 

"That's putting a home question, " he said. "Well, perhaps not exactly thesame life, though it has not been a bad one. But I should like the feelingof perfect youth, the sense of having one's full inheritance of life lyingat one's banker's, as it were, and being able to draw upon the account alittle recklessly, indifferent as to the waste of a year or two. You seeI have come to a period of existence in which a man has to calculate hisresources. If I do not find happiness within the next five years, I amnever likely to find it at all. At three-and-thirty a man has done with aheart, in a moral and poetic sense, and begins to entertain vague alarms onthe subject of fatty degeneration. "

Clarissa smiled faintly, as if the stranger's idle talk scarcely beguiledher from her own thoughts. 

"You said you had been at Arden, " she began rather abruptly; "then you mustknow papa. "

"No, I have not the honour to know Mr. Lovel, " with the same embarrassedair which he had exhibited before in speaking of Arden Court. "But I amacquainted--or I was acquainted, rather, for he and I have not met for sometime--with one member of your family, a Mr. Austin Lovel. "

"My brother, " Clarissa said quickly, and with a sudden shadow upon herface. 

"Your brother; yes, I supposed as much. "

"Poor Austin! It is very sad. Papa and he are ill friends. There was somedesperate quarrel between them a few years ago; I do not even know whatabout; and Austin was turned out of doors, never to come back any more. Papa told me nothing about it, though it was the common talk at Holborough. It was only from a letter of my aunt's that I learnt what had happened; andI am never to speak of Austin when I go home, my aunt told me. "

"Very hard lines, " said the stranger, with a sympathetic air. "He was wild, I suppose, in the usual way. Your brother was in a line regiment when Iknew him; but I think I heard afterwards that he had sold out, and haddropped away from his old set, had emigrated, I believe, or something ofthat kind exactly the thing I should do, if I found myself in difficulties;turn backwoodsman, and wed some savage woman, who should rear my duskyrace, and whose kindred could put me in the way to make my fortune bycattle-dealing; having done which, I should, of course, discover that fiftyyears of Europe are worth more than a cycle of Cathay, and should turn mysteps homeward with a convenient obliviousness upon the subject of thesavage woman. "

He spoke lightly, trying to win Clarissa from her sad thoughts, and withthe common masculine idea, that a little superficial liveliness of thiskind can lighten the load of a great sorrow. 

"Come, Miss Lovel, I would give the world to see you smile. Do you knowthat I have been watching for a smile ever since I first saw your face, andhave not surprised one yet? Be sure your brother is taking life pleasantlyenough in some quarter of the globe. We worthless young fellows alwayscontrive to fall upon our feet. "

"If I could believe that he was happy, if I could think that he was leadingan honourable life anywhere, I should not feel our separation so much, " thegirl said mournfully; "but to be quite ignorant of his fate, and not to beallowed to mention his name, that is hard to bear. I cannot tell you howfond I was of him when we were children. He was seven years older than I, and so clever. He wanted to be a painter, but papa would not hear of that. Yet I think he might have been happier if he had been allowed to have hisown way. He had a real genius for art. "

"And you too are fond of art, I suppose?" hazarded the traveller, moreinterested in the young lady herself than in this reprobate brother ofhers. 

"Yes, I am very fond of it. It is the only thing I really care for. Ofcourse, I like music to a certain extent; but I love painting with my wholeheart. "

"Happy art, to be loved by so fair a votary! And you dabble with brushesand colours, of course?"

"A little. "

"A true young lady's answer. If you were a Raffaelle in glacé silk andcrinoline, you would tell me no more than that. I can only hope that somehappy accident will one day give me an opportunity of judging for myself. And now, I think, you had better put on your hat. Our train will be inalmost immediately. "

She obeyed him; and they went out together to the windy platform, wherethe train rumbled in presently. They took their places in a carriage, thegentleman bundling in his rugs and travelling-bags and despatch boxeswith very little ceremony; but this time they were not alone. A plethoricgentleman, of the commercial persuasion, was sleeping laboriously in onecorner. 

The journey to Holborough lasted a little less than an hour. Miss Loveland her companion did not talk much during that time. She was tired andthoughtful, and he respected her silence. As she drew nearer home, thehappiness she had felt in her return seemed to melt away somehow, leavingvague anxieties and morbid forebodings in its stead. To go home to a fatherwho would only be bored by her coming. It was not a lively prospect for agirl of eighteen. 

The dull cold gray dawn was on the housetops of Holborough, as the trainstopped at the little station. The traveller alighted, and assistedClarissa's descent to the platform. 

"Can I see about your luggage, Miss Lovel?" he asked; but looking upat that moment, the girl caught sight of a burly gentleman in a whiteneckcloth, who was staring in every direction but the right one. 

"Thank you very much, no; I need not trouble you. My uncle Oliver is hereto meet me--that stout gentleman over there. "

"Then I can only say good-bye. That tiresome engine is snorting with afiendish impatience to bear me away. Good-bye, Miss Lovel, and a thousandthanks for the companionship that has made this journey so pleasant to me. "

He lifted his hat and went back to the carriage, as the stout gentlemanapproached Clarissa. He would fain have shaken hands with her, butrefrained from that unjustifiable familiarity. And so, in the bleak earlyautumnal dawn, they parted. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER II. 

BEGINNING THE WORLD. 

"Who on earth was that man you were talking to, Clary?" asked the ReverendMathew Oliver, when he had seen his niece's luggage carried off to a fly, and was conducting her to that vehicle. "Is it any one you know?"

"O, no, uncle; only a gentleman who travelled in the same carriage with mefrom London. He was very kind. "

"You seemed unaccountably familiar with him, " said Mr. Oliver with anaggrieved air; "you ought to be more reserved, my dear, at your age. Ayoung lady travelling alone cannot be too careful. Indeed, it was verywrong of your father to allow you to make this long journey alone. Youraunt has been quite distressed about it. "

Clarissa sighed faintly; but was not deeply concerned by the idea of heraunt's distress. Distress of mind, on account of some outrage of proprietyon the part of her relatives, was indeed almost the normal condition ofthat lady. 

"I travelled very comfortably, I assure you, uncle Oliver, " Clarissareplied. "No one was in the least rude or unpleasant. And I am so glad tocome home--I can scarcely tell you how glad--though, as I came nearer andnearer, I began to have all kinds of fanciful anxieties. I hope that all iswell--that papa is quite himself. "

"O, yes, my dear; your papa is--himself, " answered the parson, in a tonethat implied that he did not say very much for Mr. Lovel in admitting thatfact. "Your papa is well enough in health, or as well as he will everacknowledge himself to be. Of course, a man who neither hunts nor shoots, and seldom gets out of bed before ten o'clock in the day, can't expect tobe remarkably robust. But your father will live to a good old age, child, rely upon it, in spite of everything. "

"Am I going straight home, uncle?"

"Well, yes. Your aunt wished you to breakfast at the Rectory; but there areyour trunks, you see, and altogether I think it's better for you to go homeat once. You can come and see us as often as you like. "

"Thank you, uncle. It was very kind of you to meet me at the station. Yes, I think it will be best for me to go straight home. I'm a little knocked upwith the journey. I haven't slept five minutes since I left Madame Marot'sat daybreak yesterday. "

"You're looking rather pale; but you look remarkably well in spite ofthat--remarkably well. These six years have changed you from a child intoa woman. I hope they gave you a good education yonder; a solid practicaleducation, that will stand by you. "

"I think so, uncle. We were almost always at our studies. It was very hardwork. "

"So much the better. Life is meant to be hard work. You may have occasionto make use of your education some day, Clary. "

"Yes, " the girl answered with a sigh; "I know that we are poor. "

"I suppose so; but perhaps you hardly know how poor. "

"Whenever the time comes, I shall be quite ready to work for papa, " saidClarissa; yet she could not help wondering how the master of Arden Courtcould ever bring himself to send out his daughter as a governess; andthen she had a vague childish recollection that not tens of pounds, buthundreds, and even thousands, had been wanted to stop the gaps in herfather's exchequer. 

They drove through Holborough High Street, where there was the faint stirand bustle of early morning, windows opening, a housemaid kneeling on adoorstep here and there, an occasional tradesman taking down his shutters. They drove past the fringe of prim little villas on the outskirts of thetown, and away along a country road towards Arden; and once more Clarissasaw the things that she had dreamed of so often in her narrow white bed inthe bleak dormitory at Belforêt. Every hedge-row and clump of treesfrom which the withered leaves were drifting in the autumn wind, everywhite-walled cottage with moss-grown thatch and rustic garden, woke a faintrapture in her breast. It was home. She remembered her old friends thecottagers, and wondered whether goody Mason were still alive, and whetherWidow Green's fair-haired children would remember her. She had taughtthem at the Sunday-school; but they too must have grown from childhood towomanhood, like herself, and were out at service, most likely, leaving Mrs. Green's cottage lonely. 

She thought of these simple things, poor child, having so little else tothink about, on this, her coming home. She was not so foolish as to expectany warm welcome from her father. If he had brought himself just totolerate her coming, she had sufficient reason to be grateful. It was onlya drive of two miles from Holborough to Arden. They stopped at a lodge-gatepresently; a little gothic lodge, which was gay with scarlet geraniumsand chrysanthemums, and made splendid by railings of bronzed ironwork. Everything had a bright new look which surprised Miss Lovel, who wasnot accustomed to see such, perfect order or such fresh paint about herfather's domain. 

"How nice everything looks!" she said. 

"Yes, " answered her uncle, with a sigh; "the place is kept well enoughnowadays. "

A woman came out to open the gates--a brisk young person, who was astranger to Clarissa, not the feeble old lodge-keeper she remembered in herchildhood. The change, slight as it was, gave her a strange chill feeling. 

"I wonder how many people that I knew are dead?" she thought. 

They drove into the park, and here too, even in this autumn season, Clarissa perceived traces of care and order that were strange to her. Thecarriage road was newly gravelled, the chaos of underwood among the oldtrees had disappeared, the broad sweeps of grass were smooth and level asa lawn, and there were men at work in the early morning, planting rarespecimens of the fir tribe in a new enclosure, which filled a space thathad been bared twenty years before by Mr. Lovel's depredations upon thetimber. 

All this bewildered Clarissa; but she was still more puzzled, when, insteadof approaching the Court the fly turned sharply into a road leading acrossa thickly wooded portion of the park, through which there was a publicright of way leading to the village of Arden. 

"The man is going wrong, uncle!" she exclaimed. 

"No, no, my dear; the man is right enough. "

"But indeed, uncle Oliver, he is driving to the village. "

"And he has been told to drive to the village. "

"Not to the Court?"

"To the Court! Why, of course not. What should we have to do at the Courtat half-past seven in the morning?"

"But I am going straight home to papa, am I not?"

"Certainly. "

And then, after staring at his niece's bewildered countenance for a fewmoments, Mr. Oliver exclaimed, ----

"Why, surely, Clary, your father told you----"

"Told me what, uncle?"

"That he had sold Arden. "

"Sold Arden! O, uncle, uncle!"

She burst into tears. Of all things upon this earth she had loved the grandold mansion where her childhood had been spent. She had so little else tolove, poor lonely child, that it was scarcely strange she should attachherself to lifeless things. How fondly she had remembered the old place inall those dreary years of exile, dreaming of it as we dream of some lostfriend. And it was gone from her for ever! Her father had bartered awaythat most precious birthright. 

"O, how could he do it! how could he do it!" she cried piteously. 

"Why, my dear Clary, you can't suppose it was a matter of choice with him. 'Needs must when'--I daresay you know the vulgar proverb. Necessity has nolaw. Come, come, my dear, don't cry; your father won't like to see youwith red eyes. It was very wrong of him not to tell you about the sale ofArden--excessively wrong. But that's just like Marmaduke Lovel; alwaysready to shirk anything unpleasant, even to the writing of a disagreeableletter. "

"Poor dear papa! I don't wonder he found it hard to write about such athing; but it would have been better for me to have known. It is such abitter disappointment to come home and find the dear old place gone fromus. Has it been sold very long?"

"About two years. A rich manufacturer bought it--something in the clothway, I believe. He has retired from business, however, and is said to beoverwhelmingly rich. He has spent a great deal of money upon the Courtalready, and means to spend more I hear. "

"Has he spoiled it--modernised it, or anything of that kind?"

"No; I am glad to say that he--or his architect perhaps--has had the goodtaste to preserve the mediaeval character of the place. He has restored thestonework, renewing all the delicate external tracery where it was lost ordecayed, and has treated the interior in the same manner. I have dined withMr. Granger once or twice since the work was finished, and I must say theplace is now one of the finest in Yorkshire--perhaps the finest, in itspeculiar way. I doubt if there is so perfect a specimen of gothic domesticarchitecture in the county. "

"And it is gone from us for ever!" said Clarissa, with a profound sigh. 

"Well, my dear Clary, it is a blow, certainly; I don't deny that. But thereis a bright side to everything; and really your father could not afford tolive in the place. It was going to decay in the most disgraceful manner. Heis better out of it; upon my word he is. "

Clarissa could not see this. To lose Arden Court seemed to her unmitigatedwoe. She would rather have lived the dreariest, loneliest life in onecorner of the grand old house, than have occupied a modern palace. It wasas if all the pleasant memories of her childhood had been swept away fromher with the loss of her early home. This was indeed beginning the world;and a blank dismal world it appeared to Clarissa Lovel, on this melancholyOctober morning. 

They stopped presently before a low wooden gate, and looking out of thewindow of the fly, Miss Lovel saw a cottage which she remembered as adreary uninhabited place, always to let; a cottage with a weedy garden, and a luxuriant growth of monthly roses and honeysuckle covering it frombasement to roof; not a bad sort of place for a person of small means andpretensions, but O, what a descent from the ancient splendour of ArdenCourt!--that Arden which had belonged to the Lovels ever since the landon which it stood was given to Sir Warren Wyndham Lovel, knight, by hisgracious master King Edward IV. , in acknowledgment of that warrior'sservices in the great struggle between Lancaster and York. 

There were old-fashioned casement windows on the upper story, and queerlittle dormers in the roof. Below, roomy bows had been added at a muchlater date than the building of the cottage. The principal doorway wassheltered by a rustic porch, spacious and picturesque, with a bench on eachside of the entrance. The garden was tolerably large, and in decent order, and beyond the garden was a fine old orchard, divided from lawn andflower-beds only by a low hedge, full of bush-roses and sweet brier. It wasa very pretty place in summer, not unpicturesque even at this bleak season;but Clarissa was thinking of lost Arden, and she looked at Mill Cottagewith mournful unadmiring eyes. There had been a mill attached to the placeonce. The old building was there still, indeed, converted into a primitivekind of stable; hence its name of Mill Cottage. The stream still rannoisily a little way behind the house, and made the boundary which dividedthe orchard from the lands of the lord of Arden. Mill Cottage was on thevery edge of Arden Court. Clarissa wondered that her father could havepitched his tent on the borders of his lost heritage. 

"I think I would have gone to the other end of the world, had I been in hisplace, " she said to herself. 

An elderly woman-servant came out, in answer to the flyman's summons; andat her call, a rough-looking young man emerged from the wooden gate openinginto a rustic-looking stable-yard, where the lower half of the old millstood, half-hidden by ivy and other greenery, and where there weredovecotes and a dog-kennel. 

Mr. Oliver superintended the removal of his niece's trunks, and thenstepped back into the fly. 

"There's not the slightest use in my stopping to see your father, Clary, "he said; "he won't show for a couple of hours at least. Good-bye, my dear;make yourself as comfortable as you can. And come and see your aunt as soonas you've recovered from your long journey, and keep up your spirits, mydear. --Martha, be sure you give Miss Lovel a good breakfast. --Drive back tothe Rectory, coachman. --Good-bye, Clarissa;" and feeling that he had shownhis niece every kindness that the occasion required, Mr. Oliver bowledmerrily homewards. He was a gentleman who took life easily--a pastor ofthe broad church--tolerably generous and good to his poor; not given toabnormal services or daily morning prayer; content to do duty at Holboroughparish church twice on a Sunday, and twice more in the week; hunting alittle every season, in a black coat, for the benefit of his health, as hetold his parishioners; and shooting a good deal; fond of a good horse, a good cellar, a good dinner, and well-filled conservatories andglass-houses; altogether a gentleman for whom life was a pleasant journeythrough a prosperous country. He had, some twenty years before, marriedFrances Lovel; a very handsome woman--just a little faded at the timeof her marriage--without fortune. There were no children at HolboroughRectory, and everything about the house and gardens bore that aspect ofperfect order only possible to a domain in which there are none of thosejuvenile destroyers. 

"Poor girl, " Mr. Oliver muttered to himself, as he jogged comfortablyhomewards, wondering whether his people would have the good sense to cook'those grouse' for breakfast. "Poor Clary, it was very hard upon her; andjust Like Marmaduke not to tell her. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER III. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

While Mr. Oliver went back to the Rectory, cheered by the prospect ofpossible grouse, Clarissa entered her new home, so utterly strange to herin its insignificance. The servant, Martha, who was a stranger to her, butwho had a comfortable friendly face, she thought, led her into a room atthe back of the cottage, with a broad window opening on to a lawn, beyondwhich Clarissa saw the blue mill-stream. It was not a bad room at all:countrified-looking and old-fashioned, with a low ceiling and wainscotedwalls. Miss Level recognised the ponderous old furniture from thebreakfast-room at Arden--high-backed mahogany chairs of the early Georgianera, with broad cushioned seats covered with faded needlework; a curiousold oval dining-table, capable of accommodating about six; and some slimChippendale coffee-tables and cheffoniers, upon which there were a fewchipped treasures of old Battersea and Bow china. The walls were half-linedwith her father's books--rare old books in handsome bindings. Hiseasy-chair, a most luxurious one, stood in a sheltered corner of thehearth, with a crimson silk banner-screen hanging from the mantelpiecebeside it, and a tiny table close at hand, on which there were a noblesilver-mounted meerschaum, and a curious old china jar for tobacco. Theoval table was neatly laid for breakfast, and a handsome brown setter laybasking in the light of the fire. Altogether, the apartment had a verycomfortable and home-like look. 

"The tea's made, miss, " said the servant; "and I've a savoury omeletteready to set upon the table. Perhaps you'd Like to step upstairs and takeoff your things before you have your breakfast? Your papa begged youwouldn't wait for him. He won't be down for two hours to come. "

"He's quite well, I hope?"

"As well as he ever is, miss. He's a bit of an invalid at the best oftimes. "

Remembering what Mr. Oliver had said, Clarissa was not much disturbed bythis intelligence. She was stooping to caress the brown setter, who hadbeen sniffing at her dress, and seemed anxious to inaugurate a friendshipwith her. 

"This is a favourite of papa's, I suppose?" she said. 

"O Lord, yes, miss. Our master do make a tremenjous fust about Ponto. Ithink he's fonder of that dumb beast than any human creature. Eliza shallshow you your room, miss, while I bring in the teapot and such-like. There's only me and Eliza, who is but a bit of a girl; and John Thomas, thegroom, that brought your boxes in just now. It's a change for your pa fromthe Court, and all the servants he had there; but he do bear it like a trueChristian, if ever there was one. "

Clarissa Lovel might have wondered a little to hear this--Christianity notbeing the dominant note in her father's character; but it was only like herfather to refrain from complaint in the hearing of such a person as honestMartha. A rosy-faced girl of about fifteen conducted Miss Lovel to apleasant bedroom, with three small windows; one curiously placed inan angle of the room, and from which--above a sweep of golden-tintedwoodland--Clarissa could see the gothic chimneys of Arden Court. She stoodat this window for nearly ten minutes, gazing out across those autumnalwoods, and wondering how her father had nerved himself for the sacrifice. 

She turned away from the little casement at last with a heavy sigh, andbegan to take off her things. She bathed her face and head in coldwater, brushed out her long dark hair, and changed her thick merinotravelling-dress for a fresher costume. While she was doing these things, her thoughts went back to her companion of last night's journey; and, witha sudden flush of shame, she remembered his embarrassed look when she hadspoken of her father as the owner of Arden Court. He had been to Arden, hehad told her, yet had not seen her father. She had not been particularlysurprised by this, supposing that he had gone to the Court as an ordinarysight-seer. Her father had never opened the place to the public, but he hadseldom refused any tourist's request to explore it. 

But now she understood that curious puzzled look of the stranger's, andfelt bitterly ashamed of her error. Had he thought her some barefacedimpostor, she wondered? She was disturbed in these reflections by the trimrosy-cheeked house-maid, who came to tell her that breakfast had been onthe table nearly a quarter of an hour. But in the comfortable parlourdownstairs, all the time she was trying to do some poor justice toMartha's omelette, her thoughts dwelt persistently upon the unknown of therailway-carriage, and upon the unlucky mistake which she had made as to herfather's position. 

"He could never guess the truth, " she said to herself. "He could neverimagine that I was going home, and yet did not know that my birthplace hadbeen sold. "

He was so complete a stranger to her--she did not even know his name--so itcould surely matter very little whether he thought well or ill of her. And yet she could not refrain from torturing herself with all manner ofannoying suppositions as to what he might think. Miss Lovel's character wasby no means faultless, and pride was one of the strongest ingredients init. A generous and somewhat lofty nature, perhaps, but unschooled andunchastened as yet. 

After a very feeble attempt at breakfast, Clarissa went out into thegarden, closely attended by Ponto, who seemed to have taken a wonderfulfancy to her. She was very glad to be loved by something on her returnhome, even a dog. She went out through the broad window, and exploredgarden and orchard, and wandered up and down by the grassy bank of thestream. She was fain to own that the place was pretty: and she fancied howwell she might have loved it, if she had been born here, and had never beenfamiliar with the broad terraces and verdant slopes of Arden Court. Shewalked in the garden till the village-church clock struck ten, and thenwent hastily in, half-afraid lest her father should have come down to theparlour in her absence, and should be offended at not finding her ready toreceive him. 

She need not have feared this. Mr. Lovel was rarely offended by anythingthat did not cause him physical discomfort. 

"How do you do, my dear?" he said, as she came into the room, in very muchthe same tone he might have employed had they seen each other every day forthe last twelve months. "Be sure you never do that again, if you have thefaintest regard for me. "

"Do what, papa?"

"Leave that window open when you go out. I found the room a perfectice-house just now. It was very neglectful of Martha to allow it. You'dbetter use the door at the end of the passage in future, when you go intothe garden. It's only a little more trouble, and I can't stand open windowsat this time of year. "

"I will be sure to do so, papa, " Clarissa answered meekly. She went up toher father and kissed him, the warmth and spontaneity of their greeting alittle diminished by this reproof about the window; but Clarissa had notexpected a very affectionate reception, and was hardly disappointed. Shehad only a blank hopeless kind of feeling; a settled conviction that therewas no love for her here, and that there had never been any. 

"My dear father, " she began tenderly, "my uncle told me about the sale ofArden. I was so shocked by the news--so sorry--for your sake. "

"And for your own sake too, I suppose, " her father answered bitterly. "Theless this subject is spoken of between us in future, the better we shallget on together, Clarissa. "

"I will keep silence, papa. "

"Be sure you do so, " Mr. Lovel said sternly; and then, with a suddenpassion and inconsistency that startled his daughter, he went on: "Yes, Ihave sold Arden--every acre. Not a rood of the land that has belonged to myrace from generation to generation since Edward IV. Was king, is left tome. And I have planted myself here--here at the very gates of my losthome--so that I may drain the bitter cup of humiliation to the dregs. Thefools who call themselves my friends think, that because I can endure tolive here, I am indifferent to all I have lost; that I am an eccentricbookworm--an easy-going philosophical recluse, content to dawdle away theremnant of my days amongst old books. It pleases me to let them thinkso. Why, there is never a day that yonder trader's carriage, passing mywindows, does not seem to drive over my body; not a sound of a woodman'saxe or a carpenter's hammer in the place that was mine, that does not gostraight home to my heart!"

"O, papa, papa!"

"Hush, girl! I can accept pity from no one--from you least of all. "

"Not from me, papa--your own child?"

"Not from you; because your mother's reckless extravagance was thebeginning of my ruin. I might have been a different man but for her. Mymarriage was fatal, and in the end, as you see, has wrecked me. "

"But even if my mother was to blame, papa--as she may have been--I cannotpretend to deny the truth of what you say, being so completely ignorant ofour past history--you cannot be so cruel as to hold _me_ guilty?"

"You are too like her, Clarissa, " Mr. Lovel answered, in a strange tone. "But I do not want to speak of these things. It is your fault; you had noright to talk of Arden. _That_ subject always raises a devil in me. "

He paced the room backwards and forwards for a few minutes in an agitatedway, as if trying to stifle some passion raging inwardly. 

He was a man of about fifty, tall and slim, with a distinguished air, anda face that must once have been very handsome, but perhaps, at its best, alittle effeminate. The face was careworn now, and the delicate featureshad a pinched and drawn look, the thin lips a half-cynical, half-peevishexpression. It was not a pleasant countenance, in spite of its look of highbirth; nor was there any likeness between Marmaduke Lovel and his daughter. His eyes were light blue, large and bright, but with a cold look in them--acoldness which, on very slight provocation, intensified into cruelty; hishair pale auburn, crisp and curling closely round a high but somewhatnarrow forehead. 

He came back to the breakfast-table presently, and seated himself in hiseasy-chair. He sipped a cup of coffee, and trifled listlessly with a morselof dried salmon. 

"I have no appetite this morning, " he said at last, pushing his plate awaywith an impatient gesture; "nor is that kind of talk calculated to improvethe flavour of a man's breakfast. How tall you have grown, Clarissa, aperfect woman; remarkably handsome too! Of course you know that, and thereis no fear of your being made vain by anything I may say to you. All youngwomen learn their value soon enough. You ought to make a good match, abrilliant match--if there were any chance for a girl in such a hole asthis. Marriage is your only hope, remember, Clarissa. Your future liesbetween that and the drudgery of a governess's life. You have received anexpensive education--an education that will serve you in either case; andthat is all the fortune I can give you. "

"I hope I may marry well, papa, for your sake; but--"

"Never mind me. You have only yourself to think about. "

"But I never could marry any one I did not esteem, if the match were eversuch a brilliant one. "

"Of course not. All schoolgirls talk like that; and in due course discoverhow very little esteem has to do with matrimony. If you mean that you wouldlike to marry some penniless wretch of a curate, or some insolvent ensign, for love, I can only say that the day of your marriage will witness ourfinal parting. I should not make any outrageous fuss or useless opposition, rely upon it. I should only wish you good-bye. "

Clarissa smiled faintly at this speech. She expected so little from herfather, that his hardest words did not wound her very deeply, nor did theyextinguish that latent hope, "He will love me some day. "

"I trust I may never be so imprudent as to lose you for ever, like that, papa. . I must shut my heart resolutely against curates. "

"If bad reading is an abomination to you, you have only to open your ears. I have some confidence in you, Clary, " Mr. Lovel went on, with a smilethat was almost affectionate. "You look like a sensible girl; a littleimpulsive, I daresay; but knowledge of the world--which is an uncommonlyhard world for you and me--will tone that down in good time. You areaccomplished, I hope. Madame Marot wrote me a most flourishing accountof your attainments; but one never knows how much to believe of aschoolmistress's analysis. "

"I worked very hard, papa; all the harder because I was so anxious tocome home; and I fancied I might shorten my exile a little by being veryindustrious. "

"Humph! You give yourself a good character. You sing and play, I suppose?"

"Yes, papa. But I am fonder of art than of music. "

"Ah, art is very well as a profession; but amateur art--French plum-boxart--is worse than worthless. However, I am glad you can amuse yourselfsomehow; and I daresay, if you have to turn governess by-and-by, that sortof thing will be useful. You have the usual smattering of languages, ofcourse?"

"Yes, papa. We read German and Italian on alternate days at MadameMarot's. "

"I _promessi Sposi_, and so on, no doubt. There is a noble Tasso in thebookcase yonder, and a fine old Petrarch, with which you may keep up yourItalian. You might read a little to me of an evening sometimes. I shouldnot mind it much. "

"And I should like it very much, papa, " Clarissa answered eagerly. 

She was anxious for anything that could bring her father and herselftogether--that might lessen the gulf between them, if by ever so little. 

And in this manner Miss Lovel's life began in her new home. No warmth ofwelcome, no word of fatherly affection, attended this meeting between afather and daughter who had not met for six years. Mr. Lovel went backto his books as calmly as if there had been no ardent impetuous girl ofeighteen under his roof, leaving Clarissa to find occupation and amusementas best she might. He was not a profound student; a literary triflerrather, caring for only a limited number of books, and reading those againand again. Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Southey's _Doctor_. Montaigne, and Swift, he read continually. He was a collector of rare editions ofthe Classics, and would dawdle over a Greek play, edited by some learnedGerman, for a week at a time, losing himself in the profundity of elaboratefoot-notes. He was an ardent admirer of the lighter Roman poets, andbelieved the Horatian philosophy the only true creed by which a man shouldshape his existence. But it must not be supposed that books brought reposeto the mind and heart of Marmaduke Lovel. He was a disappointed man, adiscontented man, a man given to brooding over the failure of his life, inclined to cherish vengeful feelings against his fellow-men on account ofthat failure. Books to him were very much what they might have been tosome fiery-tempered ambitious soldier of fortune buried alive in a prison, without hope of release, --some slight alleviation of his anguish, someoccasional respite from his dull perpetual pain; nothing more. 

Clarissa's first day at Mill Cottage was a very fair sample of the rest ofher life. She found that she must manage to spend existence almost entirelyby herself--that she must expect the smallest amount of companionship fromher father. 

"This is the room in which I generally sit, " her father said to her thatfirst morning after breakfast; "my books are here, you see, and the aspectsuits me. The drawing-room will be almost entirely at your disposal. Wehave occasional callers, of course; I have not been able to make theseimpervious country people comprehend that I don't want society. Theysometimes pester me with invitations to dinner, which no doubt theyconsider an amazing kindness to a man in my position; invitations which Imake a point of declining. It will be different with you, of course; andif any eligible people--Lady Laura Armstrong or Mrs. Renthorpe forinstance--should like to take you up, I shall not object to your seeing alittle society. You will never find a rich husband at Mill Cottage. "

"Please do not speak of husbands, papa. I don't want to be married, and Ishouldn't care to go into society without you. "

"Nonsense, child; you will have to do what is best for your future welfare. Remember that my death will leave you utterly unprovided for--absolutelypenniless. "

"I hope you may live till I am almost an old woman, papa. "

"Not much chance of that; and even if I did, I should not care to have youon my hands all that time. A good marriage is the natural prospect of agood-looking young woman, and I shall be much disappointed if you do notmarry well, Clarissa. "

The pale cold blue eyes looked at her with so severe a glance, as Mr. Lovelsaid this, that the girl felt she must expect little mercy from her fatherif her career in life did not realise his hopes. 

"In short, " he continued, "I look to you to redeem our fallen fortunes. Idon't want the name of Lovel to die out in poverty and obscurity. I look toyou to prevent that, Clarissa. "

"Papa, " said Clarissa, almost trembling as she spoke, "it is not to me youshould look for that. What can a girl do to restore a name that has falleninto obscurity? Even if I were to marry a rich man, as you say, it would beonly to take another name, and lose my own identity in that of my husband. It is only a son who can redeem his father's name. There is some one elseto whom you must look----"

"What!" cried her father vehemently, "have you not been forbidden tomention that name in my hearing? Unlucky girl, you seem to have been bornon purpose to outrage and pain me. "

"Forgive me, papa; it shall be the last time. But O, is there no hope thatyou will ever pardon----"

"Pardon, " echoed Mr. Lovel, with a bitter laugh; "it is no question ofpardon. I have erased that person's image from my mind. So far as I amconcerned, there is no such man in the world. Pardon! You must induce me toreinstate him in my memory again, before you ask me to pardon. "

"And that can never be, papa?"

"Never!"

The tone of that one word annihilated hope in Clarissa's mind. She hadpushed the question to its utmost limit, at all hazards of offending herfather. What was it that her brother Austin had done to bring upon himselfthis bitter sentence of condemnation? She remembered him in his earlymanhood, handsome, accomplished, brilliant; the delight and admirationof every one who knew him, except her father. Recalling those days, sheremembered that between her father and Austin there had never been any showof affection. The talents and brilliant attributes that had won admirationfrom others seemed to have no charm in the father's eye. Clarissa couldremember many a sneering speech of Mr. Lovel's, in which he had made lightof his son's cleverness, denouncing his varied accomplishments as trivialand effeminate, and asking if any Englishman ever attained an honourabledistinction by playing the piano, or modelling in clay. 

"I would rather have my son the dullest plodder that ever toiled at thebar, or droned bald platitudes from a pulpit, than the most brilliantdrawing-room idler, whose amateur art and amateur music ever made him thefashion of a single season, to leave him forgotten in the next. I utterlydespise an accomplished man. "

Austin Lovel had let such speeches as this go by him with a languidindifference, that testified at once to his easy temper and his comfortabledisregard of his father's opinion. He was fond of his little sister Clary, in rather a careless way, and would suffer her companionship, juvenile asshe was at that time, with perfect good nature, allowing her to spoil hisdrawing paper with her untutored efforts, and even to explore the sacredmysteries of his colour-box. In return for this indulgence, the girl lovedhim with intense devotion, and believed in Him as the most brilliant ofmankind. 

Clarissa Lovel recalled those departed days now with painful tenderness. How kind and gracious Austin had been to her! How happy they had beentogether! sometimes wandering for a whole day in the park and woods ofArden, he with his sketching apparatus, she with a volume of Sir WalterScott, to read aloud to him while he sketched, or to read him to sleep withvery often. And then what delight it had been to sit by his side while helay at full length upon the mossy turf, or half-buried in fern--to sit byhim supremely happy, reading or drawing, and looking up from her occupationevery now and then to glance at the sleeper's handsome face in lovingadmiration. 

Those days had been the happiest of her life. When Austin left Arden, heseemed always to carry away the brightness of her existence with him; forwithout him her life was very lonely--a singularly joyless life for oneso young. Then, in an evil hour, as she thought, there came their finalparting. How well she remembered her brother loitering on the broad terracein front of Arden Court, in the dewy summer morning, waiting to bid hergood-bye! How passionately she had clung to him in that farewell embrace, unable to tear herself away, until her father's stern voice summoned her tothe carriage that was to take her on the first stage of her journey!

"Won't you come to the station with us, Austin?" she pleaded. 

"No, Clary, " her brother answered, with a glance at her father. "_He_ doesnot want me. "

And so they had parted; never to meet any more upon this earth perhaps, Clarissa said to herself, in her dismal reveries to-day. "That stranger inthe railway-carriage spoke of his having emigrated. He will live and diefar away, perhaps on the other side of the earth, and I shall never see hisbright face again. O, Austin, Austin, is this the end of all our summerdays in Arden woods long ago!"

 * * * * *

CHAPTER IV. 

CLARISSA IS "TAKEN UP. "

For some time there was neither change nor stir in Clarissa Lovel's newlife. It was not altogether an unpleasant kind of existence, perhaps, andMiss Lovel was inclined to make the best of it. She was very much her ownmistress, free to spend the long hours of her monotonous days according toher own pleasure. Her father exacted very little from her, and receivedher dutiful attentions with an air of endurance which was not particularlyencouraging. But Clarissa was not easily disheartened. She wanted towin her father's affection; and again and again, after every newdiscouragement, she told herself that there was no reason why she shouldnot ultimately succeed in making herself as dear to him as an only daughtershould be. It was only a question of time and patience. There was no reasonthat he should not love her, no possible ground for his coldness. It washis nature to be cold, perhaps; but those cold natures have often provedcapable of a single strong attachment. What happiness it would be to winthis victory of love!

"We stand almost alone in the world, " she said to herself. "We had need bevery dear to each other. "

So, though the time went by, and she made no perceptible progress towardsthis happy result, Clarissa did not despair. Her father tolerated her, andeven this was something; it seemed a great deal when she remembered herchildhood at Arden, in which she had never known what it was to be in herfather's society for an hour at a time, and when, but for chance meetingsin corridors and on staircases, she would very often have lived for weeksunder the same roof with him without seeing his face or hearing his voice. 

Now it was all different; she was a woman now, and Mill Cottage wasscarcely large enough to accommodate two separate existences, even had Mr. Lovel been minded to keep himself aloof from his daughter. This being so, he tolerated her, treating her with a kind of cold politeness, which mighthave been tolerably natural in some guardian burdened with the charge ofa ward he did not care for. They rarely met until dinner-time, Clarissataking her breakfast about three hours before her father left his room. Butat seven they dined together, and spent the long winter evenings in eachother's company, Clarissa being sometimes permitted to read aloud in Germanor Italian, while her father lay back in his easy-chair, smoking hismeerschaum, and taking the amber mouthpiece from his lips now and then tocorrect an accent or murmur a criticism on the text. Sometimes, too, Mr. Lovel would graciously expound a page or two of a Greek play, or dilate onthe subtilty of some learned foot-note, for his daughter's benefit, butrather with the air of one gentleman at his club inviting the sympathy ofanother gentleman than with the tone of a father instructing his child. 

Sometimes, but very rarely, they had company. Mr. Oliver and his wife woulddine with them occasionally, or the Vicar of Arden, a grave bachelor offive-and-thirty, would drop in to spend an hour or two of an evening. Butbesides these they saw scarcely any one. The small professional men ofHolborough Mr. Lovel held in supreme contempt, a contempt of which thosegentlemen themselves were thoroughly aware; the country people whom he hadbeen accustomed to receive at Arden Court he shrank from with a secretsense of shame, in these days of his fallen fortunes. He had therefore madefor himself a kind of hermit life at Mill Cottage; and his acquaintancehad come, little by little, to accept this as his established manner ofexistence. They still called upon the recluse occasionally, and sent himcards for their state dinners, averse from any neglect of a man whohad once occupied a great position among them; but they were no longersurprised when Mr. Lovel pleaded his feeble health as a reason fordeclining their hospitality. A very dull life for a girl, perhaps; but forClarissa it was not altogether an unhappy life. She was at an age when agirl can make an existence for herself out of bright young fancies andvague deep thoughts. There was that in her life just now which fades andperishes with the passing of years; a subtle indescribable charm, a senseof things beyond the common things of daily life. If there had been acloser bond of union between her father and herself, if there had notbeen that dark cloud upon her brother's life, she might have made herselfentirely happy; she might almost have forgotten that Arden was sold, anda vulgar mercantile stranger lord of those green slopes and broad ancientterraces she loved so well. 

As it was, the loneliness of her existence troubled her very little. Shehad none of that eager longing for "society" or "fashion" wherewith youngladies who live in towns are apt to inoculate one another. She had nodesire to shine, no consciousness of her own beauty; for the French girlsat Madame Marot's had been careful not to tell her that her pale patricianface was beautiful. She wished for nothing but to win her father's love, and to bring about some kind of reconciliation between him and Austin. So the autumn deepened into winter, and the winter brightened into earlyspring, without bringing any change to her life. She had her colour-box andher easel, her books and piano, for her best companions; and if she didnot make any obvious progress towards gaining her father's affection, she contrived, at any rate, to avoid rendering her presence in any wayobnoxious to him. 

Two or three times in the course of the winter Mrs. Oliver gave a littlemusical party, at which Clarissa met the small gentry of Holborough, whopronounced her a very lovely girl, and pitied her because of her father'sruined fortunes. To her inexperience these modest assemblies seemed theperfection of gaiety; and she would fain have accepted the invitations thatfollowed them, from the wives of Holborough bankers and lawyers and medicalmen to whom she had been introduced. Against this degradation, however, Mr. Lovel resolutely opposed himself. 

"No, Clarissa, " he said, sternly; "you must enter society under suchauspices as I should wish, or you must be content to remain at home. Ican't have a daughter of mine hawked about in that petty Holborough set. Lady Laura will be at Hale Castle by-and-by, I daresay. If she chooses totake you up, she can do so. Pretty girls are always at par in a countryhouse, and at the Castle you would meet people worth knowing. "

Clarissa sighed. Those cordial Holborough gentry had been so kind to her, and this exclusiveness of her father's chilled her, somehow. It seemed toadd a new bitterness to their poverty--to that poverty, by the way, ofwhich she had scarcely felt the sharp edges yet awhile. Things went verysmoothly at Mill Cottage. Her father lived luxuriously, after his quietfashion. One of the best wine-merchants at the West-end of London suppliedhis claret; Fortnum and Mason furnished the condiments and foreign raritieswhich were essential for his breakfast-table. There seemed never any lackof money, or only when Clarissa ventured to hint at the scantiness of herschool-wardrobe, on which occasion Mr. Lovel looked very grave, and put heroff with two or three pounds to spend at the Holborough draper's. 

"I should want so many new clothes if I went to the Castle, papa, " shesaid, rather sadly one day, when her father was talking of Lady LauraArmstrong; but Mr. Lovel only shrugged his shoulders. 

"A young woman is always well dressed in a white muslin gown, " he said, carelessly. "I daresay a few pounds would get you all you want. "

The Castle was a noble old place at Hale, a village about six miles fromHolborough. It had been the family seat of the Earl of Roxham ever sincethe reign of Edward VI. ; but, on the Roxham race dying out, some fiftyyears before this, had become the property of a certain Mr. Armstrong, acivilian who had made a great fortune in the East, in an age when greatfortunes were commonly made by East-Indian traders. His only son hadbeen captain in a crack regiment, and had sold out of the army after hisfather's death, in order to marry Lady Laura Challoner, second daughter ofthe Earl of Calderwood, a nobleman of ancient lineage and decayed fortunes, and to begin life as a country gentleman under her wise governance. TheArmstrongs were said to be a very happy couple; and if the master of HaleCastle was apt to seem something of a cipher in his own house, the housewas an eminently agreeable one, and Lady Laura popular with all classes. Her husband adored her, and had surrendered his judgment to her guidancewith a most supreme faith in her infallibility. Happily, she exercised herpower with that subtle tact which is the finest gift of woman, and hisworst enemies could scarcely call Frederick Armstrong a henpecked husband. 

The spring and early summer brought no change to Clarissa's life. She hadbeen at home for the greater part of a year, and in all that time one dayhad resembled another almost us closely as in the scholastic monotony ofexistence at Madame Marot's. And yet the girl had shaped no complaint aboutthe dulness of this tranquil routine, even in her inmost unspoken thoughts. She was happy, after a quiet fashion. She had a vague sense that there wasa broader, grander kind of life possible to womanhood; a life as differentfrom her own as the broad river that lost itself in the sea was differentfrom the placid mill-stream that bounded her father's orchard. But shehad no sick fretful yearning for that wider life. To win her father'saffection, to see her brother restored to his abandoned home--these wereher girlish dreams and simple unselfish hopes. 

In all the months Clarissa Lovel had spent at Mill Cottage she had nevercrossed the boundary of that lost domain she loved so well. There was arustic bridge across the mill-stream, and a wooden gate opening into Ardenwoods. Clarissa very often stood by this gate, leaning with folded armsupon the topmost bar, and looking into the shadowy labyrinth of beech andpine with sad dreamy eyes, but she never went beyond the barrier. HonestMartha asked her more than once why she never walked in the wood, whichwas so much pleasanter than the dusty high-road, or even Arden common, anundulating expanse of heathy waste beyond the village, where Clarissa wouldroam for hours on the fine spring days, with a sketch-book under her arm. The friendly peasant woman could not understand that obstinate avoidance ofa beloved scene--that sentiment which made her lost home seem to Clarissa athing to shrink from, as she might have shrunk from beholding the face ofthe beloved dead. 

It was bright midsummer weather, a glorious prolific season, with thethermometer ranging between seventy and eighty, when Lady Laura Armstrongdid at last make her appearance at Mill Cottage. The simple old-fashionedgarden was all aglow with roses; the house half-hidden beneath theluxuriance of foliage and flowers, a great magnolia on one side climbing upto the dormer windows, on the other pale monthly roses, and odorous goldenand crimson tinted honeysuckle. Lady Laura was in raptures with the place. She found Clarissa sitting in a natural arbour made by a group of oldhawthorns and a wild plum-tree, and placed herself at once upon a footingof perfect friendliness and familiarity with the girl. Mr. Lovel was out--arare occurrence. He had gone for a stroll through the village with Ponto. 

"And why are you not with him?" asked Lady Laura, who, like most of theseclever managing women, had a knack of asking questions. "You must be abetter companion than Ponto. "

"Papa does not think so. He likes walking alone. He likes to be quite freeto dream about his books, I fancy, and it bores him rather to have totalk. "

"Not a very lively companion for you, I fear. Why, child, how dismal yourlife must be!"

"O, no; not dismal. It is very quiet, of course; but I like a quiet life. "

"But you go to a good many parties, I suppose, in Holborough and theneighbourhood? I know the Holborough people are fond of giving parties, andare quite famous for Croquet. "

"No, Lady Laura; papa won't let me visit any one at Holborough, except myuncle and aunt, the Olivers. "

"Yes; I know the Olivers very well indeed. Remarkably pleasant people. "

"And I don't even know how to play croquet. "

"Why, my poor benighted child, in what a state of barbarism this father ofyours is bringing you up! How are you ever to marry and take your placein the world? And with your advantages, too! What can the man be dreamingabout? I shall talk to him very seriously. We are quite old friends, youknow, my dear, and I can venture to say what I like to him. You must cometo me immediately. I shall have a houseful of people in a week or two, and you shall have a peep at the gay world. Poor little prison flower! nowonder you look thoughtful and pale. And now show me your garden, please, Miss Lovel. We can stroll about till your father comes home; I mean to talkto him _at once_. "

Energy was one of the qualities of her own character for which LauraArmstrong especially valued herself. She was always doing something orother which she was not actually called upon by her own duty or by thedesire of other people to do, and she was always eager to do it "at once. "She had come to Mill Cottage intending to show some kindness to ClarissaLovel, whose father and her own father, the Earl of Calderwood, had beenfirm friends in the days when the master of Arden entertained the county;and Clarissa's manner and appearance having impressed her most favourably, she was eager to do her immediate service, to have her at the Castle, andshow her to the world, and get her a rich husband if possible. 

In honest truth, this Lady Laura Armstrong was a kindly disposed, sympathetic woman, anxious to make the best of the opportunities whichProvidence had given her with so lavish a hand, and to do her duty towardsher less fortunate neighbours. The office of Lady Bountiful, the positionof patroness, suited her humour. Her active frivolous nature, which spurnedrepose, and yet never rose above trifles, found an agreeable occupation inthe exercise of this kind of benign influence upon other people's lives. Whether she would have put herself seriously out of the way for the benefitof any of these people to whom she was so unfailingly beneficent, was aquestion which circumstances had never yet put to the test. Her benevolencehad so far been of a light, airy kind, which did not heavily tax her bodilyor mental powers, or even the ample resources of her purse. 

She was a handsome woman, after a fair, florid, rather redundant styleof beauty, and was profoundly skilled in all those arts of costume anddecoration by which such beauty is improved. A woman of middle height, witha fine figure, a wealth of fair hair, and an aquiline nose of the truepatrician type, her admirers said. The mouth was rather large, but redeemedby a set of flashing teeth and a winning smile; the chin inclined to be ofthat order called "double;" and indeed a tendency to increasing stoutnesswas one of the few cares which shadowed Lady Laura's path. She wasfive-and-thirty, and had only just begun to tell herself that she was nolonger a girl. She got on admirably with Clarissa, as she informed herhusband afterwards when she described the visit. 

The girl was fascinated at once by that frank cordial manner, and was quiteready to accept Lady Laura for her friend, ready to be patronised by hereven, with no sense of humiliation, no lurking desire to revolt against thekind of sovereignty with which her new friend took possession of her. 

Mr. Lovel came strolling in by-and-by, with his favourite tan setter, looking as cool as if there were no such thing as blazing midsummersunshine, and found the two ladies sauntering up and down the grassy walkby the mill-stream, under the shadow of gnarled old pear and quince trees. He was charmed to see his dear Lady Laura. Clarissa had never known himso enthusiastic or so agreeable. It was quite a new manner which he puton--the manner of a man who is still interested in life. Lady Laura beganalmost at once with her reproaches. How could he be so cruel to this dearchild? How could he be so absurd as to bury her alive in this way?

"She visits no one, I hear, " cried the lady; "positively no one. "

"Humph! she has been complaining, has she?" said Mr. Lovel, with a sharpglance at his daughter. 

"Complaining! O no, papa! I have told Lady Laura that I do not care aboutgaiety, and that you do not allow me to visit. "

"_Aut Caesar aut nullus_--the best or nothing. I don't want Clarissa to begadding about to all the tea-drinkings in Holborough; and if I let her goto one house, I must let her go to all"

"But you will let her come to me?"

"That is the best, my dear Lady Laura. Yes, of course she may come to you, whenever you may please to be troubled with her. "

"Then I please to be troubled with her immediately. I should like to carryher away with me this afternoon, if it were possible; but I suppose thatcan't be--there will be a trunk to be packed, and so on. When will youcome to me, Miss Lovel? Do you know, I am strongly tempted to call youClarissa?"

"I should like it so much better, " the girl answered, blushing. 

"What! may I? Then I'm sure I will. It's such a pretty name, reminding oneof that old novel of Richardson's, which everybody quotes and no one everseems to have read. When will you come, Clarissa?"

"Give her a week, " said her father; "she'll want a new white muslin gown, Idaresay; young women always do when they are going visiting. "

"Now, pray don't let her trouble herself about anything of that kind; mymaid shall see to all that sort of thing. We will make her look her best, depend upon it. I mean this visit to be a great event in her life, Mr. Lovel, if possible. "

"Don't let there be any fuss or trouble about her. Every one knows that Iam poor, and that she will be penniless when I am gone. Let her wear herwhite muslin gown, and give her a corner to sit in. People may take her forone of your children's governesses, if they choose; but if she is to seesociety, I am glad for her to see the best. "

"People shall not take her for one of my governesses; they shall take herfor nothing less than Miss Lovel of Arden. Yes, of Arden, my dear sir;don't frown, I entreat you. The glory of an old house like that clings tothose who bear the old name, even though lands and house are gone--MissLovel, of Arden, By the way, how do you get on with your neighbour, Mr. Granger?"

"I do not get on with him at all. He used to call upon me now and then, but I suppose he fancied, or saw somehow or other--though I am sure I waslaboriously civil to him--that I did not care much for his visits; at anyrate, he dropped them. But he is still rather obtrusively polite in sendingme game and hot-house fruit and flowers at odd times, in return for whichfavours I can send him nothing but a note of thanks--'Mr. Level presentshis compliments to Mr. Granger, and begs to acknowledge, with best thanks, &c. "--the usual formula. "

"I am so sorry you have not permitted him to know you, " replied Lady Laura. "We saw a good deal of him last year--such a charming man! what one mayreally call a typical man--the sort of person the French describe assolid---_Carré par la base_--a perfect block of granite; and then, so_enormously_ rich!"

Lady Laura glanced at Clarissa, as if she were inspired with some suddenidea. She was subject to a sudden influx of ideas, and always fancied herideas inspirations. She looked at Clarissa, and repeated, with a meditativeair, "So _enormously_ rich!"

"There is a grown-up daughter, too, " said Mr. Lovel; "rather astiff-looking young person. I suppose she is solid, too. "

"She is not so charming as her father, " replied Lady Laura, with whom thatfavourite adjective served for everything in the way of praise. To her thePyramids and Niagara, a tropical thunderstorm, a mazourka by Chopin, and aParisian bonnet, were all alike charming. "I suppose solidity isn't so nicein a girl, " she went on, laughing; "but certainly Sophia Granger is notsuch a favourite with me as her father is. I suppose she will make abrilliant marriage, however, sooner or later, unattractive as she may be;for she'll have a superb fortune, --unless, indeed, her father should takeit into his head to marry again. "

"Scarcely likely that, I should think, after seventeen years of widowhood. Why, Granger must be at least fifty. " "My dear Mr. Lovel, I hope you arenot going to call that a great age. "

"My dear Lady Laura, am I likely to do so, when my own fiftieth birthdayis an event of the past? But I shouldn't suppose Granger to be a marryingman, " he added meditatively; "such an idea has never occurred to mein conjunction with him. " And here he glanced ever so slightly at hisdaughter. "That sort of granite man must take a great deal of thawing. "

"There are suns that will melt the deepest snows, " answered the lady, laughing. "Seriously, I am sorry you will not suffer him to know you. ButI must run away this instant; my unfortunate ponies will be wonderingwhat has become of me. You see this dear girl and I have got on so welltogether, that I have been quite unconscious of time; and I had ever somany more calls to make, but those must be put off to another day. Letme see; this is Tuesday, I shall send a carriage for you, this day week, Clarissa, soon after breakfast, so that I may have you with me at luncheon. Good-bye. "

Lady Laura kissed her new _protégée_ at parting. She was really fond ofeverything young and bright and pretty; and having come to Mr. Lovel'shouse intending to perform a social duty, was delighted to find that theduty was so easy and pleasant to her. She was always pleased with newacquaintances, and was apt to give her friendship on the smallestprovocation. On the other hand, there came a time when she grew just alittle weary of these dear sweet friends, and began to find them lesscharming than of old; but she was never uncivil to them; they alwaysremained on her list, and received stray gleams from the sunlight of herpatronage. 

"Well, " said Mr. Lovel interrogatively, when the mistress of Hale Castlehad driven off, in the lightest and daintiest of phaetons, with a modelgroom and a pair of chestnut cobs, which seemed perfection, even inYorkshire, where every man is a connoisseur in horseflesh. "Well, child, Itold you that you might go into society if Lady Laura Armstrong took youup, but I scarcely expected her to be as cordial as she has been to-day. Nothing could have been better than the result of her visit; she seemedquite taken with you, Clary. "

It was almost the first time her father had ever called her Clary. It wasonly a small endearment, but she blushed and sparkled into smiles atthe welcome sound. He saw the smile and blush, but only thought she wasdelighted with the idea of this visit to the Castle. He had no notionthat the placid state of indifference which he maintained towards her wasotherwise than agreeable to her feelings. He was perfectly civil to her, and he never interfered with her pursuits or inclinations. What more couldshe want from a father?

Perhaps she assumed a new value in his eyes from the time of that visit ofLady Laura's. He was certainly kinder to her than usual, the girlthought, as they sat on the lawn in the balmy June evening, sipping theirafter-dinner coffee, while the moon rose fair and pale above the woods ofArden Court. He contemplated her with a meditative air now and then, whenshe was not looking his way. He had always known that she was beautiful, but her beauty had acquired a new emphasis from Lady Laura Armstrong'spraises. A woman of the world of that class was not likely to be deceived, or to mistake the kind of beauty, likely to influence mankind; and in thedim recesses of his mind there grew up a new hope--very vague and shadowy;he despised himself for dwelling upon it so weakly--a hope that made himkinder to his daughter than he had ever been yet--a hope which rendered herprecious to him all at once. Not that he loved her any better than of old;it was only that he saw how, if fortune favoured him, this girl mightrender him the greatest service that could be done for him by any humancreature. 

She might marry Daniel Granger, and win back the heritage he had lost. It was a foolish thought, of course; Mr. Lovel was quite aware of thesupremity of folly involved in it. This Granger might be the last man inthe world to fall in love with a girl younger than his daughter; he mightbe as impervious to beauty as the granite to which Laura Armstrong hadlikened him. It was a foolish fancy, a vain hope; but it served to brightenthe meditations of Marmaduke Lovel--who had really very few pleasantsubjects to think about--with a faint rosy glow. 

"It is the idlest dream, " he said to himself. "When did good luck ever comemy way? But O, to hold Arden Court again--by any tie--to die knowing thatmy race would inherit the old gray walls!"

 * * * * *

CHAPTER V. 

AT HALE CASTLE. 

Mr. Lovel gave his daughter twenty pounds; a stretch of liberality whichdid not a little astonish her. She was very grateful for this unexpectedkindness; and her father was fain to submit to be kissed and praised forhis goodness more than was entirely agreeable to him. But he had beenkinder to her ever since Lady Laura's visit, and her heart was very lightunder that genial influence. She thought he was beginning to love her, andthat belief made her happy. 

Nor was there anything but unqualified pleasure for her in the possessionof twenty pounds--the largest sum she had ever had at her disposal. Although the solitude of her life and the troubles that overshadowed it hadmade her thoughtful beyond her years, she was still young enough to be ableto put aside all thought, and to live in the present. It was very pleasantto go into Holborough, with those four crisp new five-pound notes in herpurse, to ask her aunt's advice about her purchases. Mrs. Oliver wasenraptured to hear of the visit to the Castle, but naturally a littledespondent about the circumstances under which the visit was to be paid. That Clarissa should go to Lady Laura's without a maid was eminentlydistressing to her aunt. 

"I really think you ought to take Peters, " Mrs. Oliver said meditatively. "She is a most reliable person; and of course nobody need know that she isnot your own maid. I can fully rely upon her discretion for not breathing aword upon the subject to any of the Castle servants. "

Peters was a prim middle-aged spinster, with a small waist and a painfullyerect figure, who combined the office of parlour-maid at the Rectory withthat of personal attendant upon the Rector's wife--a person whom Clarissahad always regarded with a kind of awe--a lynx-eyed woman, who could see ata glance the merest hint of a stray hair-pin in a massive coil of plaits, or the minutest edge of a muslin petticoat, visible below the hem of adress. 

"O no, aunt; please don't think of such a thing!" the girl cried eagerly. "I could not go with a borrowed servant; and I don't want a maid at all; Iam used to do everything for myself Besides, Lady Laura did not ask me tobring a maid. "

"She would take that for granted. She would never expect Mr. Lovel'sdaughter to travel without a maid. "

"But papa told her how poor he was. "

"Very unnecessary, and very bad taste on his part, I think. But of courseshe would not suppose him to be too poor to maintain a proper establishmentin a small way. People of that kind only understand poverty in the broadestsense. "

Mrs. Oliver consented to forego the idea of sending Peters to the Castle, with a regretful sigh; and then the two ladies went out shopping--Clarissain high spirits; her aunt depressed by a conviction, that she would notmake her first entrance into society with the surroundings that befitted aLovel of Arden Court. 

There seemed so many things indispensable for this all-important visit. The twenty pounds were nearly gone by the time Miss Lovel's shopping wasfinished. A white muslin dress for ordinary occasions, some white gauzyfabric for a more important toilette, a golden-brown silk walking or dinnerdress, a white areophane bonnet, a gray straw hat and feather, gloves, boots, slippers, and a heap of feminine trifles. Considerable managementand discretion were required to make the twenty pounds go far enough: butMrs. Oliver finished her list triumphantly, leaving one bright goldensovereign in Clarissa's purse. She gave the girl two more sovereigns atparting with her. 

"You will want as much as that for the servants when you are coming away, Clary, " she said imperatively, as Clarissa protested against this gift. "Idon't suppose you will be called upon to spend a shilling for anything elseduring your visit, unless there should happen to be a charity sermon whileyou are at Hale. In that case, pray don't put less than half-a-crown inthe plate. Those things are noticed so much. And now, good-bye, my dear. Idon't suppose I shall see you again between this, and Tuesday. MissMallow will come to you to try-on the day after to-morrow at one o'clock, remember; be sure you are at home. She will have hard work to get yourthings ready in time; but I shall look in upon her once or twice, to keepher up to the mark. Pray do your best to secure Lady Laura's friendship. Such an acquaintance as that is all-important to a girl in your position. "

Tuesday came very quickly, as it seemed to Clarissa, who grew a littlenervous about this visit among strangers, in a great strange house, as itcame nearer. She had seen the outside of the Castle very often: a vastfeudal pile it seemed, seen across the bright river that flowed beneathits outward wall--a little darksome and gloomy at the best, Clarissa hadthought, and something too grand to make a pleasant habitation. Shehad never seen the inner quadrangle, in all its splendour of modernrestoration--sparkling freestone, fresh from the mason's chisel; gothicwindows, glowing with rare stained glass; and the broad fertile gardens, with their terraces and banks of flowers, crowded together to make a feastof colour, sloping down to the setting sun. 

It was still the same bright midsummer weather--a blue sky without a cloud, a look upon earth and heaven as if there would never be rain again, oranything but this glow and glory of summer. At eleven o'clock thecarriage came from the Castle; Clarissa's trunks and travelling-bag wereaccommodated somehow; and the girl bade her father good-bye. 

"I daresay I shall be asked to dinner while you are there, " he said, asthey were parting, "and I may possibly come; I shall be curious to see howyou get on. "

"O, pray do come, papa; I'm sure it will do you good. "

And then she kissed him affectionately, emboldened by that softer mannerwhich he had shown towards her lately; and the carriage drove off. Abeautiful drive past fertile fields, far stretching towards that brightriver, which wound its sinuous way through all this part of the country;past woods that shut in both sides of the road with a solemn gloom even atmidday--woods athwart which one caught here and there a distant glimpse ofsome noble old mansion lying remote within the green girdle of a park. 

It was something less than an hour's drive from Arden to Hale: thevillage-church clock and a great clock in the Castle stables were bothstriking twelve as the carriage drove under a massive stone arch, abovewhich the portcullis still hung grimly. It was something like going intoa prison, Clarissa thought; but she had scarcely time for the reflection, when the carriage swept round a curve in the smooth gravel road, and shesaw the sunny western front of the Castle, glorious in all its brightnessof summer flowers, and with a tall fountain leaping and sparkling uptowards the blue sky. 

She gave a little cry of rapture at sight of so much brightness and beauty, coming upon her all at once with a glad surprise. There were no humancreatures visible; only the glory of fountain and flowers. It might havebeen the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, deep in the heart of the woodlands, for any evidence to the contrary, perceptible to Clarissa in this drowsynoontide; but presently, as the carriage drove up to the hall door, adog barked, and then a sumptuous lackey appeared, and anon another, who, between them, took Miss Lovel's travelling-bag and parasol, prior toescorting her to some apartment, leaving the heavier luggage to meanerhands. 

"The saloon, or my lady's own room, miss?" one of the grandiose creaturesdemanded languidly. 

"I would rather see Lady Laura alone at first, if you please. "

The man bowed, and conducted her up a broad staircase, lined with darksomepictures of battles by land and sea, along a crimson-carpeted corridorwhere there were many doors, to one particular portal at the southern end. 

He opened this with a lofty air, and announced "Miss Lovel. "

It was a very large room--all the rooms in this newly-restored part of theCastle were large and lofty (a great deal of the so-called "restoration"had indeed been building, and many of these splendid rooms were new, newereven than the wealth of Frederick Armstrong)--a large room, furnished withchairs and tables and cabinets of satin wood, with oval medallions of paleblue Wedgwood let into the panelled doors of the cabinets, and a narrowbeading of lustreless gold here and there; a room with pale bluesilken hangings, and a carpet of white wood-anemones scattered on aturquoise-coloured ground. There were no pictures; art was represented onlyby a few choice bronzes and a pair of Venetian mirrors. 

Lady Laura was busy at a writing-table, filling in the blanks in some notesof invitation. She was always busy. On one table there were an easel andthe appliances of illumination; a rare old parchment Missal lying open, andmy lady's copy of a florid initial close beside it. On a small reading-deskthere was an open Tasso with a couple of Italian dictionaries near athand. Lady Laura had a taste for languages, and was fond of reviving heracquaintance with foreign classics. She was really the most indefatigableof women. It was a pity, perhaps, that her numerous accomplishments andher multifarious duties towards society at large left her so very littleleisure to bestow upon her own children; but then, they had their foreigngovernesses, and maids--there was one poor English drudge, by the way, whoseemed like a stranger in a far land--gifted in many tongues, and beganto imbibe knowledge from their cradles. To their young imaginations thenursery wing of Hale Castle must have seemed remarkably like the Tower ofBabel. 

The lady of the Castle laid down her pen, and received Clarissa with warmaffection. She really liked the girl. It was only a light airy kind ofliking, perhaps, in unison with her character; but, so far as it went, itwas perfectly sincere. 

"My dear child, I am so glad to have you here, " she said, placing MissLovel beside her on a low sofa. "You will find me dreadfully busysometimes, I daresay; but you must not think me neglectful if I cannot bevery much with you downstairs. You are to come in and out of this roomwhenever you please. It is not open to the world at large, you know, and Iam supposed to be quite inaccessible here; but it is open to my favourites, and I mean you to be one of them, Clarissa. "

"You are very good, dear Lady Laura. "

"No, I am not good; I daresay I am the most selfish creature inChristendom; but when I like people, I like them with all my heart. And nowtell me what you think of Hale. "

"It is lovely--it is like fairyland. "

"Yes, it is pretty, isn't it, this new side? It has all been done in mytime--it has all been my doing, indeed, I may venture to say; for Fredwould have gone on living contentedly in the old rooms till his dying day. You can't imagine the trouble I took. I read no end of books upon thedomestic architecture of the middle ages, went all over England hunting formodel houses, and led the poor architect a fine life. But I think, betweenus, we succeeded in carrying out a very fine idea at last. The crenellatedroof, with its machicolations, is considered a great success. There was atime when one was obliged to get a license from the sovereign to build thatkind of thing; but it is all changed now. The sovereign is not afraid ofrebellion, and the machicolations are only for ornament. You have not seenthe old hall yet. That is splendid--a real original bit of the Castle, youknow, which has never been tampered with, as old as Edward III. , with araised platform at the upper end, where the lord of the castle used to sitwhile his vassals ate below him; and with a stone hearth in the centre, where they used to make their wood fires, all the smoke going through anopening in the roof--rather pleasant for my lord and his vassals, I shouldthink! Take off your hat, Clarissa; or perhaps you would rather go to yourroom at once. Yes, you shall, dear; and I'll finish my letters, and we canmeet at luncheon. "

Lady Laura rang a bell twice; which particular summons produced a verysmart-looking maid, into whose charge my lady confided Clarissa, with apretty little wave of her hand, and "_à bientôt_, dear child. "

The maid conducted Miss Lovel to a charming chintz-curtained bedroom on thesecond floor, looking westward over those gorgeous flower-banks; a bedroomwith a bright-looking brass bedstead, and the daintiest chintz-patternedcarpet, and nothing medieval about it except the stone-framed gothicwindow. 

"I will send a person to unpack your trunks, miss, " the maid said, when shehad listened with a deferential air to Clarissa's praise of the room. "Iam very glad you like your rooms; my lady was most anxious you should bepleased. I'll send Fosset miss; she is a very handy young person, and willbe always at your service to render you any assistance you may require. "

"Thank you--I am not likely to trouble her often; there is so very littleassistance I ever want. Sometimes, when I am putting on an evening dress, Imay ask for a little help perhaps--that is all. "

"She will be quite at your service, miss: I hope you will not scruple toring for her, " the chief of the maids replied, and then made a dignifiedexit. 

The maid of inferior degree, Fosset, speedily appeared; apale-complexioned, meek-looking young woman, who set about unpackingClarissa's trunks with great skill and quickness, and arranged theircontents in the capacious maple wardrobe, while their owner washed her faceand hands and brushed the dust of her brief journey out of her dark brownhair. A clamorous bell rang out the summons to the midday meal presently, and Clarissa went down to the hall, where a watchful footman took her incharge. 

"Luncheon is served in the octagon room, miss, " he said, and straightwayled her away to an apartment in an angle of the Castle: a room with aheavily-carved oak ceiling, and four mullioned windows overlooking theriver; a room hung with gilt and brown stamped leather, and furnished inthe most approved mediaeval style. There was an octagon table, bright withfruit and flowers, and a good many ladies seated round it, with only hereand there a gentleman. 

There was one of these gentlemen standing near Lady Laura's chair asClarissa went into the room, tall and stout, with a very fair good-naturedcountenance, light blue eyes, and large light whiskers, whom, by reasonof some careless remarks of her father's, she guessed at once to be Mr. Armstrong; a gentleman of whom people were apt to say, after the shortestacquaintance, that there was not much in him, but that he was the bestfellow in the world--an excellent kind of person to be intrusted with thedisposal of a large fortune, a man by whom his neighbours could profitwithout a too painful sense of obligation, and who was never so happy aswhen a crowd of people were enjoying life at his expense. Friends who meantto say something very generous of Frederick Armstrong were wont to observe, that he was not such a fool as he looked. Nor, in the ordinary attributesof a country gentleman, was the master of Hale Castle behind his compeers. He rode like Assheton Smith, never missed his bird in the open, and had amanly scorn of battues; was great in agriculture, and as good a judge ofa horse as any man in Yorkshire. His literary attainments were, perhaps, limited to a comprehensive knowledge of the science of farriery, a profoundstudy of _Buff's Guide_, and a familiar acquaintance with _Bell's Life_ andtwo or three weekly newspapers devoted to the agricultural interest; butas he had the happiness to live amongst a race which rather cultivates thedivine gift of ignorance, his shortcomings awakened no scorn. 

When he was known to have made a bad book for the Leger or the Great Ebor, his friends openly expressed their contempt for his mental powers; but noone despised him because an expensive university training had made himnothing more than a first-rate oarsman, a fair billiard-player, and adistinguished thrower of the hammer. He was just what a country gentlemanshould be in the popular idea--handsome, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, with the fist and biceps of a gladiator, and a brain totally unburdened bythe scholiast's dry-as-dust rubbish: sharp and keen enough where the thingsthat interested him were in question, and never caring to look beyond them. 

To this gentleman Lady Laura introduced Clarissa. 

"Fred, this is Miss Lovel--Clarissa Lovel--and you and she are to like eachother very much, if you please. This is my husband, Clarissa, who caresmore for the cultivation of short-horns--whatever kind of creatures thosebrutes may be--and ugly little shaggy black Highland cattle, than for mysociety, a great deal; so you will see very little of him, I daresay, whileyou are at the Castle. In London he is obliged to be shut-up with me nowand then; though, as he attends nearly all the race-meetings, I don't seevery much of him even there; but here he escapes me altogether. "

"Upon my word, Laura--upon my word, you know, Miss Lovel, there's not asyllable of truth in it, " exclaimed the gentleman with the light whiskers. "My wife's always illuminating old Missals, or rending Italian, orpractising the harmonium, or writing out lists of things for her Dorcasclub, or something of that sort; and a fellow only feels himself in the wayif he's hanging about her. She's the busiest woman in the world. I don'tbelieve the prime minister gets through more work or receives more lettersthan she does. And she answers 'em all too, by Jove; she's like the greatDuke of Wellington. "

"Do you happen to take a lively interest in steam-ploughs andthreshing-machines, and that kind of thing, Clarissa?" asked Lady Laura. 

"I'm afraid not. I never even saw a steam-plough; and I believe if I wereto see one, I should think it a most unpicturesque object. "

"I am sorry to hear that. Fred would have been so delighted with you, if you'd shown agricultural proclivities. We had a young lady fromWestmoreland here last year who knew an immense deal about farming. Shewas especially great upon pigs, I believe, and quite fascinated Fred bytramping about the home farm with him in thick boots. I was almost jealous. But now let me introduce you to some of my friends, Clarissa. "

Hereupon Miss Lovel had to bow and simper in response to the polite bowsand simpers of half a dozen ladies. Mrs. Weldon Dacre and three MissDacres, Rose, Grace, and Amy, tall and bony damsels, with pale reddishhair, and paler eyebrows and eyelashes, and altogether more "style" thanbeauty; Mrs. Wilmot, a handsome widow, whom Frederick Armstrong and hismasculine friends were wont to call "a dasher;" Miss Fermor, a ratherpretty girl, with a piquant nose and sparkling hazel eyes; and MissBarbara Fermor, tall and slim and dark, with a romantic air. The gentlemenwere a couple of officers--Major Mason, stout, dark, hook-nosed, andclose-shaven; Captain Westleigh, fair, auburn-moustached and whiskered--and a meek-looking gentleman, of that inoffensive curate race, againstwhich Clarissa had been warned by her father. 

She found herself very quickly at home among these people. The Miss Fermorswere especially gifted in the art of making themselves delightful tostrangers; they had, indeed, undergone such training in a perpetual careerof country-house visiting, that it would have gone hard with them had theynot acquired this grace. The three tall pale Dacres, Rose, Grace, and Amy, were more conventional, and less ready to swear alliance with the stranger;but they were not disagreeable girls, and improved considerably after afew days' acquaintance, showing themselves willing to take the bass inpianoforte duets, sing a decent second, exhibit their sketch-books andphotographic collections in a friendly manner, and communicate new stitchesand patterns in _point de Russe_ or _point d'Alençon_. 

After luncheon Miss Lovel went off with Captain Westleigh and MissFermor--Lizzie, the elder and livelier of the two sisters--to take herfirst lesson in croquet. The croquet-ground was a raised plateau to theleft of the Italian garden, bounded on one side by a grassy slope and thereedy bank of the river, and on the other by a plantation of young firs; aperfect croquet-ground, smooth as an ancient bowling-green, and unbrokenby invading shrub or flower-bed. There were some light iron seats on theoutskirts of the ground here and there, and that was all. 

Clarissa received her lesson, and (having been lucky enough to send herball through the hoop now and then) was pronounced to have a natural geniusfor croquet. It was a pleasant, idle afternoon, passed amidst so bright andfair a scene, that the beauty of her surroundings alone was enough to giveClarissa's life a new zest--a day which the mind recalls in the stormierperiods of after-life, wondering at its gracious peace, its utter freedomfrom care or thought. Too soon came the time when there could be no more ofsuch girlish happiness for Clarissa, such perfect respite from thought ofto-morrow, or regret for yesterday. 

By-and-by came dressing for dinner, and then an assemblage of visitorsin the drawing-room--county people from neighbouring parks and halls andcourts--mingling pleasantly with the Castle guests, and then dinner in thegreat dining-room; a splendid chamber, with a music-gallery at one end, andwith the earliest crystal chandeliers ever used in England, and given byQueen Elizabeth to the Lord of Hale, for its chief decorations. At eighto'clock these crystal chandeliers glittered with the light of manywax-candles, though there was still the soft glow of sunset in the gardensbeyond the great gothic windows. 

That first visit to a great country house was like a new page in life toClarissa. She had not wearied of her quiet existence at Mill Cottage, herbooks, her art, her freedom from the monotonous tasks and dull restraintsof school; but she felt that if life could always be like this, it would besomething very sweet and joyous. Captain Westleigh had contrived to takeher in to dinner. 

"I was determined to do it, " he told her confidentially, as they sat down;"so I made a rush across to you when I saw Lady Laura's eye upon you, with a malicious intention of billeting you upon young Halkin, the greatcloth-manufacturer's son. I know Lady Laura so well; she will be trying toplant all those rich manufacturing fellows upon you; she has quite a maniafor that sort of people. "

The Captain made himself very pleasant all through that long ceremonial ofdinner. If the brilliant things which he said were not quite the newest inthe world, they were at least new to Clarissa, who rewarded his efforts toplease her by seeming very much amused, and flattered, and stimulated himto new flights by her appreciation. He told her all about the people roundher, making her feel less like a stranger in a foreign country; and thatpageant-like dinner, long as it was, did not seem at all too long to bepleasant. 

After dinner there was a little music and singing at one end of thedrawing-room, to which people listened or not, as they pleased; afriendly whist-table established at the other end, at which four elderly, grey-whiskered, and bald-headed country gentlemen played gravely for anhour or so; and a good deal of desultory strolling out through the openwindows to the terrace for the contemplation of the moonlit gardens, withperhaps a spice of flirtation. Lady Laura was never quite happy unless shesaw something like flirtation going on among her younger visitors. She waspleased to see Captain Westleigh's attention to Clarissa, though she wouldrather that James Halkin had occupied the ground. But, alas! Mr. Halkin, stiff and solemn as a policeman on duty, was standing by the chair of thevery palest and least beautiful of the Miss Dacres, mildly discussing acollection of photographs of Alpine scenery. They had both been over thesame country, and were quite enthusiastic when they came to peaks andmountain gorges that they remembered. 

"I was there with another fellow, and he nearly slipped just on that edgethere. It was as near as a----" Mr. Halkin was going to say "a toucher, "but it occurred to him that that vague expression was scarcely permissiblein conversation with a lady--"the nearest thing you ever saw in your life, in fact. If it hadn't been for his alpen-stock, it would have been all overwith him; and the guides told us there'd been a fellow killed there theyear before. We stopped at Rigot's--I think the dearest hotel I was everat; but they gave us some very fair still champagne--very fair indeed. "

Lady Laura took occasion to warn Clarissa against the Captain when theyseparated for the night, in the corridor upon which my lady's rooms opened. 

"Very nice, isn't he, dear? Come into my dressing-room for a few minutes'talk;" and my lady led Clarissa into another charming chamber, all bluesilk and satin-wood, like the morning room. "Yes, he is very nice, and hereally seemed quite _épris_. Poor Herbert Westleigh! I've known him foryears. He belongs to one of the oldest families in Somersetshire, and is acapital fellow, as my husband says; but a person not to be thought of byyou, Clarissa. There are a crowd of brothers, and I doubt if Herbert hasa hundred a year beyond his pay. Did you notice that Mr. Halkin, a rathersandy-haired young man with a long nose? That young fellow will come intothirty thousand a year by-and-by. "

"Yes, Lady Laura, I did notice him a little when he was talking to one ofthe Miss Dacres. He seemed very stupid. "

"Stupid, my dear Clarissa! Why, I have been told that young man made agood deal of character at Oxford. But I daresay you are taken by HerbertWestleigh's rattling way. Now remember, my dear, I have warned you. "

"There is no occasion for any warning, Lady Laura. Believe me, I am in nodanger. I thought Captain Westleigh was very kind, and I liked him becausehe told me all about the other people; that is all. "

"Very well, dear. You will see a good many people here; there is anadvantage in that--one influence neutralises another. But I should reallylike you to take some notice of that Mr. Halkin. He will be a good dealhere, I daresay. His family live at Selbrook Hall, only four miles off. Thefather and mother are the plainest, homeliest people, but very sensible;live in a quiet unpretending style, and can't spend a quarter of theirincome. When I speak of thirty thousand a year, I don't reckon theaccumulations that young man will inherit. He is the only son. There is asister; but she is lame and a confirmed invalid--not likely to live manyyears, I think. "

Clarissa smiled at Lady Laura's earnestness. 

"One would think you were in league with papa, dear Lady Laura. He says Iam bound to marry a rich man. "

"Of course; it is a solemn duty when a girl is handsome and not rich. Lookat me: what would my life have been without Fred, Clarissa? There were fiveof us, child: five daughters to be married, only think of that; and thereare still three unmarried. One of my sisters is coming here to-morrow. I doso hope you will get on with her; but she is rather peculiar. I am glad tosay she is engaged at last--quite an old affair, and I think an attachmenton both sides for some time past; but it has only lately come to a definiteengagement. The gentleman's prospects were so uncertain; but that is allover now. The death of an elder brother quite alters his position, and hewill have a very fine estate by-and-by. He is coming here, too, in a fewdays, and I'm sure I hope the marriage will take place soon. But I must notkeep you here chattering, at the risk of spoiling your fresh looks. "

And with a gracious good-night Lady Laura dismissed her new _protégée_. 

Yes, it was a pleasant life, certainly; a life that drifted smoothly onwardwith the tide, and to all seeming unshadowed by one sorrowful thought orcare. And yet, no doubt, with but a few youthful exceptions, every guest atHale Castle had his or her particular burden to carry, and black Care satbehind the gentlemen as they rode to small country meetings or primitivecattle-fairs. To Clarissa Lovel the state of existence was so new, that itwas scarcely strange she should be deluded by the brightness and glitter ofit, and believe that these people could have known no sorrow. 

She found herself looking forward with unwonted interest to the arrival ofLady Laura's sister, Lady Geraldine Challoner. To a girl who has never hada lover--to whom the whole science of love is yet a profound inscrutablemystery--there is apt to be something especially interesting in the ideaof an engagement. To her the thought of betrothal is wondrously solemn. A love-match too, and an attachment of long standing--there were thematerials for a romance in these brief hints of Lady Laura's. And then, again, her sister described this Lady Geraldine as a peculiar person, withwhom it was rather doubtful whether Clarissa would be able to get on. Allthis made her so much the more anxious to see the expected guest; and inthe morning's drive, and the afternoon's croquet, she thought more of LadyGeraldine than of the landscape or the game. 

Croquet was over--Clarissa had taken part in a regular game thisafternoon--and the players were strolling about the gardens in couples, inan idle half-hour before the first dinner-bell, when Miss Lovel met LadyLaura with another lady. They were sauntering slowly along one of thesunny gravel walks--there was every charm in this Italian garden exceptshade--and stopped on seeing Clarissa. 

"Now, Geraldine, I shall be able to introduce you to my favourite, ClarissaLovel, " said Lady Laura; "Captain Westleigh you know of old. "

The Captain and Lady Geraldine shook hands, declaring that they were quiteold friends--had known each other for ages, and so on; and Clarissa had afew moments' pause, in which to observe the young lady. 

She was tall and slim, her sister's junior by perhaps five years, but notmore; very fair, with bright auburn hair--that golden-tinted hair, of whichthere seems to be so much more nowadays than was to be seen twenty yearsago. She was handsome--very handsome--Clarissa decided at once; but itseemed to her rather a cold, hard style of beauty; the straight nose, themouth, and chin chiselled with a clearness and distinctness that was almostsharpness; the large luminous blue eyes, which did not seem to possess muchcapacity for tenderness. 

Lady Laura was very proud of this sister, and perhaps just a little afraidof her; but of course that latter fact was not obvious to strangers;she was only a shade less volatile than usual in Geraldine's presence. Geraldine was the beauty of the Challoner family, and her career had beena failure hitherto; so that there was much rejoicing, in a quiet way, now that Lady Geraldine's destiny was apparently decided, and in anadvantageous manner. 

She was sufficiently gracious to Clarissa, but displayed none of thatwarmth which distinguished Lady Laura's manner to her new friend; and whenthe sisters had turned aside into another path, and were out of hearing, Geraldine asked rather sharply why "that girl" was here?

"My dear Geraldine, she is perfectly charming. I have taken the greatestfancy to her. "

"My dear Laura, when will you leave off those absurd fancies forstrangers?"

"Clarissa Lovel is not a stranger; you must remember how intimate papa usedto be with her father. "

"I only remember that Mr. Lovel was a very selfish person, and that he haslost his estate and gone down in the world. Why should you trouble yourselfabout his daughter? You can only do the girl harm by bringing her here; shewill have to go out as a governess, I daresay, and will be writing to youwhenever she is out of a situation to ask some favour or other, and boringyou to death. I cannot think how you can be so inconsiderate as to entangleyourself with that kind of acquaintance. "

"I don't mean Clarissa to be a governess; I mean her to make a goodmarriage. "

"O, of course it is very easy to say that, " exclaimed Lady Geraldinescornfully; "but you have not been so fortunate as a match-maker hitherto. Look at Emily and Louisa. "

"Emily and Louisa were so intractable and difficult to please, that I coulddo nothing for them; and now I look upon them as confirmed old maids. Butit is a different thing with Clarissa. She is very sensible; and I do notthink she would stand in her own light if I could bring about what I wish. And then she is so lovely. Emily and Louisa were good-looking enough half adozen years ago, but this girl is simply perfect. Come, Geraldine, you canafford to praise her. Is she not lovely?"

"Yes, I suppose she is handsome, " the other answered icily. 

"You suppose she is handsome! It is really too bad of you to be prejudicedagainst a girl I wanted you to like. As if this poor little Clarissa coulddo anybody any harm! But never mind, she must do without your liking. Andnow tell me all about George Fairfax. I was so glad to hear your news, dear, so thoroughly rejoiced. "

"There is no occasion for such profound gladness. I could have gone onexisting very well as Geraldine Challoner. "

"Of course; but I had much rather see you well married, and your ownmistress; and this is such a good match. "

"Yes; from a worldly point of view, I suppose, the affair isunexceptionable, " Geraldine Challoner answered, with persistentindifference; simulated indifference, no doubt, but not the less provokingto her sister. "George will be rich by-and-by, and he is well enough offnow. We shall be able to afford a house in one of the streets out of ParkLane--I have a rooted detestation for both Belgravia and Tyburnia--and acarriage, and so on; and I shall not be worried as I have been about mymilliner's bills. "

"And then you are very fond of him, Geraldine, " Lady Laura said, softly. 

There were still little romantic impulses in the matron's heart, and thisstudied coldness of her sister's tone wounded her. 

"Yes, of course that is the beginning of the business. We like each othervery well, " Lady Geraldine replied, still with the same unenthusiastic air. "I think there has always been some kind of liking between us. We suit eachother very well, you see; have the same way of thinking about most things, take the same view of life, and so on. "

Lady Laura gave a faint sigh of assent. She was disappointed by hersister's tone; for in the time past she had more than once suspected thatGeraldine Challoner loved George Fairfax with a passionate half-despairinglove, which, if unrequited, might make the bane of her life. And, lo! herewas the same Geraldine discussing her engagement as coolly as if the matchhad been the veriest marriage of convenience ever planned by a designingdowager. She did not understand how much pride had to do with thisreticence, or what volcanic depths may sometimes lie beneath the Alpinesnows of such a nature as Geraldine Challoner's. 

In the evening Lady Geraldine was the centre of a circle of old friends andadmirers; and Clarissa could only observe her from a distance, and wonderat her brilliancy, her power to talk of anything and everything with an airof unlimited wisdom and experience, and the perfect ease with which shereceived the homage offered to her beauty and wit. The cold proud facelighted up wonderfully at night, and under the softening influence of somuch adulation; and Lady Geraldine's smiles, though wanting in warmthat the best, were very fascinating. Clarissa wondered that so radiant acreature could have been so long unmarried, that it could be matter forrejoicing that she was at last engaged. It must have been her own fault, of course; such a woman as this could have been a duchess if she pleased, Clarissa thought. 

Lizzy Fermor came up to her while she was admiring the high-bred beauty. 

"Well, Miss Lovel, what do you think of her?"

"Lady Geraldine? I think she is wonderfully handsome--and fascinating. "

"Do you? Then I don't think you can know the meaning of the word'fascination. ' If I were a man, that woman would be precisely the lastin the world to touch my heart. O yes, I admit that she is veryhandsome--classic profile, bright blue eyes, complexion of lilies androses, real golden hair--not dyed, you know--and so on; but I should assoon think of falling in love with a statue of snow as with Lady GeraldineChalloner. I think she has just about as much heart as the statue wouldhave. "

"Those people with cold manners have sometimes very warm hearts, " Clarissa, remonstrated, feeling that gratitude to Lady Laura made it incumbent on herto defend Lady Laura's sister. 

"Perhaps; but that is not the case with her. She would trample upon ahecatomb of hearts to arrive at the object of her ambition. I think shemight have made more than one brilliant marriage since she has beenout--something like ten years, you know--only she was too cold, tooobviously mercenary. I am very sorry for George Fairfax. "

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, and he is a very noble fellow. He has been rather wild, I believe;but of course we are not supposed to know anything about that; and I haveheard that he is the most generous-hearted of men. I know Lady Geraldinehas contrived to keep him dangling about her whenever he was in Englandfor the last six or eight years; but I thought it was one of those oldestablished flirtations that would never come to anything--a kind ofinstitution. I was quite surprised to hear of their engagement--and verysorry. "

"But Lady Geraldine is very much attached to him, is she not?"

"O yes, I daresay she likes him; it would be almost difficult for anyone to avoid liking him. She used to do her utmost to keep him about heralways, I know; and I believe the flirtation has cost her more than onechance of a good marriage. But I doubt if we should have ever heard of thisengagement if Reginald Fairfax had not died, and left his brother the heirof Lyvedon. "

"Is Lyvedon a very grand place?"

"It is a fine estate, I believe; a noble old house in Kent, withconsiderable extent of land attached to it. The place belongs now to SirSpencer Lyvedon, an old bachelor, whose only sister is George Fairfax'smother. The property is sure to come to Mr. Fairfax in a few years. He isto be here to-morrow, they say; and you will see him, and be able to judgefor yourself whether Lady Geraldine is worthy of him. "

There was a little excursion proposed and planned that evening for the nextday--a drive to Marley Wood, a delicious bit of forest about seven milesfrom the Castle, and a luncheon in the open air. The party was made upon the spot. There were ladies enough to fill two carriages; a coupleof servants were to go first with the luncheon in a waggonette, and thegentlemen were to ride. Everybody was delighted with the idea. It was oneof those unpremeditated affairs which are sure to be a success. 

"I am glad to have something to do with myself, " said Lady Geraldine. "Itis better than dawdling away one's existence at croquet. "

"I hope you are not going to be dull here, Geraldine, " replied Lady Laura. "There are the Helston races next week, and a flower-show at Holborough. "

"I hate small country race-meetings and country flower-shows; but of courseI am not going to be dull, Laura. The Castle is very nice; and I shall hearall about your last new _protégées_, and your Dorcas societies, and yourmodel cottages, and your architect, and your hundred-and-one schemes forthe benefit of your fellow-man. It is not possible to be dull in thepresence of so much energy. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER VI. 

AND THIS IS GEORGE FAIRFAX. 

The next day was lovely. There seemed, indeed, no possibility of variationin the perfection of this summer weather; and Clarissa Lovel felt herspirits as light as if the unknown life before her had been all brightness, unshadowed by one dread or care. The party for Marley Wood started about anhour after breakfast--Lady Laura, Mrs. Dacre, Barbara Fermor, and Clarissa, in one carriage; two Miss Dacres, Lady Geraldine, and Mrs. Wilmot in theother; Lizzy Fermor and Rose Dacre on horseback; with a small detachment ofgentlemen in attendance upon them. There were wide grassy waste landson each side of the road almost all the way to the wood, on which theequestrian party could disport themselves, without much inconveniencefrom the dust of the two carriages. Once arrived at the wood, there werebotanising, fern-hunting, sketching, and flirtation without limit. LadyLaura was quite happy, discussing her Dorcas societies and the ingratitudeof her model cottagers, with Mrs. Dacre; Lady Geraldine sat at the footof a great shining beech, with her white dress set off by a background ofscarlet shawl, and her hat lying on the grass beside her. She seemedtoo listless to ramble about with the rest of the party, or to take thefaintest interest in the conversation of any of the gentlemen who tried totalk to her. She amused herself in a desultory way with a drawing-book anda volume of a novel, and did not appear to consider it incumbent on her totake notice of any one. 

Clarissa and Barbara Fermor wandered away into the heart of the wood, attended by the indefatigable Captain Westleigh, and sketched little bitsof fern and undergrowth in their miniature sketch-books, much to theadmiration of the Captain, who declared that Clarissa had a genius forlandscape. "As you have for croquet and for everything else, I think, " hesaid; "only you are so quiet about your resources. But I am very glad youhave not that grand sultana manner of Lady Geraldine Challoner's. I reallycan't think how any man can stand it, especially such a man as GeorgeFairfax. "

"Why 'especially'?" asked Miss Fermor, curiously. 

"Well, I don't know exactly how to explain my meaning to a lady--becausehe has knocked about the world a good deal--seen a great deal of life, inshort. _Il a vecu_, as the French say. He is not the kind of man to be anywoman's slave, I should think; he knows too much of the sex for that. Hewould take matters with rather a high hand, I should fancy. And then LadyGeraldine, though she is remarkably handsome, and all that kind of thing, is not in the first freshness of her youth. She is nearly as old asGeorge, I should say; and when a woman is the same age as a man, it isher misfortune to seem much older. No, Miss Fermor, upon my word, I don'tconsider them fairly matched. "

"The lady has rank, " said Barbara Fermor. 

"Yes, of course. It will be Mr. And Lady Geraldine Fairfax. There are somemen who care for that kind of thing; but I don't suppose George is one ofthem. The Fairfaxes are of a noble old Scotch family, you know, and holdthemselves equal to any of our nobility. "

"When is Mr. Fairfax expected at the Castle?"

"Not till to-night. He is to come by the last train, I believe. You maydepend Lady Geraldine would not be here if there were any chance of hisarriving in the middle of the day. She will keep him up to collar, youmaybe sure. I shouldn't like to be engaged to a woman armed with theexperience of a decade of London seasons. It must be tight work!"

A shrill bell, pealing gaily through the wood, summoned them to luncheon;a fairy banquet spread upon the grass under a charmed circle of beeches;chicken-pies and lobster-salads, mayonaise of salmon and daintily-glazedcutlets in paper frills, inexhaustible treasure of pound-cake andstrawberries and cream, with a pyramid of hothouse pines and peaches inthe centre of the turf-spread banquet. And for the wines, there were noeffervescent compounds from the laboratory of the wine-chemist--LadyLaura's guests were not thirsty cockneys, requiring to be refreshed by"fizz"--but delicate amber-tinted vintages of the Rhineland, which seemedtoo ethereal to intoxicate, and yet were dangerous. And for the morethirsty souls there were curiously compounded "cups:" hock and seltzer;claret and soda-water, fortified with curaçoa and flavoured artisticallywith burrage or sliced pine-apple. 

The banquet was a merry one; and it was nearly four o'clock when the ladieshad done trifling with strawberries and cream, and the gentlemen hadsuspended their homage to the Rhineland. Then came a still more desultorywandering of couples to and fro among the shadowy intricacies of thewood; and Clarissa having for once contrived to get rid of the inevitableCaptain, who had been beguiled away to inspect some remote grotto underconvoy of Barbara Fermor, was free to wander alone whither she pleased. Shewas rather glad to be alone for a little. Marley Wood was not new to her. It had been a favourite spot of her brother Austin's, and the two had spentmany a pleasant day beneath the umbrage of those old forest-trees; she, sitting and reading, neither of them talking very much, only in a spasmodicway, when Austin was suddenly moved by some caprice to pour out histhoughts into the ear of his little sister--strange bitter thoughts theywere sometimes; but the girl listened as to the inspirations of genius. Here he had taught her almost all that she had ever learned of landscapeart. She had only improved by long practice upon those early simplelessons. She was glad to be alone, for these old memories were sad ones. She wandered quite away from the rest, and, sitting down upon a bank thatsloped towards a narrow streamlet, began to sketch stray tufts and clustersof weedy undergrowth--a straggling blackberry-branch, a bit of ivy creepingsinuously along the uneven ground--in an absent desultory way, thinking ofher brother and the days gone by. She had been alone like this about halfan hour, when the crackling of the brambles near her warned her of anapproaching footstep. She looked up, and saw a stranger approaching herthrough the sunlight and shadows of the wood--a tall man, in a loose, grayovercoat. 

A stranger? No. As he came nearer to her, the face seemed very familiar;and yet in that first moment she could not imagine where she had seen him. A little nearer, and she remembered all at once. This was her companionof the long railway journey from London to Holborough. She blushed atthe recollection, not altogether displeased to see him again, and yetremembering bitterly that cruel mistake she had made about Arden Court. Shemight be able to explain her error now, if he should recognise her and stopto speak; but that was scarcely likely. He had forgotten her utterly, nodoubt, by this time. 

She went on with her sketching--a trailing spray of Irish ivy, winding awayand losing itself in a confusion of bramble and fern, every leaf sharplydefined by the light pencil touches, with loving pre-Raphaelite care--shewent on, trying to think that it was not the slightest consequence toher whether this man remembered their brief acquaintance of therailway-carriage. And yet she would have been wounded, ever so little, if he had forgotten her. She knew so few people, that this accidentalacquaintance seemed almost a friend. He had known her brother, too; andthere had been something in his manner that implied an interest in herfate. 

She bent a little lower over the sketch-book, doing her uttermost not to beseen, perhaps all the more because she really did wish for the opportunityof explaining that mistake about Arden Court. Her face was almost hiddenunder the coquettish gray hat, as she bent over her drawing; but thegentleman came on towards her with evident purpose. It was only to make aninquiry, however. 

"I am looking for a picnic party, " he said. "I discovered the _débris_ of aluncheon yonder, but no human creature visible. Perhaps you can kindlytell me where the strayed revellers are to be found; you are one of them, perhaps?"

Clarissa looked up at him, blushing furiously, and very much ashamed ofherself for the weakness, and then went on with her drawing in a nervousway, as she answered him, --

Yes, I am with Lady Laura Armstrong's party; but I really cannot tell youwhere to look for them all. They are roaming about in every direction, Ibelieve. "

"Good gracious me!" cried the gentleman, coming a good dealnearer--stepping hastily across the streamlet, in fact, which had dividedhim from Clarissa hitherto. "Have I really the pleasure of speaking toMiss Lovel? This is indeed a surprise. I scarcely expected ever to see youagain. "

"Nor I to see you, " Clarissa answered, recovering herself a little by thistime, and speaking with her accustomed frankness. "And I have been veryanxious to see you again. "

"Indeed!" cried the gentleman eagerly. 

"In order to explain a mistake I made that night in the railway-carriage, in speaking of Arden Court. I talked of the place as if it had stillbelonged to papa; I did not know that he had sold it, and fancied I wasgoing home there. It was only when I saw my uncle that I learnt the truth. You must have thought it very strange. "

"I was just a little mystified, I confess, for I had dined at the Courtwith Mr. Granger. "

"Papa had sold the dear old place, and, disliking the idea of writing suchunpleasant news, had told me nothing about the sale. It was not wise, ofcourse; but he felt the loss of Arden so keenly, I can scarcely wonder thathe could not bring himself to write about it. "

"It would have been better to have spared you, though, " the unknownanswered gravely. "I daresay you were as fond of the old home as ever yourfather could have been?"

"I don't think it would be possible for any one to love Arden better thanI. But then, of course, a man is always prouder than a woman--"

"I am not so sure of that, " the stranger muttered parenthetically. 

"--And papa felt the degradation involved in the loss. "

"I won't admit of any degradation in the case. A gentleman is none the lessa gentleman for having spent his fortune rather recklessly, and the oldblood is no less pure without the old acres. If your father were a wiseman, he might be happier now than he has ever been. The loss of a greatestate is the loss of a bundle of cares. "

"I daresay that is very good philosophy, " Clarissa answered, smiling, beguiled from painful thoughts by the lightness of his tone; "but I doubtif it applies to all cases--not to papa's, certainly. "

"You were sketching, I see, when I interrupted you. I remember you told methat night of your fondness for art. May I see what you were doing?"

"It is hardly worth showing you. I was only amusing myself, sketching atrandom--that ivy straggling along there, or anything that caught my eye. "

"But that sort of thing indicates so much. I see you have a masterly touchfor so young an artist. I won't say anything hackneyed about so fair a one;for women are showing us nowadays that there are no regions of art closedagainst them. Well, it is a divine amusement, and a glorious profession. "

There was a little pause after this, during which Clarissa looked at herwatch, and finding it nearly five o'clock, began to put up her pencils anddrawing-book. 

"I did not think that you knew Lady Laura Armstrong, " she said; and thenblushed for the speech, remembering that, as she knew absolutely nothingabout himself or his belongings, the circumstance of her ignorance on thisone point was by no means surprising. 

"No; nor did I expect to meet you here, " replied the gentleman. "And yet Imight almost have done so, knowing that you lived at Arden. But, you see, it is so long since we met, and I----"

"Had naturally forgotten me. "

"No, I had not forgotten you, Miss Lovel, nor would it have been naturalfor me to forget you. I am very glad to meet you again under such agreeableauspices. You are going to stay at the Castle a long time, I hope. I ambooked for an indefinite visit. "

"O no, I don't suppose I shall stay very long. Lady Laura is extremelykind; but this is my first visit, and she must have many friends who have agreater claim upon her hospitality. "

"Hale Castle is a large place, and I am sure Lady Laura has always room foragreeable guests. "

"She is very, very kind. You have known her a long time, perhaps?"

"Yes. I have been intimate with the Challoners ever since I was a boy. Lady Laura was always charming; but I think her marriage with FredArmstrong--who worships the ground she walks on--and the possession of HaleCastle have made her absolutely perfect. "

"And you know her sister, Lady Geraldine, of course?"

"O yes, I know Geraldine. "

"Do you know Mr. Fairfax, the gentleman to whom she is engaged?"

"Well, yes; I am supposed to have some knowledge of that individual. "

Something in his smile, and a certain significance in his tone, let in asudden light upon Clarissa's mind. 

"I am afraid I am asking very foolish questions, " she said. "You are Mr. Fairfax?"

"Yes, I am George Fairfax. I forgot that I had omitted to you my name thatnight. "

"And I had no idea that I was speaking to Mr. Fairfax. You were notexpected till quite late this evening. "

"No; but I found my business in London easier to manage than I had supposedit would be; so, as in duty bound, I came down here directly I found myselffree. When I arrived at the Castle, I was told of this picnic, and rode offat once to join the party. "

"And I am keeping you here, when you ought to be looking for your friends. "

"There is no hurry. I have done my duty, and am here; that is the grandpoint. Shall we go and look for them together?"

"If you like. I daresay we shall be returning to the Castle very soon. "

They sauntered slowly away, in and out among the trees, towards a grassyglade, where there was more open space for walking, and where the afternoonsun shone warmly on the smooth turf. 

"I hope you get on very well with Geraldine?" Mr. Fairfax said presently. 

It was almost the same phrase Lady Laura had used about her sister. 

"I have seen so little of her yet, " Clarissa answered, rather embarrassedby this inquiry. "I should like to know her very much; but she only arrivedyesterday, and we have scarcely spoken half-a-dozen words to each otheryet. "

"You will hardly like her at first, perhaps, " Mr. Fairfax went on, doubtfully. "People who don't know much of her are apt to fancy her coldand proud; but to those whom she really likes she is all that is charming, and I don't think she can fail to like you. "

"You are very kind to say so. I hope she may like me. Do you know, I havebeen so much interested in Lady Geraldine from the first, before I saw hereven--partly, perhaps, because her sister told me about her engagement. Youwill think that very romantic and silly, I daresay. "

"Not at all; a young lady is bound to be interested in that kind of thing. And I hope your interest in Lady Geraldine was not lessened when you didsee her. "

"It could scarcely be that. No one could help admiring her. "

"Yes, she is very handsome, there is no question about that; she has beenan acknowledged beauty ever since she came out. I think I can catch aglimpse of her yonder among the trees; I see a white dress and a scarletshawl. Geraldine always had a penchant for scarlet draperies. "

"Yes, that is Lady Geraldine. "

They hastened their steps a little, and came presently to the circle ofbeeches where they had lunched, and where most of the party were nowassembled, preparing for the return journey. Lady Geraldine was saunteringto and fro with Major Mason, listening with a somewhat indifferent air tothat gentleman's discourse. 

She caught sight of her lover the moment he appeared; and Clarissa saw thestatuesque face light up with a faint flush of pleasure that brightened itwonderfully. But however pleased she might be, Lady Geraldine Challoner wasthe last of women to demonstrate her pleasure in her lover's arrival by anyovert act. She received him with the tranquil grace of an empress, who seesonly one courtier more approach the steps of her throne. They shook handsplacidly, after Mr. Fairfax had shaken hands and talked for two or threeminutes with Lady Laura Armstrong, who welcomed him with considerablewarmth. 

The major dropped quietly away from Lady Geraldine's side, and the plightedlovers strolled under the trees for a little, pending the signal for thereturn. 

"So you know Miss Lovel?" Geraldine said, with an icy air of surprise, assoon as she and George Fairfax were alone. 

"I can hardly say that I know her; our acquaintance is the merestaccident, " answered Mr. Fairfax; and then proceeded to relate his railwayadventure. 

"How very odd that she should travel alone!"

"Scarcely so odd, when you remember the fact of her father's poverty. Hecould not be supposed to find a maid for his daughter. "

"But he might be supposed to take some care of her. He ought not to haveallowed her to travel alone--at night too. "

"It was careless and imprudent, no doubt. Happily she came to no harm. Shewas spared from any encounter with a travelling swell-mobsman, who wouldhave garotted her for the sake of her watch and purse, or an insolentbagman, who would have made himself obnoxiously agreeable on account of herpretty face. "

"I suppose she has been in the habit of going about the world by herself. That accounts for her rather strong-minded air. "

"Do you find her strong-minded? I should have thought her quite gentle andwomanly. "

"I really know nothing about her; and I must not say anything against her. She is Laura's last _protégée_; and you know, when my sister takes any oneup, it is always a case of rapture. "

After this the lovers began to talk about themselves, or rather GeorgeFairfax talked about himself, giving a detailed account of his proceedingssince last they had met. 

"I went down to see my uncle, " he said, "the day before yesterday. He is atLyvedon, and I had a good look at the old house. Really it is the dearestold place in the world, Geraldine, and I should like above all things tolive there by-and-by, when the estate is ours. I don't think we are likelyto wait very long. The poor old man is awfully shaky. He was very good tome, dear old boy, and asked all manner of kind questions about you. I thinkI have quite won his heart by my engagement; he regards it as a pledge ofmy reform. "

"I am glad he is pleased, " replied Lady Geraldine, in a tone that was justa shade more gracious than that in which she had spoken of Clarissa. 

The summons to the carriages came almost immediately. Mr. Fairfax conductedhis betrothed to her seat in the barouche, and then mounted his horse toride back to the Castle beside her. He rode by the side of the carriageall the way, indifferent to dust; but there was not much talk between thelovers during that homeward progress, and Clarissa fancied there was acloud upon Mr. Fairfax's countenance. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER VII. 

DANGEROUS GROUND. 

Life was very pleasant at Hale Castle. About that one point there could beno shadow of doubt. Clarissa wondered at the brightness of her newexistence; began to wonder vaguely by-and-by what it was that made it seembrighter every day. There was the usual round of amusements--dinner-parties, amateur concerts, races, flower-shows, excursionsto every point of interest within a day's drive, a military ballat the garrison-town twenty miles off, perennial croquet, and gossip, andafternoon tea-drinking in arbours or marquees in the gardens, and unlimitedflirtation. It was impossible for the most exacting visitor to be dull. There was always something. 

And to Clarissa all these things possessed the charm of freshness. She waspuzzled beyond measure by the indifference, real or simulated, of the girlswho had seen half-a-dozen London seasons; the frequent declarations thatthese delights only bored them, that this or that party was a failure. George Fairfax watched her bright face sometimes, interested in spite ofhimself by her freshness. 

"What a delicious thing youth is!" he said to himself. "Even if that girlwere less completely lovely than she is, she would still be most charming. If Geraldine were only like that--only fresh and candid and pure, andsusceptible to every new emotion! But there is an impassable gulf of tenyears between them. Geraldine is quite as handsome--in her own particularstyle--and she talks much better than Clarissa Lovel, and is more clever, no doubt; and yet there are some men who would be bewitched by that girlbefore they knew where they were. "

Very often after this Mr. Fairfax fell a-musing upon those apocryphal menwho might be subjugated by the charms of Miss Lovel. 

When did he awaken to the fatal truth that those charms were exercising amost potent influence upon his own mind? When did he open his eyes for thefirst time to behold his danger?

Not yet. He was really attached to Geraldine Challoner. Her society hadbeen a kind of habit with him for several years of his life. She had beenmore admired than any woman he knew, and it was, in some sort, a triumph tohave won her. That he never would have won her but for his brother's deathhe knew very well, and accepted the fact as a matter of course; a merenecessity of the world in which they lived, not as evidence of a mercenaryspirit in the lady. He knew that no woman could better discharge the dutiesof an elevated station, or win him more social renown. To marry GeraldineChalloner was to secure for his house the stamp of fashion, for everydetail of his domestic life a warrant of good taste. She had a kind ofpower over him too, an influence begun long ago, which had never yet beenoppressive to him. And he took these things for love. He had been in lovewith other women during his long alliance with Lady Geraldine, and hadshown more ardour in the pursuit of other flames than he had ever evincedin his courtship of her; but these more passionate attachments had come, for the most part, to a sorry end; and now he told himself that Geraldinesuited him better than any other woman in the world. 

"I have outgrown all foolish notions, " he said to himself, believing thatthe capacity was dead within him for that blind unreasoning passion whichpoets of the Byronic school have made of love. "What I want is a wife; awife of my own rank, or a little above me in rank; a wife who will be trueand loyal to me, who knows the world well enough to forgive my antecedents, and to be utterly silent about them, and who will help me to make aposition for myself in the future. A man must be something in this world. It is a hard thing that one cannot live one's own life; but it seemsinevitable somehow. "

His mother had helped not a little to the bringing about of thisengagement. She knew that her son's bachelor life had been at best a wildone; not so bad as it was supposed to be, of course, since nothing in thisworld ever is so bad as the rest of the world supposes it; and she was veryanxious to see him safely moored in the sheltered harbour of matrimony. Shewas a proud woman, and she was pleased that her son should have an earl'sdaughter for his wife; and beyond this there was the fact that she likedLady Geraldine. The girl who had been too proud to let the man she loveddivine the depth of her feeling, had not been too proud to exhibit herfondness for his mother. There had grown up a warm friendship between thesetwo women; and Mrs. Fairfax's influence had done much, almost unknownto her son, to bring about this result of his chronic flirtation withGeraldine Challoner. 

Just at present he was very well satisfied with the fact of his engagement, believing that he had taken the best possible means for securing his futurehappiness; an equable, quiet sort of happiness, of course--he was nearlythirty, and had outlived the possibility of anything more than that. Itwould have bored him to suppose that Geraldine expected more from himthan this tranquil kind of worship. Perhaps the lady understood this, andschooled herself to a colder tone than was even natural to her, rather thanbe supposed for one moment to be the more deeply attached of the two. 

Thus it happened that Mr. Fairfax was not severely taxed in his capacity ofplighted lover. However exacting Lady Geraldine may have been by nature, she was too proud to demand more exclusive attention than her betrothedspontaneously rendered; indeed, she took pains to let him perceive that hewas still in full enjoyment of all his old bachelor liberty. So the daysdrifted by very pleasantly, and George Fairfax found himself in ClarissaLovel's society perhaps a little oftener than was well for either of thosetwo. 

He was very kind to her; he seemed to understand her better than otherpeople, she thought; and his companionship was more to her than that ofany one else--a most delightful relief after Captain Westleigh's incessantfrivolity, or Mr. Halkin's solemn small-talk. In comparison with thesemen, he appeared to such wonderful advantage. Her nature expanded in hissociety, and she could talk to him as she talked to no one else. 

He used to wonder at her eloquence sometimes, as the beautiful face glowed, and the dark hazel eyes brightened; he wondered not a little also at theextent of her reading, which had been wide and varied during that quietwinter and spring-time at Mill Cottage. 

"What a learned lady you are!" he said, smiling at her enthusiasm one day, when they had been talking of Italy and Dante; "your close knowledge of thepoet puts my poor smattering to shame. Happily, an idler and a worldlinglike myself is not supposed to know much. I was never patient enough to bea profound reader; and if I cannot tear the heart out of a book, I am aptto throw it aside in disgust. But you must have read a great deal; and yetwhen we met, less than a year ago, you confessed to being only a schoolgirlfresh from grinding away at Corneille and Racine. "

"I have had the advantage of papa's help since then, " answered Clarissa, "and he is very clever. He does not read many authors, but those he doescare for he reads with all his heart. He taught me to appreciate Dante, andto make myself familiar with the history of his age, in order to understandhim better. "

"Very wise of him, no doubt. And that kind of studious life with your papais very pleasant to you, I suppose, Miss Lovel?"

"Yes, " she answered thoughtfully; "I have been quite happy with papa. Somepeople might fancy the life dull, perhaps, but it has scarcely seemed so tome. Of course it is very different from life here; but I suppose one wouldget tired of such a perpetual round of pleasure as Lady Laura provides forus. "

"I should imagine so. Life in a country house full of delightful peoplemust be quite intolerable beyond a certain limit. One so soon gets tired ofone's best friends. I think that is why people travel so much nowadays. Itis the only polite excuse for being alone. "

The time came when Clarissa began to fancy that her visit had lasted longenough, and that, in common decency, she was bound to depart; but onsuggesting as much to Lady Laura, that kindly hostess declared she couldnot possibly do without her dearest Clarissa for ever so long. 

"Indeed, I don't know how I shall ever get on without you, my dear, " shesaid; "we suit each other so admirably, you see. Why, I shall have no oneto read Tasso with--no one to help me with my Missal when you are gone. "

Miss Lovel's familiar knowledge of Italian literature, and artistic tastes, had been altogether delightful to Lady Laura; who was always trying toimprove herself, as she called it, and travelled from one pursuit toanother, with a laudable perseverance, but an unhappy facility forforgetting one accomplishment in the cultivation of another. Thus bya vigorous plunge into Spanish and Calderon this year, she was apt toobliterate the profound impression created by Dante and Tasso last year. Her music suffered by reason of a sudden ardour for illumination; or artwent to the wall because a London musical season and an enthusiasticadmiration of Hallé had inspired her with a desire to cultivate a moreclassic style of pianoforte-playing. So in her English reading, each newbook blotted out its predecessor. Travels, histories, essays, biographies, flitted across the lady's brain like the coloured shadows of amagic-lantern, leaving only a lingering patch of picture here and there. To be versatile was Lady Laura's greatest pride, and courteous friends hadgratified her by treating her as an authority upon all possible subjects. Nothing delighted her so much as to be appealed to with a preliminary, "Now, you who read so much, Lady Laura, will understand this;" or, "DearLady Laura, you who know everything, must tell me why, " etc. ; or to be toldby a painter, "You who are an artist yourself can of course see this, LadyLaura;" or to be complimented by a musician as a soul above the dull massof mankind, a sympathetic spirit, to whom the mysteries of harmony are afamiliar language. 

In that luxurious morning-room of Lady Laura's Clarissa generally spent thefirst two hours after breakfast. Here the children used to come with Frenchand German governesses, in all the freshness of newly-starched cambric andnewly-crimped tresses, to report progress as to their studies and generalbehaviour to their mother; who was apt to get tired of them in somethingless than a quarter of an hour, and to dispatch them with kisses andpraises to the distant schoolrooms and nurseries where these young exoticswere enjoying the last improvements in the forcing system. 

Geraldine Challoner would sometimes drop into this room for a few minutesat the time of the children's visit, and would converse not unkindly withher nephews and nieces; but for her sister's accomplishments she displayeda profound indifference, not to say contempt. She was not herself given tothe cultivation of these polite arts--nothing could ever induce her to singor play in public. She read a good deal, but rarely talked about books--itwas difficult indeed to say what Lady Geraldine did talk about--yet inthe art of conversation, when she chose to please, Geraldine Challonerinfinitely surpassed the majority of women in her circle. Perhaps this mayhave been partly because she was a good listener; and, in some measure, onaccount of that cynical, mocking spirit in which she regarded most things, and which was apt to pass for wit. 

Clarissa had been a month at Hale Castle already; but she stayed on at theurgent desire of her hostess, much too happy in that gay social life tooppose that lady's will. 

"If you really, really wish to have me, dear Lady Laura, " she said; "butyou have been so kind already, and I have stayed so long, that I begin tofeel myself quite an intruder. "

"You silly child! I do really, really wish to have you. I should like tokeep you with me always, if I could. You suit me so much better than any ofmy sisters; they are the most provoking girls in the world, I think, forbeing uninterested in my pursuits. And your Italian is something wonderful. I have not opened my dictionary since we have been reading together. Andbeyond all that, I have a very particular reason for wishing you to be herenext month. "

"Why next month, Lady Laura?"

"I am not going to tell you that. "

"But you quite mystify me. "

"I mean to mystify you. No, it's not the least use asking questions, Clary;but mind, you must not tease me any more about running away: that isunderstood. "

In all this time Clarissa had not found herself any nearer to that desiredresult of getting on well with Geraldine Challoner. That, lady seemed quiteas far away from her after a month's acquaintance as she had seemed at thevery first. It was not that Lady Geraldine was uncivil. She was polite, after her manner, to Clarissa, but never cordial; and yet she could notfail to see that George Fairfax admired and liked Miss Lovel, and she mighthave been supposed to wish to think well of any one he liked. 

Was she jealous of Clarissa? Well, no, it scarcely seemed possible toassociate the fever of jealousy with that serene temperament. She had anair of complete security in all her intercourse with George Fairfax, whichwas hardly compatible with doubt or the faintest shadow of suspicion. 

If ever she did speak of Miss Lovel to her lover, or to any one else, shetalked of her as a pretty country girl, and seemed to consider her as farremoved, by reason of her youth and obscure position, from herself, as ifthey had been inhabitants of two separate worlds. 

Mr. Lovel had been invited to several dinner-parties at the Castle duringhis daughter's visit, but was not to be drawn from his seclusion. He had noobjection, however, that Clarissa should stay as long as Lady Laura caredto retain her, and wrote very cordially to that effect. 

What a pleasant, idle, purposeless life it was, and how rapidly it driftedby for Clarissa! She wondered to find herself so happy; wondered what thecharm was which made life so new and sweet, which made her open her eyes onthe morning sunshine with such a glad eagerness to greet the beginningof another day, and filled up every hour with such a perfect sense ofcontentment. 

She wondered at this happiness only in a vague dreamy way, not taking muchtrouble to analyse her feelings. It was scarcely strange that she should becompletely happy in a life so different from her dull existence at home. The freshness and beauty of all these pleasant things would be worn off intime, no doubt, and she would become just like those other young women, with their experience of many seasons, and their perpetual complaint ofbeing bored; but just now, while the freshness lasted, everything delightedher. 

Clarissa had been more than six weeks at the Castle, while other visitorshad come and gone, and the round of country-house gaieties had beenunbroken. The Fermors still lingered on, and languidly deprecated thelength of their visit, without any hint of actual departure. CaptainWestleigh had gone back to his military duties, very much in love withMiss Lovel. He plaintively protested, in his confidences with a few chosenfriends, against a Providence which had made them both penniless. 

"I don't suppose I shall ever meet such a girl again, " he would declarepiteously. "More than once I was on the point of making her an offer; thewords were almost out, you know; for I don't go in for making a solemnbusiness of the thing, with a lot of preliminary palaver. If a fellowreally likes a girl, he doesn't want to preach a sermon in order to let herknow it; and ever so many times, when we've been playing croquet, or whenI've been hanging about the piano with her of an evening, I've been on thepoint of saying, 'Upon my word, Miss Lovel, I think we two are eminentlysuited to each other, don't you?' or something plain and straightforwardof that kind; and then I've remembered that her father can't give her asixpence, which, taken in conjunction with my own financial condition, would mean starvation!"

"And do you think she liked you?" a curious friend would perhaps inquire. 

"Well, I don't know. She might do worse, you see. As a rule, girlsgenerally do like me. I don't see why there should be any difference in hercase. "

Nor did the Captain for a moment imagine that Clarissa would have rejectedhim, had he been in a position to make an offer of his hand. 

Lady Geraldine was a fixture at Hale. She was to stay there till hermarriage, with the exception, perhaps, of a brief excursion to London formillinery purposes, Lady Laura told Clarissa. But the date of the marriagehad not yet been settled--had been, indeed, only discussed in the vaguestmanner, and the event seemed still remote. 

"It will be some time this year, I suppose, " Lady Laura said; "but beyondthat I can really say nothing. Geraldine is so capricious; and perhapsGeorge Fairfax may not be in a great hurry to give up his bachelorprivileges. He is very different from Fred, who worried me into marryinghim six weeks after he proposed. And in this case a long engagement seemsso absurd, when you consider that they have known each other for ten years. I shall really be very glad when the business is over, for I never feelquite sure of Geraldine. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER VIII. 

SMOULDERING FIRES. 

With the beginning of August there came a change in the weather. Highwinds, gloom, and rain succeeded that brilliant cloudless summer-time, which had become, as it were, the normal condition of the universe;and Lady Laura's guests were fain to abandon their picnics and forestexcursions, their botanical researches and distant-race meetings--nay, evencroquet itself, that perennial source of recreation for the youthful mind, had to be given up, except in the most fitful snatches. In this stateof things, amateur concerts and acted charades came into fashion. Thebilliard-room was crowded from breakfast till dinner time. It wasa charmingly composite apartment--having one long wall lined withbookshelves, sacred to the most frivolous ephemeral literature, and a grandpiano in an arched recess at one end of the room--and in wet weather wasthe chosen resort of every socially-disposed guest at Hale. Here Clarissalearned to elevate her pretty little hand into the approved form of bridge, and acquired some acquaintance with the mysteries of cannons and pockets. It was Mr. Fairfax who taught her billiards. Lady Geraldine dropped intothe room now and then, and played a game in a dashing off-hand way with herlover, amidst the admiring comments of her friends; but she did not comevery often, and Mr. Fairfax had plenty of time for Clarissa's instruction. 

Upon one of these wet days he insisted upon looking over her portfolio ofdrawings; and in going through a heap of careless sketches they came uponsomething of her brother Austin's. They were sitting in the library, --avery solemn and splendid chamber, with a carved oak roof and deep mullionedwindows, --a room that was less used than any other apartment in the Castle. Mr. Fairfax had caught Miss Lovel here, with her portfolio open on thetable before her, copying a drawing of Piranesi's; so there could be nobetter opportunity for inspecting the sketches, which she had hithertorefused to show him. 

That sketch of Austin's--a group of Arab horsemen done in pen and ink--setthem talking about him at once; and George Fairfax told Clarissa all hecould tell about his intercourse with her brother. 

"I really liked him so much, " he said gently, seeing how deeply she wasmoved by the slightest mention of that name. "I cannot say that I ever knewhim intimately, that I can claim to have been his friend; but I used atone time to see a good deal of him, and I was very much impressed byhis genius. I never met a young man who gave me a stronger notion ofundisciplined genius; but, unhappily, there was a recklessness about himwhich I can easily imagine would lead him into dangerous associations. Iwas told that he had quarrelled with his family, and meant to sell out, andtake to painting as a profession, --and I really believe that he would havemade his fortune as a painter; but when I heard of him next, he had goneabroad--to the colonies, some one said. I could never learn anything moreprecise than that. "

"I would give the world to know where he is, " said Clarissa mournfully;"but I dare not ask papa anything about him, even if he could tell me, which I doubt very much. I did try to speak of him once; but it was nouse--papa would not hear his name. "

"That seems very hard; and yet your father must have been proud of him andfond of him once, I should think. "

"I am not sure of that. Papa and Austin never seemed to get on quite welltogether. There was always something--as if there had been some kind ofhidden resentment, some painful feeling in the mind of each. I was tooyoung to be a competent judge, of course; but I know, as a child, I hadalways a sense that there was a cloud between those two, a shadow thatseemed to darken our lives. "

They talked for a long time of this prodigal son; and this kind ofconversation seemed to bring them nearer to each other than anything elsethat had happened within the six weeks of their acquaintance. 

"If ever I have any opportunity of finding out your brother's whereabouts, Miss Lovel, you may be sure that I will use every effort to get you sometidings of him. I don't want to say anything that might lead to your beingdisappointed; but when I go to town again, I will hunt up a man who used tobe one of his friends, and try to learn something. Only you must promise menot to be disappointed if I fail. "

"I won't promise that; but I promise to bear my disappointment quietly, andto be grateful to you for your goodness, " Clarissa answered, with a faintsmile. 

They went on with the inspection of the drawings, in which Mr. Fairfaxshowed himself deeply interested. His own manipulative powers were of thesmallest, but he was an excellent critic. 

"I think I may say of you what I said of your brother just now--that youmight make a fortune, if you were to cultivate art seriously. "

"I wish I could make a fortune large enough to buy back Arden Court, "Clarissa answered eagerly. 

"You think so much of Arden?"

"O yes, I am always thinking of it, always dreaming of it; the dear oldrooms haunt me sleeping and waking. I suppose they are all altered now. Ithink it would almost break my heart to see them different. "

"Do you know, I am scarcely in a position to understand that fervent lovefor one's birthplace. I may be said to have no birthplace myself. Iwas born in lodgings, or a furnished house--some temporary ark of thatkind--the next thing to being born on board ship, and having Stepney forone's parish. My father was in a hard-working cavalry regiment, and theearly days of my mother's married life were spent in perpetual wanderings. They separated, when I was about eight years old, for ever--a sad story, of course--something worse than incompatibility of temper on the husband'sside; and from that time I never saw him, though he lived for some years. So, you see, the words 'home' and 'father' are for me very little more thansentimental abstractions. But with my mother I have been quite happy. Shehas indeed been the most devoted of women. She took a house at Eton whenmy brother and I were at school there, and superintended our home studiesherself; and from that time to this she has watched my career withunchanging care. It is the old story of maternal kindness and filialshortcomings. I have given her a world of trouble; but I am not the lessfond of her, or the less grateful to her. " He stopped for a few moments, with something like a sigh, and then went on in a lighter tone: "You cansee, however, that having no ancestral home of my own, I am hardly able tounderstand the depth of your feeling for Arden Court. There is an old placedown in Kent, a fine old castellated mansion, built in the days of EdwardVI. , which is to be mine by-and-by; but I doubt if I shall ever value it asyou do your old home. Perhaps I am wanting in the poetic feeling necessaryfor the appreciation of these things. "

"O no, it is not that, " Clarissa answered eagerly; "but the house youspeak of will not have been your home. You won't have that dim, dreamyrecollection of childhood spent in the old rooms; another life, the life ofanother being almost, it seems, as one looks back to it. I have onlythe faintest memory of my mother; but it is very sweet, and it is allassociated with Arden Court. I cannot conjure up her image for a momentwithout that background. Yes, I do wish for fortune, for that one reason. Iwould give the world to win back Arden. "

She was very much in earnest. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightenedwith those eager words. Never perhaps had she looked lovelier than at thatmoment. George Fairfax paused a little before he answered her, admiring thebright animated face; admiring her, he thought, very much as he might haveadmired some beautiful wayward child. And then he said gravely:

"It is dangerous to wish for anything so intensely. There are wishes thegratification whereof is fatal. There are a dozen old stories in theclassics to show that; to say nothing of all those mediaeval legends inwhich Satan is complaisant to some eager wisher. "

"But there is no chance of my wish being gratified. If I could work myfingers to the bone in the pursuit of art or literature, or any of theprofessions by which women win money, I should never earn the price ofArden; nor would that hateful Mr. Granger be disposed to sell a place whichgives him his position in the county. And I suppose he is fond of it, after a fashion. He has spent a fortune upon improvements. Improvements!"repeated Clarissa contemptuously; "I daresay be has improved away the veryspirit of the place. "

"You cherish a strong dislike for this gentleman, it seems, Miss Lovel. "

"I am wicked enough to dislike him for having robbed us of Arden. Of courseyou will say that any one else might have bought the place. But then I canonly reply, that I should have disliked any other purchaser just the same;a little less though, perhaps, if he had been a member of some noble oldfamily--a man with a great name. It would have been some consolation tothink that Arden was promoted. "

"I am afraid there is a leaven of good old Tory spirit in your composition, Miss Lovel. "

"I suppose papa is a Tory. I know he has a profound contempt for what hecalls new people--very foolish, of course, I quite feel that; but I thinkhe cannot help remembering that he comes of a good old race which hasfallen upon evil days. "

"You remember my telling you that I had been to Arden Court. Mr. Grangergave a state dinner once while I was staying here, and I went with Fred andLady Laura. I found him not by any means a disagreeable person. He is justa little slow and ponderous, and I should scarcely give him credit fora profound or brilliant intellect; but he is certainly sensible, well-informed, and he gave me the idea of being the very essence of truth. "

"I daresay he is very nice, " Clarissa answered with a subdued sigh. "He hasalways been kind and attentive to papa, sending game and hothouse fruit, and that kind of thing; and he has begged that we would use the park as ifit were our own; but I have never crossed the boundary that divides my newhome from my old one. I couldn't bear to see the old walks now. "

They talked for a good deal longer, till the clanging of the Castle bellwarned Clarissa that it was time to dress for dinner. It is amazing howrapidly time will pass in such serious confidential talk. George Fairfaxlooked at his watch with an air of disbelief in that supreme authority theCastle bell, which was renowned for its exact observance of Greenwich time. That blusterous rainy August afternoon had slipped away so I quickly. 

"It is a repetition of my experience during that night journey toHolborough, " Mr. Fairfax said, smiling. "You have a knack of charming awaythe hours, Miss Lovel. "

It was the commonest, most conventional form of compliment, no doubt; butClarissa blushed a little, and bent rather lower over the portfolio, whichshe was closing, than she had done before. Then she put the portfolio underher arm, murmured something about going to dress, made George Fairfax agracious curtsey, and left him. 

He did not hurry away to make his own toilet, but walked up and down thelibrary for some minutes, thinking. 

"What a sweet girl she is!" he said to himself; "and what a pity herposition is not a better one! With a father like that, and a brother whohas stamped himself as a scapegrace at the beginning of life, what is tobecome of her? Unless she marries well, I see no hopeful prospect for herfuture. But of course such a girl as that is sure to make a good marriage. "

Instead of being cheered by this view of the case, Mr. Fairfax's brow grewdarker, and his step heavier. 

"What does it matter to me whom she chooses for her husband?" he askedhimself; "and yet no man would like to see such a girl throw herself awayfor mercenary reasons. If I had known her a few months ago! If! What is thehistory of human error but a succession of 'ifs'? Would it have been betterfor me or for her, that we had learned to know each other while I was free?The happiest thing for _me_ would have been never to have met her at all. I felt myself in some kind of danger that night we met in therailway-carriage. Her race is fatal to mine, I begin to think. Anyconnection in that quarter would have galled my mother to the quick--brokenher heart perhaps; and I am bound to consider her in all I do. Nor am I aschoolboy, to fancy that the whole colour of my life is to be governed bysuch an influence as this. She is only a pretty woman, with a low sweetvoice, and gentle winning ways. Most people would call Geraldine thehandsomer of the two. Poor child! She ought to seem no more than a child tome. I think she likes me, and trusts me. I wish Geraldine were kinder toher; I wish-----"

He did not particularise that last wish, even to himself, but went away todress, having wasted the first quarter of the three-quarters that elapsedbetween the first and second bell at Hale Castle. 

Throughout that evening, which was an unusually quiet and domestic eveningfor Hale, he did not talk any more to Clarissa. It might even have beenthought that he scrupulously, and of a fixed purpose, avoided her. He devoted himself to chess with Lady Geraldine; a game he playedindifferently, and for which he cherished a profound aversion. But chesswas one of Geraldine Challoner's strong points; and that aristocraticbeauty never looked more regal than when she sat before a chess-table, withone thin white hand hovering gently above the carved ivory pieces. 

Mr. Fairfax lost four or five games in succession, excusing his owncareless play every time by some dexterous compliment to his betrothed. More than once he stifled a yawn--more than once his glances wandered awayto the group near the piano, amidst which Clarissa was seated, listening toLizzy Fermor's brilliant waltzes and mazurkas, with an open music-bookon her lap, turning over the leaves now and then, with rather a listlesspre-occupied air, Mr. Fairfax thought. 

That evening did certainly seem very dreary to Clarissa, in spite of MissFermor's dashing music and animated chatter. She missed that other talk, half playful, half earnest, with which George Fairfax had been wont tobeguile some part of every evening; finding her out, as if by a subtleinstinct, in whatever corner of the room she happened to be, and alwaysdevoting one stray half-hour of the evening to her society. To-night allthings came to an end: matrons and misses murmured their good-nights andsailed away to the corridor, where there was a regiment of small silvercandlesticks, emblazoned with the numerous quarterings of Armstrong andChalloner; and George Fairfax only rose from the chess-table as LadyLaura's guests abandoned the drawing-room. Geraldine bade her lovergood-night with her most bewitching smile--a smile in which there was evensome faint ray of warmth. 

"You have given me some very easy victories, " she said, as they shookhands, "and I won't flatter you by saying you have played well. But it wasvery good of you to sit so long at a game which I know you detest, only toplease me. "

"A very small sacrifice, surely, my dear Geraldine. We'll play chess everynight, if you like. I don't care much for the game in the abstract, Iadmit; but I am never tired of admiring your judicious play, or theexquisite shape of your hands. "

"No, no; I don't want to try you with such severe training. I saw how tiredyou were more than once to-night, and how your eyes wandered away to thosenoisy girls by the piano, like an idle boy who is kept at his lessons whenhis companions are at play. "

Mr. Fairfax's sunburnt countenance reddened a little at this reproof. 

"Was I inattentive?" he asked; "I did not know that. I was quite aware ofmy bad play, and I really believe I was conscientious. "

And so they wished each other good-night and parted. Geraldine Challonerdid not go at once to her own room. She had to pass her sister's quarterson her way, and stopped at the door of the dressing-room. 

"Are you quite alone, Laura?" she asked, looking in. 

"Quite alone. "

A maid was busy unweaving a splendid pyramid of chestnut plaits which hadcrowned the head of her mistress; but she of course counted for nothing, and could be dismissed at any moment. 

"And there will not be half-a-dozen people coming in to gossip?" LadyGeraldine asked in rather a fretful tone, as she flung herself into anarm-chair near the dressing-table. 

"Not a soul; I have wished every one good-night. I was rather tired, totell the truth, and not inclined for talk. But of course I am always gladof a chat with you, Geraldine. --You may go, Parker; I can finish my hairmyself. "

The maid retired, as quietly as some attendant spirit. 

Lady Laura took up a big ivory brush and began smoothing the long chestnutlocks in a meditative way, waiting for her sister to speak. But LadyGeraldine seemed scarcely in the mood for lively conversation; her fingerswere twisting themselves in and out upon the arm of her chair in a nervousway, and her face had a thoughtful, not to say moody, expression. 

Her sister watched her for some minutes silently. 

"What is the matter, Geraldine?" she inquired at last. "I can see there issomething wrong. "

"There is very much that is wrong, " the other answered with a kind ofsuppressed vehemence. "Upon my word, Laura, I believe it is your destinyto stand in my light at every stage of my life, or you would scarcely havehappened to have planted that girl here just at this particular time. "

"What girl?" cried Lady Laura, amazed at this sudden accusation. 

"Clarissa Lovel. "

"Good gracious me, Geraldine! what has my poor Clarissa done to offendyou?"

"Your poor Clarissa has only set her cap at George Fairfax; and as shehappens to be several years younger than I am, and I suppose a good dealprettier, she has thoroughly succeeded in distracting his attention--hisregard, perhaps--from myself. "

Laura Armstrong dropped the hair-brush, in profound consternation. 

"My dear Geraldine, this is the merest jealous folly on your part. Clarissais the very last girl in the world who would be guilty of such meanness asto try and attract another woman's lover. Besides, I am sure that George'sattachment to yourself--"

"Pray, don't preach about that, Laura!" her sister broke in impatiently. "Imust be the best judge of his attachment; and you must be the very blindestof women, if you have not seen how your newest pet and _protégée_ hascontrived to lure George to her side night after night, and to interest himby her pretty looks and juvenile airs and graces. "

"Why, I don't believe George spoke to Miss Lovel once this evening; he wasplaying chess with you from the moment he came to the drawing-room afterdinner. "

"To-night was an exceptional case. Mr. Fairfax was evidently on duty. Hismanner all the evening was that of a man who has been consciously culpable, and is trying to atone for bad behaviour. And your favourite was wounded byhis desertion--I could see that. "

"She did seem a little depressed, certainly, " Lady Laura answeredthoughtfully; "I observed that myself. But I know that the girl has a noblenature, and if she has been so foolish as to be just a little attracted byGeorge Fairfax, she will very; quickly awake to a sense of her folly. Praydon't give yourself the faintest uneasiness, Geraldine. I have my plans forClarissa Lovel, and this hint of yours will make me more anxious to putthem into execution. As for George, it is natural to men to flirt; there'sno use in being angry with them. I'm sure that wretched Fred of mine hasflirted desperately, in his way. "

Lady Geraldine gave her shoulders a contemptuous shrug, expressive of amost profound indifference to the delinquencies of Mr. Armstrong. 

"Your husband and George Fairfax are two very different people, " she said. 

"But you don't for a moment suppose there is anything serious in thisbusiness?" Laura asked anxiously. 

"How can I tell? I sometimes think that George has never really cared forme; that he proposed to me because he thought his mother would like themarriage, and because our names had often been linked together, and ourmarriage was in a manner expected by people, and so on. Yes, Laura, I havesometimes doubted if he ever loved me--I hate to talk of these things, evento you; but there are times when one must confide in some one--and I havebeen sorely tempted to break off the engagement. "

She rose from her chair, and began to pace up and down the room in a quickimpatient way. 

"Upon my honour, I believe it would be the happiest thing for both of us, "she said. 

Lady Laura looked at her sister with perfect consternation. 

"My dearest Geraldine, you would surely never be so mad!" she exclaimed. "You could not be so foolish as to sacrifice the happiness of your futurelife to a caprice of the moment--a mere outbreak of temper. Pray, let therebe an end of such nonsense. I am sure George is sincerely attached to you, and I am very much mistaken in you if you do not like him--love him--betterthan you can ever hope to love any other man in this world. "

"O yes; I like him well enough, " said Geraldine Challoner impatiently; "toowell to endure anything less than perfect sincerity on his part. "

"But, my dearest, I am sure that he is sincere, " Laura answered soothingly. "Now, my own Geraldine, do pray be reasonable, and leave this business tome. As for Clarissa, I have plans for her, the realization of which wouldset your mind quite at ease; but if I cannot put them into executionimmediately, the girl shall go. Of course you are the first consideration. With regard to George, if you would only let me sound him, I am sure Ishould get at the real state of his feelings and find them all we canwish----"

"Laura!" cried Geraldine indignantly, "if you dare to interfere, in thesmallest degree, with this business, I shall never speak to you again. "

"My dear Geraldine!"

"Remember that, Laura, and remember that I mean what I say. I will notpermit so much as the faintest hint of anything I have told you. "

"My dearest girl, I pledge myself not to speak one word, " protested LadyLaura, very much, alarmed by her sister's indignation. 

Geraldine left her soon after this, vexed with herself for having betrayedso much feeling, even to a sister; left her--not to repose in peaceful, slumbers, but to walk up and down her room till early morning, and lookout at daybreak on the Castle gardens and the purple woods beyond, with ahaggard face and blank unseeing eyes. 

George Fairfax meanwhile had lain himself down to take his rest intolerable good-humour with himself and the world in general. 

"I really think I behaved very well, " he said to himself; "and havingmade up my mind to stop anything like a flirtation with that perilouslyfascinating Clarissa, I shall stick to my resolve with the heroism of anancient Roman; though the Romans were hardly so heroic in that matter, bythe way--witness the havoc made by that fatal Egyptian, a little bit of awoman that could be bundled up in a carpet--to say nothing of the generalpredilection for somebody else's wife which prevailed in those days, andwhich makes Suetonius read like a modern French novel. I did not thinkthere was so much of the old leaven left in me. My sweet Clarissa! I fancyshe likes me--in a sisterly kind of way, of course--and trusts me not alittle. And yet I must seem cold to her, and hold myself aloof, and woundthe tender untried heart a little perhaps. Hard upon both of us, but Isuppose only a common element in the initiatory ordinances of matrimony. "

And so George Fairfax closed hie eyes and fell asleep, with the image ofClarissa before him in that final moment of consciousness, whereby the sameimage haunted him in his slumbers that night, alternately perplexing ordelighting him; while ever and anon the face of his betrothed, pale andstatue-like, came between him and that other face; or the perfect hand hehad admired at chess that night was stretched out through the darkness topush aside the form of Clarissa Lovel. 

That erring dreamer was a man accustomed to take all things lightly; not aman of high principle--a man whose best original impulses had been weakenedand deadened not a little by the fellowship he had kept, and the life hehad led; a man unhappily destined to exercise an influence over othersdisproportionate to the weight of his own character. 

Lady Laura was much disturbed by her sister's confidence; and being of atemperament to which the solitary endurance of any mental burden is almostimpossible, immediately set to work to do the very things which would havebeen most obnoxious to Geraldine Challoner. In the first place she awakenedher husband from comfortable slumbers, haunted by no more awful forms thanhis last acquisition in horseflesh, or the oxen he was fattening for thenext cattle-show; and determinedly kept him awake while she gave him adetailed account of the distressing scene she had just had with "poorGeraldine. "

Mr. Armstrong, whose yawns and vague disjointed replies were piteous tohear, thought there was only one person in question who merited the epithet"poor, " and that person himself; but he made some faint show of beinginterested nevertheless. 

"Silly woman! silly woman!" he mumbled at last. "I've always thought sherides the high horse rather too much with Fairfax. Men don't like that sortof thing, you know. Geraldine's a very fine woman, but she can't twist aman round her fingers as you can, Laura. Why don't you speak to GeorgeFairfax, and hurry on the marriage somehow? The sooner the business issettled the better, with such a restive couple as these two; uncommonlyhard to drive in double harness--the mare inclined to jib, and the otherwith a tendency to shy. You're such a manager, Laura, you'd make matterssquare in no time. "

If Lady Laura prided herself on one of her attributes more thananother--and she did cherish a harmless vanity about many things--it was inthe idea that she was a kind of social Talleyrand. So on this particularoccasion, encouraged by simple Fred Armstrong, who had a rooted belief thatthere never had existed upon this earth such a wonderful woman as his wife, my lady resolved to take the affairs of her sister under her protection, and to bring all things to a triumphant issue. She felt very littlecompunction about breaking her promise to Geraldine. 

"All depends upon the manner in which a thing is done, " she said to herselfcomplacently, as she composed herself for slumber; "of course I shall actwith the most extreme delicacy. But it would never do for my sister'schances in life to be ruined for want of a little judicious intervention. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER IX. 

LADY LAURA DIPLOMATISES. 

The weather was fine next day, and the Castle party drove ten miles toa rustic racecourse, where there was a meeting of a very insignificantcharacter, but interesting to Mr. Armstrong, to whom a horse was a sourceof perennial delight, and a fair excuse for a long gay drive, and a picnicluncheon in carriages and on coach-boxes. 

Amongst Lady Laura's accomplishments was the polite art of driving. To-dayshe elected to drive a high phaeton with a pair of roans, and invitedGeorge Fairfax to take the seat beside her. Lady Geraldine had a headache, and had not appeared that morning; but had sent a message to her sister, to request that her indisposition, which was the merest trifle, might notprevent Mr. Fairfax going to the races. 

Mr. Fairfax at first seemed much inclined to remain at home, and performgarrison duty. 

"Geraldine will come downstairs presently, I daresay, " he said to LadyLaura, "and we can have a quiet stroll in the gardens, while you are allaway. I don't care a straw about the Mickleham races. Please leave me athome, Lady Laura. "

"But Geraldine begs that you will go. She'll keep her room all day, I've nodoubt; she generally does, when she has one of her headaches. Every oneis going, and I have set my heart on driving you. I want to hear what youthink of the roans. Come, George, I really must insist upon it. "

She led him off to the phaeton triumphantly; while Frederick Armstrong wasfain to find some vent for his admiration of his gifted wife's diplomacyin sundry winks and grins to the address of no one in particular, as hebustled to and fro between the terrace and the hall, arranging the mode andmanner of the day's excursion--who was to be driven by whom, and so on. 

Clarissa found herself bestowed in a landau full of ladies, Barbara Fermoramongst them; and was very merry with these agreeable companions, who gaveher no time to meditate upon that change in Mr. Fairfax's manner lastnight, which had troubled her a little in spite of her better sense. He wasnothing to her, of course; an accidental acquaintance whom she might neversee again after this visit; but he had known her brother, and he had beenkind and sympathetic--so much so, that she would have been glad to thinkthat he was really her friend. Perhaps, after all, there was very littlecause that she should be perplexed or worried on account of his quietavoidance of her that one evening; but then Clarissa Lovel was young andinexperienced, and thus apt to be hypersensitive, and easily disturbedabout trifles. 

Having secured a comfortable _tête-à-tête _with Mr. Fairfax, Lady Lauralost no time in improving the occasion. They were scarcely a mile from theCastle before she began to touch upon the subject of the intended marriage, lightly, and with an airy gaiety of manner which covered her realearnestness. 

"When is it to be, George?" she asked. "I really want to know somethingpositive, on account of my own engagement and Fred's, which must all hingemore or less on this important business. There's no use in my talking toGeraldine, for she is really the most impracticable of beings, and I cannever get her to say anything definite. "

"My dear Lady Laura, I am almost in the same position. I have more thanonce tried to induce her to fix the date for her marriage, but she hasalways put the subject aside somehow or other. I really don't like to boreher, you see; and no doubt things will arrange themselves in due course. "

Lady Laura gave a little sigh of relief. He did not avoid thequestion--that was something; nor did her interference seem in any mannerunpleasant to him. Indeed, nothing could be more perfect than his air ofcareless good-humour, Lady Laura thought. 

But she did not mean the subject to drop here; and after a little gracefulmanipulation of the reins, a glance backward to see how far behind they hadleft the rest of the caravan, and some slight slackening of the pace atwhich they had been going, she went on. 

"No doubt things would arrange themselves easily enough, if nothinghappened to interfere with our plans. But the fact is, my dear George, I amreally most uneasy about the state of poor papa's health. He has been sosadly feeble for the last three or four years, and I feel that we may losehim at any moment. At his age, poor dear soul, it is a calamity for winchwe must be prepared, but of course such an event would postpone ourmarriage for a long time, and I should really like to see my sister happilysettled before the blow fell upon her. She has been so much with him, yousee, and is so deeply attached to him--it will be worse for her than forany of us. "

"I--I conclude so, " Mr. Fairfax replied rather doubtfully. He could nothelp wondering a little how his betrothed cared to leave a beloved fatherin so critical a condition; but he knew that his future sister-in-law wassomewhat given to exaggeration, a high colouring of simple facts, as wellas to the friendly direction of other people's affairs, he was thereforenot surprised, upon reflection, that she should magnify her father's dangerand her sister's filial devotion. Nor was he surprised that she should beanxious to hasten his marriage. It was natural to this impulsive matron tobe eager for something, some event involving fine dress and invitations, elaborate dinners, and the gathering together of a frivolous crowd to beastonished and delighted by her own cleverness and fascination. To havea handsome sister to marry, and to marry well, was of course a greatopportunity for the display of all those powers in which Lady Laura tookespecial pride. 

And then George Fairfax had told himself that this marriage was the bestpossible thing for him; and being so, it would be well that there should beno unnecessary delay. He had perhaps a vague feeling that he was giving upa good deal in sacrificing his liberty; but on the whole the sacrifice wasa wise one, and could not be consummated too quickly. 

"I trust you alarm yourself needlessly about your father, my dear LadyLaura, " he said presently; "but, upon my word, you cannot be more anxiousto see this affair settled than I am. I want to spend my honeymoon atLyvedon, the quietest, most picturesque old place you can imagine, but notvery enjoyable when the leaves are falling. My good uncle has set his hearton my borrowing his house for this purpose, and I think it would pleaseGeraldine to become acquainted with an estate which must be her own in afew years. "

"Unquestionably, " cried Lady Laura eagerly; "but you know what Geraldineis, or you ought to know--so foolishly proud and sensitive. She has knownyou so long, and perhaps--she would never forgive me if she knew I hadhinted such a thing--had half-unconsciously given you her heart before shehad reason to be assured of your regard: and this would make her peculiarlysensitive. Now do, dear George, press the question, and let everything besettled as soon as possible, or I have an apprehension that somehow orother my sister will slip through your fingers. "

Mr. Fairfax looked wonderingly at his charioteer. 

"Has she said anything to put this fancy into your head?" he asked, withgravity rather than alarm. 

"Said anything! O dear, no. Geraldine is the last person to talk about herown feelings. But I know her so well, " concluded Lady Laura with a solemnair. 

After this there came a brief silence. George Fairfax was a little puzzledby my lady's diplomacy, and perhaps just a little disgusted. Again andagain he told himself that this union with Geraldine Challoner was the verybest thing that could happen to him; it would bring him to anchor, at anyrate, and he had been such mere driftwood until now. But he wanted to feelhimself quite a free agent, and this pressing-on of the marriage by LadyLaura was in some manner discordant with his sense of the fitness ofthings. It looked a little like manoeuvring; yet after all she was quitesincere, perhaps, and did really apprehend her father's death interveningto postpone the wedding. 

He would not remain long silent, lest she should fancy him displeased, andproceeded presently to pay her some compliments upon the roans, and on herdriving; after which they rattled on pleasantly enough till they came tothe green slope of a hill, where there was a rude rustic stand and a railedracecourse, with a sprinkling of carriages on one side and gipsy-tents onthe other. 

Here Mr. Fairfax delivered over Lady Laura to her natural protector; andbeing free to stroll about at his own pleasure, contrived to spend a veryagreeable day, devoting the greater part thereof to attendance upon thelandau full of ladies, amongst whom was Clarissa Lovel. And she, beingrelieved from that harassing notion that she had in some unknown manneroffended him, and being so new to all the pleasures of life that even theserustic races were delightful to her, was at her brightest, full of gaygirlish talk and merry laughter. He was not to see her thus many timesagain, in all the freshness of her young beauty, perfectly natural andunrestrained. 

Once in the course of that day he left his post by the landau, and wentfor a solitary ramble; not amongst the tents, where black-eyed Bohemianssaluted him as "my pretty gentleman, " or the knock-'em-downs andweighing-machines, or the bucolic babble of the ring, but away across thegrassy slope, turning his back upon the racecourse. He wanted to think itout again, in his own phrase, just as he had thought it out the day beforein the library at Hale. 

"I am afraid I am getting too fond of her, " he said to himself. "It's theold story: just like dram-drinking. I take the pledge, and then go anddrink again. I am the weakest of mankind. But it cannot make very muchdifference. She knows I am engaged--and--Lady Laura is right. The soonerthe marriage comes off, the better. I shall never be safe till the knot istied; and then duty, honour, feeling, and a dozen other motives, will holdme to the right course. "

He strolled back to his party only; a little time before the horses wereput in, and on this occasion went straight to the phaeton, and devotedhimself to Lady Laura. 

"You are going to drive me home, of course?" he said. "I mean to claim myplace. "

"I hardly think you have any right to it, after your desertion of me. Youhave been flirting with those girls in the landau all day. "

"Flirting is one of the melancholy privileges of my condition. An engagedman enjoys an immunity in that matter. When a criminal is condemned todeath, they give him whatever he likes to eat, you know. It is almost thesame kind of thing. "

He took his place in the phaeton presently, and talked gaily enough all theway home, in that particular strain required to match my lady's agreeablerattle; but he had a vague sense of uneasiness lurking somewhere in hismind, a half-consciousness that he was drifting the wrong way. 

All that evening he was especially attentive to Lady Geraldine, whoseheadache had left her with a pale and pensive look which was not withoutits charm. The stately beauty had a softer air, the brightness of the blueeyes was not so cold as it was wont to be. They played chess again, and Mr. Fairfax kept aloof from Clarissa. They; walked together in the gardens fora couple of hours next morning; and George Fairfax pressed the question ofhis marriage with such a show of earnestness and warmth, that Geraldine'srebellious pride was at once solaced and subdued, and she consented toagree to any arrangement he and Lady Laura might make. 

"My sister is so much more practical than I am, " she said, "and I wouldreally rather leave everything to her and to you. "

Lightly as she tried to speak of the future, she did on this occasion allowher lover to perceive that he was indeed very dear to her, and that thecoldness which had sometimes wounded him was little more than a veilbeneath which a proud woman strove to hide her deepest feelings. Mr. Fairfax rather liked this quality of pride in his future wife, even if itwere carried so far as to be almost a blemish. It would be the surest safeguard of his home in the time to come. Such women are not prone to pettyfaults, or given to small quarrels. A man has a kind of security fromtrivial annoyances in an alliance with such a one. 

It was all settled, therefore, in that two hours' stroll in the sunnygarden, where the roses still bloomed, in some diminution of theirmidsummer glory, their sweetness just a little over powered by the spicyodour of innumerable carnations, their delicate colours eclipsed here andthere by an impertinent early dahlia. Everything was settled. The very dateof the wedding was to be decided at once by Lady Laura and the bridegroom;and when George Fairfax went back to the Castle, he felt, perhaps for thefirst time in his life, that he really was an engaged man. It was rather asolemn feeling, but not altogether an unpleasant one. He had seen more ofGeraldine Challoner's heart this morning than he had ever seen before. Itpleased him to discover that she really loved him; that the marriage wasto be something more to her than a merely advantageous alliance; that shewould in all probability have accepted him had he offered himself to her inhis brother's lifetime. Since his thirtieth birthday he had begun to feelhimself something of a waif and stray. There had been mistakes in his life, errors he would be very glad to forget in an utterly new existence. It waspleasant to know himself beloved by a proud and virtuous woman, a womanwhose love was neither to be easily won nor lightly lost. 

He went back to the Castle more at ease with himself than he had felt forsome time. His future was settled, and he had done his duty. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER X. 

LADY LAURA'S PREPARATIONS. 

After that interview between Mr. Fairfax and his betrothed, there was notime wasted. Laura Armstrong was enraptured at being made arbiter of thearrangements, and was all haste and eagerness, impetuosity and animation. The wedding was appointed for the second week in September, about fiveweeks from the period of that garden _tête-à-tête_. Lady Geraldine was togo to town for a week, attended only by her maid, to see her father, and togive the necessary orders for her trousseau. The business of settlementswould be arranged between the family lawyers. There were no difficulties. Lord Calderwood was not able to settle anything on his daughter, andMr. Fairfax was inclined to be very generous. There was no prospect ofsquabbling or unpleasantness. 

George Fairfax was to be away during this brief absence of his betrothed. He had an engagement with an old friend and brother officer who was wontto spend the autumn in a roughly comfortable shooting-box in the north ofScotland, and whom he had promised to visit before his marriage; as a kindof farewell to bachelorhood and bachelor friendship. There could be noother opportunity for the fulfilment of this promise, and it was betterthat Mr. Fairfax should be away while Lady Geraldine was in London. As theperiod of his marriage became imminent, he had a vague feeling that he wasan object of general attention; that every feminine eye, at any rate, wason him; and that the watch would be all the closer in the absence of hisbetrothed No, he did not want to dawdle away a week (off duty) at HaleCastle. Never before had he so yearned for the rough freedom of MajorSeaman's shooting-quarters, the noisy mirth of those rude Homeric feasts, half dinner, half supper, so welcome after a long day's sport, with a quietrubber, perhaps, to finish with, and a brew of punch after a reconditerecipe of the Major's, which he was facetiously declared to bear tattooedabove the region of his heart. Mr. Fairfax had been two months at Hale whenLady Geraldine left on that dutiful visit to her father, and necessaryinterviewing of milliners and dressmakers; and he was, it is justpossible, a little tired of decorous country-house life, with its weeklydinner-parties and perpetual influx of county families to luncheon, and itsunfailing croquet. He felt, too, that at such a time it would, be perhapssafer for him to be away from Clarissa Lovel. 

Was there any real danger for him in her presence? If he asked himself thisquestion nowadays, he was able to answer boldly in the negative. Theremight have been a time of peril, just one perilous interval when he was insome danger of stumbling; but he had pulled himself up in time, with anadmirable discretion, he thought, and now felt as bold as a lion. Afterthat morning with Lady Geraldine in the garden, he had never wavered. Hehad not been less kind or polite to Miss Lovel; he had only made a pointof avoiding anything like that dangerous confidential friendship which hadbeen so nearly arising between them. 

Of course every guest at the Castle knew all about the intended weddingdirectly things had been finally arranged. Lady Laura was not given to thekeeping of secrets, and this important fact she communicated to all herparticular friends with a radiant face, and a most triumphant manner. Thetwo Fermor girls and Clarissa she invited to remain at Hale till after thewedding, and to act as bridesmaids. 

"My sisters Emily and Louisa will make two more, " she said; "and thatpretty little Miss Trellis, Admiral Trellis's daughter, will be thesixth--I shall have only six. We'll have a grand discussion about thedresses to-morrow morning. I should like to strike out something original, if it were possible. We shall see what Madame Albertine proposes. I havewritten to ask her for her ideas; but a milliner's ideas are so _bornées. _"Lady Laura had obtained permission from her sister to enlist Clarissa inthe ranks of the bridesmaids. 

"It would look so strange to exclude a pretty girl like that, " she said. Whereupon Geraldine had replied rather coldly that she did not wish to doanything that was strange, and that Miss Lovel was at liberty to be one ofher bridesmaids. She had studiously ignored the confession of jealousy madethat night in her sister's dressing-room; nor had Laura ever presumed tomake the faintest allusion to it. Things had gone so well since, and thereseemed nothing easier than to forget that unwonted outbreak of womanlypassion. 

Clarissa heard the approaching marriage discussed with a strange feeling, anameless undefinable regret. It seemed to her that George Fairfax was theonly person in her small world who really understood her, the only manwho could have been her friend and counsellor. It was a foolish fancy, nodoubt, and had very little foundation in fact; but, argue with herself asshe might against her folly, she could not help feeling that this marriagewas in somewise a calamity for her. She was quite sure that Lady Geraldinedid not like her, and that, as Lady Geraldine's husband, George Fairfaxcould not be her friend. She thought of this a great deal in those busyweeks before the wedding, and wondered at the heaviness of her heart inthese days. What was it that she had lost? As she had wondered a littlewhile ago at the brightness of her life, she wondered now at its darkness. It seemed as if all the colour had gone out of her existence all at once;as if she had been wandering for a little while in some enchanted region, and found herself now suddenly thrust forth from the gates of that fairyparadise upon the bleak outer world. The memory of her troubles came backto her with a sudden sharpness. She had almost forgotten them of late--herbrother's exile and disgrace, her father's coldness, all that made her fatedreary and hopeless. She looked forward to the future with a shudder. Whathad she to hope for--now?

It was the last week in August when Lady Geraldine went up to London, andGeorge Fairfax hurried northward to his Friend's aerie. The trousseau hadbeen put in hand a day or two after the final settlement of affairs, andthe post had carried voluminous letters of instruction from Lady Laura tothe milliners, and had brought back little parcels containing snippings ofdainty fabrics, scraps of laces, and morsels of delicate silk, in orderthat colours and materials might be selected by the bride. Everything wasin progress, and Lady Geraldine was only wanted for the adjustment of thosemore important details which required personal supervision. 

If Clarissa Lovel could have escaped from all this pleasant bustle andconfusion, from the perpetual consultations and discussions which LadyLaura held with all her favourites upon the subject of the comingmarriage--if she could by any means have avoided all these, and above allher honourable office of bridesmaid--she would most gladly have done so. Asudden yearning for the perfect peace, the calm eventless days of her oldlife at Mill Cottage, had taken possession of her. In a moment, as if bysome magical change, the glory and delight of that brilliant existence atthe Castle seemed to have vanished away. There were the same pleasures, thesame people; but the very atmosphere was different, and she began to feellike those other girls whose dulness of soul she had wondered at a littlewhile ago. 

"I suppose I enjoyed myself too much when first I came here, " she thought, perplexed by this change in herself. "I gave myself up too entirely tothe novelty of this gay life, and have used up my capacity for enjoyment, almost like those girls who have gone through half-a-dozen London seasons. "

When Lady Geraldine and George Fairfax were gone, it seemed to Clarissathat the Castle had a vacant air without them. The play still went on, but the chief actors had vanished from the scene. Miss Lovel had allowedherself to feel an almost morbid interest in Mr. Fairfax's betrothed. Shehad watched Lady Geraldine from day to day, half unconsciously, almost inspite of herself, wondering whether she really loved her future husband, orwhether this alliance were only the dreary simulacrum she had read ofin fashionable novels--a marriage of convenience. Lady Laura; certainlydeclared that her sister was much attached to Mr. Fairfax; but then, inan artificial world, where such a mode of marrying and giving in marriageobtained, it would obviously be the business of the bride's relatives toaffect a warm belief in her affection for the chosen victim. In all herwatching Clarissa had never surprised one outward sign of GeraldineChalloner's love. It was very difficult for a warm-hearted impulsive girlto believe in the possibility of any depth of feeling beneath that coldlyplacid manner. Nor did she perceive in Mr. Fairfax himself many of thoseevidences of affection which she would have expected from a man in hisposition. It was quite true that as the time of his marriage drew near hedevoted himself more and more exclusively to his betrothed; but Clarissacould not help fancying, among her many fancies about these two people, that them was something formal and ceremonial in his devotion; that he had, at the best, something of the air of a man who was doing his duty. Yet itwould have seemed absurd to doubt the reality of his attachment to LadyGeraldine, or to fear the result of an engagement that had grown out of afriendship which had lasted for years. The chorus of friends at Hale Castlewere never tired of dwelling upon this fact, and declaring what a beautifuland perfect arrangement such a marriage was. It was only Lizzie Fermor who, in moments of confidential converse with Clarissa, was apt to elevate herexpressive eyebrows and impertinent little nose, and to make disrespectfulcomments upon the subject of Lady Geraldine's engagement--remarks whichMiss Lovel felt it in some manner her duty to parry, by a warm defence ofher friend's sister. 

"You are such a partisan, Clarissa, " Miss Fermor would exclaim impatiently;"but take my word for it, that woman only marries George Fairfax becauseshe feels she has come to the end of her chances, and that this is aboutthe last opportunity she may have of making a decent marriage. "

The engaged couple were to be absent only a week--that was a settled point;for on the very day after that arranged for their return there was to bea ball at Hale Castle--the first real ball of the season--an event whichwould of course lose half its glory if Lady Geraldine and her lover weremissing. So Laura Armstrong had been most emphatic in her parting charge toGeorge Fairfax. 

"Remember, George, however fascinating your bachelor friends may be--and ofcourse we know that nothing we have to offer you in a civilized way can beso delightful as roughing it in a Highland bothy (bothy is what you callyour cottage, isn't it?) with a tribe of wild sportsmen--you are to be backin time for my ball on the twenty-fifth. I shall never forgive you, if youfail me. "

"My dear Lady Laura, I would perish in the struggle to be up to time, rather than be such a caitiff. I would do the journey on foot, like JeannieDeans, rather than incur the odium of disappointing so fair a hostess. "

And upon this Mr. Fairfax departed, with a gayer aspect than he had wornof late, almost as if it had been a relief to him to get away from HaleCastle. 

Lady Laura had a new set of visitors coming, and was full of the businessinvolved in their reception. She was not a person who left everyarrangement to servants, numerous and skilful as her staff was. She likedto have a finger in every pie, and it was one of her boasts that nodepartment of the household was without her supervision. She would stop inthe middle of a page of Tasso to discuss the day's bill of fare with hercook; and that functionary had enough to do to gratify my lady's eagernessfor originality and distinction even in the details of her dinner-table. 

"My good Volavent, " she would say, tossing the poor man's list aside, witha despairing shrug of her shoulders, "all these entrees are as old as thehills. I am sure Adam must have had stewed pigeons with green peas, andchicken à la Marengo--they are the very ABC of cookery. Do, pray, strikeout something a little newer. Let me see; I copied the menu of a dinner atSt. Petersburg from 'Count Cralonzki's Diary of his Own Times, ' the otherday, on purpose to show you. There really are some ideas in it. Do look itover, Volavent, and see if it will inspire you. We must try to rise abovethe level of a West-end hotel. "

In the same manner did my lady supervise the gardens, to the affliction ofthe chief official and his dozen or so of underlings. To have the firstpeaches and the last grapes in the county of York, to decorate her tablewith the latest marvel in pitcher plants and rare butterfly-shaped orchids, was Lady Laura's ambition; to astonish morning visitors with new effects inthe garden her unceasing desire. Nor within doors was her influenceless actively exercised. Drawing-rooms and boudoirs, morning-rooms andbedchambers, were always undergoing some improving touch, some gracefulembellishment, inspired by that changeful fancy. When new visitors wereexpected at the Castle, Lady Laura flitted about their rooms, inspectingevery arrangement, and thinking of the smallest minutiae. She would evenlook into the rooms prepared for the servants on these occasions, to besure that nothing was wanting for their comfort. She liked the very maidsand valets to go away and declare there was no place so pleasant as HaleCastle. Perhaps when people had been to her two or three times, she was aptto grow a little more careless upon these points. To dazzle and astonishwas her chief delight, and of course it is somewhat difficult to dazzle oldfriends. 

In the two days after Geraldine Challoner's departure Lady Laura was inher gayest mood. She had a delightful air of mystery in her converse withClarissa; would stop suddenly sometimes in the midst of her discourseto kiss the girl, and would contemplate her for a few moments with hersweetest smile. 

"My dear Lady Laura, what pleasant subject are you thinking about?"Clarissa asked wonderingly; "I am sure there is something. You have such amysterious air to-day, and one would suppose by your manner that I must beconcerned in this mystery. "

"And suppose you were, Clary--suppose I were plotting for your happiness?But no; there is really nothing; you must not take such silly fancies intoyour head. You know how much I love you, Clary--as much as if you were ayounger sister of my own; and there is nothing I would not do to secureyour happiness. "

Clarissa shook her head sadly. 

"My dear Lady Laura, good and generous as you are, it is not in your powerto do that, " she said, "unless you could make my father love me, or bringmy brother happily home. "

"Or give you back Arden Court?" suggested Lady Laura, smiling. 

"Ah, that is the wildest dream of all! But I would not even ask Providencefor that. I would be content, if my father loved me; if we were only ahappy united family. "

"Don't you think your father would be a changed man, if he could get backhis old home somehow? The loss of that must have soured him a good deal. "

"I don't know about that. Yes, of course that loss does weigh upon hismind; but even when we were almost children he did not seem to care muchfor my brother Austin or me. He was not like other fathers. "

"His money troubles may have oppressed him even then. The loss of ArdenCourt might have been a foreseen calamity. "

"Yes, it may have been so. But there is no use in thinking of that. Even ifpapa were rich enough to buy it, Mr. Granger would never sell the Court. "

"Sell it!" repeated Lady Laura, meditatively; "well, perhaps not. One couldhardly expect him to do that--a place for which he has done so much. Butone never knows what may happen; I have really seen such wonderful changescome to pass among friends and acquaintances of mine, that scarcelyanything would astonish me--no, Clary, not if I were to see you mistress ofArden Court. "

And then Lady Laura kissed her protégée once more with effusion, and anondipped her brush in the carmine, and went on with the manipulation of aflorid initial in her Missal--a fat gothic M, interlaced with ivy-leavesand holly. 

"You haven't asked me who the people are that I am expecting thisafternoon, " she said presently, with a careless air. 

"My dear Lady Laura, if you were to tell me their names, I don't suppose Ishould be any wiser than I am now. I know so few people. "

"But you do know these--or at least you know all about them. My arrivalsto-day are Mr. And Miss Granger. "

Clarissa gave a faint sigh, and bent a little lower over her work. 

"Well, child, are you not surprised? have you nothing to say?" cried LadyLaura, rather impatiently. 

"I--I daresay they are very nice people, " Clarissa answered, nervously. "But the truth is--I know you must despise me for such folly--I cannot helpassociating them with our loss, and I have a kind of involuntary dislike ofthem. I have never so much as seen them, you know--not even at church;for they go to the gothic chapel which Mr. Granger has built in his modelvillage, and never come to our dear little church at Arden; and it is verychildish and absurd of me, no doubt, but I don't think I ever could likethem. "

"It is very absurd of you, Clary, " returned my lady; "and if I couldbe angry with you for anything, it certainly would be for this unjustprejudice against people I want you to like. Think what a nice companionMiss Granger would be for you when you are at home--so near a neighbour, and really a very superior girl. "

"I don't want a companion; I am used to being alone. "

"Well, well, when you come to know her, you will like her very much, Idaresay, in spite of yourself; that will be my triumph. I am bent uponbringing about friendly relation, between your father and Mr. Granger. "

"You will never do that, Lady Laura. "

"I don't know. I have a profound faith in my own ideas. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XI. 

DANIEL GRANGER. 

After luncheon that day, Clarissa lost sight of Lady Laura. The Castleseemed particularly quiet on this afternoon. Nearly every one was out ofdoors playing croquet; but Clarissa had begun to find croquet rather awearisome business of late, and had excused herself on the plea of lettersto write. She had not begun her letter-writing yet, however, but waswandering about the house in a purposeless way--now standing still for aquarter of an hour at a time, looking out of a window, without being in theleast degree conscious of the landscape she was looking at, and then pacingslowly up and down the long picture gallery with a sense of relief in beingalone. 

At last she roused herself from this absent dreamy state. 

"I am too idle to write this afternoon, " she thought. "I'll go to thelibrary and get a book. "

The Hale library was Clarissa's delight. It was a noble collection gatheredby dead-and-gone owners of the Castle, and filled up with all the mostfamous modern works at the bidding of Mr. Armstrong, who gave hisbookseller a standing order to supply everything that was proper, andrarely for his own individual amusement or instruction had recourse to anyshelf but one which contained neat editions of the complete works of theDruid and Mr. Apperley, the _Life of Assheton Smith_, and all the volumesof the original _Sporting Magazine_ bound in crimson russia. These, with_Ruff's Guide_, the _Racing Calendar_, and a few volumes on farriery, supplied Mr. Armstrong's literary necessities. But to Clarissa, for whombooks were at once the pleasure and consolation of life, this libraryseemed a treasure-house of inexhaustible delights. Her father's collectionwas of the choicest, but limited. Here she found everything she had everheard of, and a whole world of literature she had never dreamed of. She wasnot by any means a pedant or a blue-stocking, and it was naturally amongstthe books of a lighter class she found the chief attraction; but she wasbetter read than most girls of her age, and better able to enjoy solidreading. 

To-day she was out of spirits, and came to the library for some relief fromthose vaguely painful thoughts that had oppressed her lately. The room wasso little affected by my lady's butterfly guests that she made sure ofhaving it all to herself this afternoon, when the voices and laughter ofthe croquet-players, floating in at the open windows, told her that thesport was still at its height. 

She went into the room, and stopped suddenly a few paces from the doorway. A gentleman was standing before the wide empty fireplace, where there wasa great dog-stove of ironwork and brass which consumed about half a ton ofcoal a day in winter; a tall, ponderous-looking man, with his hands behindhim, glancing downward with cold gray eyes, but not in the least degreeinclining his stately head to listen to Lady Laura Armstrong, who wasseated on a sofa near him, fanning herself and prattling gaily after herusual vivacious manner. 

Clarissa started and drew back at sight of this tall stranger. 

"Mr. Granger, " she thought, and tried to make her escape without beingseen. 

The attempt was a failure. Lady Laura called to her. 

"Who is that in a white dress? Miss Lovel, I am sure. --Come here, Clary--what are you running away for? I want to introduce my friend Mr. Granger to you. --Mr. Granger, this is Miss Lovel, the Miss Lovel whosebirthplace fortune has given to you. "

Mr. Granger bowed rather stiffly, and with the air of a man to whom a bowwas a matter of business. 

"I regret, " he said, "to have robbed Miss Lovel of a home to which she wasattached. I regret still more that she will not avail herself of my desireto consider the park and grounds entirely at her disposal on all occasions. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see her use the place as ifit were her own. "

"And nothing could be kinder than such a wish on your part. " exclaimed mylady approvingly. 

Clarissa lifted her eyes rather shyly to the rich man's face. He was nota connoisseur in feminine loveliness, but they struck him at once as veryfine eyes. He was a connoisseur in pictures, and no mean judge of them, and those brilliant hazel eyes of Clarissa's reminded him of a portrait byVelasquez, of which he was particularly proud. 

"You are very kind, " she murmured; "but--but there are some associationstoo painful to bear. The park would remind me so bitterly of all I havelost since I was a child. "

She was thinking of her brother, and his disgrace--or misfortune; she didnot even know which of these two it was that had robbed her of him. Mr. Granger looked at her wonderingly. Her words and manner seemed to betraya deeper feeling than he could have supposed involved in the loss of anestate. He was not a man of sentiment himself, and had gone through lifeaffected only by its sternest realities. There was something rather tooRosa-Matildaish for his taste in this faltered speech of Clarissa's; buthe thought her a very pretty girl nevertheless, and was inclined to looksomewhat indulgently upon a weakness he would have condemned withoutcompunction in his daughter. Mr. Granger was a man who prided himself uponhis strength of mind, and he had a very poor idea of the exclusive reclusewhose early extravagances had made him master of Arden Court. He had notseen Mr. Lovel half-a-dozen times in his life, for all business betweenthose two that could be transacted by their respective lawyers had been sotransacted; but what he had seen of that pale careworn face, that fragilefigure, and somewhat irritable manner, had led the ponderous, strong-mindedDaniel Granger to consider Marmaduke Lovel a very poor creature. 

He was interested in this predecessor of his nevertheless. A man must beharder than iron who can usurp another man's home, and sit by another man'shearthstone, without giving some thought to the exile he has ousted. DanielGranger was not so hard as that, and he did profoundly pity the ruinedgentleman he had deposed. Perhaps he was still more inclined to pity theruined gentleman's only daughter, who must needs suffer for the sins anderrors of others. 

"Now, pray don't run away, Clary, " cried Lady Laura, seeing Clarissa movingtowards the door, as if still anxious to escape. "You came to look for somebooks, I know. --Miss Lovel is a very clever young lady, I assure you, Mr. Granger, and has read immensely. --Sit down, Clary; you shall take away anarmful of books by-and-by, if you like. "

Clarissa seated herself near my lady's sofa with a gracious submissive air, which the owner of Arden Court thought a rather pretty kind of thing, inits way. He had a habit of classifying all young women in a general waywith his own daughter, as if in possessing that one specimen of the femalerace he had a key to the whole species. His daughter was obedient--it wasone of her chief virtues; but somehow there was not quite such a gracefulair in her small concessions as he perceived in this little submission ofMiss Lovel's. 

Mr. Granger was rather a silent man; but my lady rattled on gaily in heraccustomed style, and while that perennial stream of small talk flowed on, Clarissa had leisure to observe the usurper. 

He was a tall man, six feet high perhaps, with a powerful and somewhatbulky frame, broad shoulders, a head erect and firmly planted as anobelisk, and altogether an appearance which gave a general idea ofstrength. He was not a bad-looking man by any means. His features werelarge and well cut, the mouth firm as iron, and unshadowed by beard ormoustache; the eyes gray and clear, but very cold. Such a man could surelybe cruel, Clarissa thought, with an inward shudder. He was a man who wouldhave looked grand in a judge's wig; a man whose eyes and eyebrows, loweredupon some trembling delinquent, might have been almost as awful as LordThurlow's. Even his own light-brown hair, faintly streaked with grey, whichhe wore rather long, had something of a leonine air. 

He listened to Lady Laura's trivial discourse with a manner which was nodoubt meant to be gracious, but with no great show of interest. Once hewent so far as to remark that the Castle gardens were looking very fine forso advanced a season, and attended politely to my lady's rather diffuseaccount of her triumphs in the orchid line. 

"I don't pretend to understand much about those things, " he said, in hisstately far-off way, as if he lived in some world quite remote from LadyLaura's, and of a superior rank in the catalogue of worlds. "They arepretty and curious, no doubt. My daughter interests herself considerably inthat sort of thing. We have a good deal of glass at Arden--more than I careabout. My head man tells me that I must have grapes and pines all the yearround: and since he insists upon it, I submit. But I imagine that a goodmany more of his pines and grapes find their way to Covent Garden than tomy table. "

Clarissa remembered the old kitchen-gardens at the Court in her father'stime, when the whole extent of "glass" was comprised by a couple ofdilapidated cucumber-frames, and a queer little greenhouse in a corner, where she and her brother had made some primitive experiments inhorticulture, and where there was a particular race of spiders, the biggestspecimens of the spidery species it had ever been her horror to encounter. 

"I wonder whether the little greenhouse is there still?" she thought. "O, no, no; battered down to the ground, of course, by this pompous man'sorder. I don't suppose I should know the dear old place, if I were to seeit now. "

"You are fond of botany, I suppose, Miss Lovel?" Mr. Granger askedpresently, with a palpable effort. He was not an adept in small talk, andthough in the course of years of dinner-eating and dinner-giving he hadbeen frequently called upon to address his conversation to young ladies, henever opened his lips to one of the class without a sense of constraintand an obvious difficulty. He had all his life been most at home in men'ssociety, where the talk was of grave things, and was no bad talker whenthe question in hand was either commercial or political. But as a richman cannot go through life without being cultivated more or less by thefrivolous herd, Mr. Granger had been compelled to conform himself somehowto the requirements of civilised society, and to talk in his stiff bald wayof things which he neither understood nor cared for. 

"I am fond of flowers, " Clarissa answered, "but I really know nothing ofbotany. I would always rather paint them than anatomise them. "

"Indeed! Painting is a delightful occupation for a young lady. My daughtersketches a little, but I cannot say that she has any remarkable talent thatway. She has been well taught, of course. "

"You will find Miss Lovel quite a first-rate artist, " said Lady Laura, pleased to praise her favourite. "I really know no one of her age with sucha marked genius for art. Everybody observes it. " And then, half afraidthat this praise might seem to depreciate Miss Granger, the good-natured_châtelaine_ went on, "Your daughter illuminates, I daresay?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, Lady Laura. I know that Sophia does some massykind of work involving the use of gums and colours. I have seen her engagedin it sometimes. And there are scriptural texts on the walls of ourpoor-schools which I conclude are her work. A young woman cannot have toomany pursuits. I like to see my daughter occupied. "

"Miss Granger reads a good deal, I suppose, like Clarissa, ' Lady Laurahazarded. 

"No, I cannot say that she does. My daughter's habits are active andenergetic rather than studious. Nor should I encourage her in givingmuch time to literature, unless the works she read were of a very solidcharacter. I have never found anything great achieved by reading men of myown acquaintance; and directly I hear that, a man is never so happy as inhis library, I put him down as a man whose life will be a failure. "

"But the great men of our day have generally been men of wide reading, havethey not?"

"I think not, Lady Laura. They have been men who have made a littlelearning go a long way. Of course there are numerous exceptions amongst thehighest class of all--statesmen, and so on. But for success in active life, I take it, a man cannot have his brain too clear of waste rubbish in theway of book-learning. He wants all his intellectual coin in his currentaccount, you see, ready for immediate use, not invested in out-of-the-waycorners, where he can't get at it. "

While Mr. Granger and my lady were arguing this question, Clarissa went tothe bookshelves and amused herself hunting for some attractive volumes. Daniel Granger followed the slender girlish figure with curious eyes. Nothing could have been more unexpected than this meeting with MarmadukeLovel's daughter. He had done his best, in the first year or so of hisresidence at the Court, to cultivate friendly relations with Mr. Lovel, and had most completely failed in that well-meant attempt. Some men in Mr. Granger's position might have been piqued by this coldness. But DanielGranger was not such a one; he was not given to undervalue the advantageof his friendship or patronage. A career of unbroken prosperity, and acharacter by nature self-contained and strong-willed, combined to sustainhis belief in himself. He could not for a moment conceive that Mr. Loveldeclined his acquaintance as a thing not worth having. He thereforeconcluded that the banished lord of Arden felt his loss too keenlyto endure to look upon his successor's happiness, and he pitied himaccordingly. It would have been the one last drop of bitterness inMarmaduke Lovel's cup to know that this man did pity him. Having thusfailed in cultivating anything approaching intimacy with the father, Mr. Granger was so much the more disposed to feel an interest--half curious, half compassionate--in the daughter. From the characterless ranks ofyoung-ladyhood this particular damsel stood out with unwonted distinctness. He found his mind wandering a little as he tried to talk with Lady Laura. He could not help watching the graceful figure yonder, the slim white-robedfigure standing out so sharply against the dark background of carved oakenbookshelves. 

Clarissa selected a couple of volumes to carry away with her presently, andthen came back to her seat by Lady Laura's sofa. She did not want to appearrude to Mr. Granger, or to disoblige her kind friend, who for some reasonor other was evidently anxious she should remain, or she would have beenonly too glad to run away to her own room. 

The talk went on. My lady was confidential after her manner communicatingher family affairs to Daniel Granger as freely as she might have done ifhe had been an uncle or an executor. She told him about her sister'sapproaching marriage and George Fairfax's expectations. 

"They will have to begin life upon an income that I daresay _you_ wouldthink barely sufficient for bread and cheese, " she said. 

Mr. Granger shook his head, and murmured that his own personal requirementscould be satisfied for thirty shillings a week. 

"I daresay. It is generally the case with millionaires. They give fourhundred a year to a cook, and dine upon a mutton-chop or a boiled chicken. But really Mr. Fairfax and Geraldine will be almost poor at first; only mysister has fortunately no taste for display, and George must have sown allhis wild oats by this time. I expect them to be a model couple, they are sothoroughly attached to each other. "

Clarissa opened one of her volumes and bent over it at this juncture. Wasthis really true? Did Lady Laura believe what she said? Was that problemwhich she had been perpetually trying to solve lately so very simple, afterall, and only a perplexity to her own weak powers of reason? Lady Lauramust be the best judge, of course, and she was surely too warm-hearteda woman to take a conventional view of things, or to rejoice in a meremarriage of convenience. No, it must be true. They really did love eachother, these two, and that utter absence of all those small signs andtokens of attachment which Clarissa had expected to see was only acharacteristic of good taste. What she had taken for coldness was merely anatural reserve, which at once proved their superior breeding and rebukedher own vulgar curiosity. 

From the question of the coming marriage, Lady Laura flew to the lightersubject of the ball. 

"I hope Miss Granger has brought a ball-dress; I told her all about ourball in my last note. "

"I believe she has provided herself for the occasion, " replied Mr. Granger. "I know there was an extra trunk, to which I objected when my people werepacking the luggage. Sophia is not usually extravagant in the matter ofdress. She has a fair allowance, of course, and liberty to exceed it onoccasion; but I believe she spends more upon her school-children andpensioners in the village than on her toilet. "

"Your ideas on the subject of costume are not quite so wide as Mr. Brummel's, I suppose, " said my lady. "Do you remember his reply, when ananxious mother asked him what she ought to allow her son for dress?"

Mr. Granger did not spoil my lady's delight in telling an anecdote byremembering; and he was a man who would have conscientiously declared hisfamiliarity with the story, had he known it. 

"'It might be done on eight hundred a year, madam, ' replied Brummel, 'withthe strictest economy. '"

Mr. Granger gave a single-knock kind of laugh. 

"Curious fellow, that Brummel, " he said. "I remember seeing him at Caen, when I was travelling as a young man. "

And so the conversation meandered on, my lady persistently lively in herpleasant commonplace way, Mr. Granger still more commonplace, and notat all lively. Clarissa thought that hour and a half in the library thelongest she had ever spent in her life. How different from that afternoonin the same room when George Fairfax had looked at his watch and declaredthe Castle bell must be wrong!

That infallible bell rang at last--a welcome sound to Clarissa, and perhapsnot altogether unwelcome to Lady Laura and Mr. Granger, who had more thanonce sympathised in a smothered yawn. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XII. 

MR. GRANGER IS INTERESTED. 

When Clarissa went to the great drawing-room dressed for dinner, she foundLizzie Fermor talking to a young lady whom she at once guessed to be MissGranger. Nor was she allowed to remain in any doubt of the fact; for thelively Lizzie beckoned her to the window by which they were seated, andintroduced the two young ladies to each other. 

"Miss Granger and I are quite old friends, " she said, "and I mean you tolike each other very much. "

Miss Granger bowed stiffly, but pledged herself to nothing. She was a tallyoung woman of about two-and-twenty, with very little of the tender graceof girlhood about her; a young woman who, by right of a stately carriageand a pair of handsome shoulders, might have been called fine-looking. Her features were not unlike her father's; and those eyes and eyebrows ofDaniel Granger's, which would have looked so well under a judicial wig, were reproduced in a modified degree in the countenance of his daughter. She had what would be generally called a fine complexion, fair and florid;and her hair, of which she had an abundant quantity, was of an insipidlight brown, and the straightest Clarissa had ever seen. Altogether, shewas a young lady who, invested with all the extraneous charms of herfather's wealth, would no doubt be described as attractive, and evenhandsome. She was dressed well, with a costly simplicity, in a dark-bluecorded silk, relieved by a berthe of old point lace, and the whiteness ofher full firm throat was agreeably set off by a broad band of black velvet, from which there hung a Maltese cross of large rubies. 

The two young ladies went on with their talk, which was chiefly of gaietiesthey had each assisted at since their last meeting, and people they hadmet. 

Clarissa, being quite unable to assist in this conversation, looked onmeekly, a little interested in Miss Granger, who was, like herself, anonly daughter, and about whose relations with her father she had begun towonder. Was he very fond of this only child, and in this, as in all else, unlike her own father? He had spoken of her that afternoon several times, and had even praised her, but somewhat coldly, and with a practicalmatter-of-course air, almost as Mr. Lovel might have spoken of his daughterif constrained to talk of her in society. 

Miss Granger said a good deal about the great people she had met that year. They seemed all to be more or less the elect of the earth: but she pulledherself up once or twice to protest that she cared very little for society;she was happier when employed with her schools and poor people--_that_ washer real element. 

"One feels all the other thing to be so purposeless and hollow, " she saidsententiously. "After a round of dinners and dances and operas and concertsin London, I always have a kind of guilty feeling. So much time wasted, andnothing to show for it. And really my poor are improving so wonderfully. If you could see my cottages, Miss Fermor!" (she did not say, "theircottages. ") "I give a prize for the cleanest floors and windows, anilluminated ticket for the neatest garden-beds. I don't suppose you couldget a sprig of groundsel for love or money in Arden village. I haveactually to cultivate it in a corner of the kitchen-garden for my canaries. I give another prize at Christmas for the most economical householdmanagement, accorded to the family which has dined oftenest without meatin the course of the year; and I give a premium of one per cent upon allinvestments in the Holborough savings-bank--one and a half in the case ofwidows; a complete suit of clothes to every woman who has attended morningand evening service without missing one Sunday in the year, the consequenceof which has been to put a total stop to cooking on the day of rest. Idon't believe you could come across so much as a hot potato on a Sunday inone of my cottages. "

"And do the husbands like the cold dinners?" Miss Fermor asked ratherflippantly. 

"I should hope that spiritual advantage would prevail over temporal luxury, even in their half-awakened minds, " replied Miss Granger. "I have neverinquired about their feelings on the subject. I did indeed hear that thevillage baker, who had driven a profitable trade every Sunday morningbefore my improvements, made some most insolent comments upon what I haddone. But I trust I can rise superior to the impertinence of a villagebaker. However, you must come to Arden and see my cottages, and judge foryourself; and if you could only know the benighted state in which I foundthese poor creatures----"

Lizzie Fermor glanced towards Clarissa, and then gave a little warninglook, which had the effect of stopping Miss Granger's disquisition. 

"I beg your pardon, Miss Lovel, " she said; "I forgot that I was talking ofyour own old parish. But you were a mere child, I believe, when youleft the Court, and of course could not be capable of effecting muchimprovement. "

"We were too poor to do much, or to give prizes, " Clarissa answered; "butwe gave what we could, and--and I think the people were fond of us. "

Miss Granger looked as if this last fact were very wide from the question. 

"I have never studied how to make the people fond of me, " she said. "Myconstant effort has been to make them improve themselves and their owncondition. All my plans are based upon that principle. 'If you want a newgown, cloak, and bonnet at Christmas, ' I tell the women, 'you mustearn them by unfailing attendance at church. If you wish to obtain themoney-gift I wish to give you, you must first show me something saved byyour own economy and self-sacrifice. ' To my children I hold out similarinducements--a prize for the largest amount of plain needlework, everystitch of which I make it my duty to examine through a magnifying glass; aprize for scrupulous neatness in dress; and for scripture knowledge. Ihave children in my Sunday-schools who can answer any question upon theOld-Testament history from Genesis to Chronicles. "

Clarissa gave a faint sigh, almost appalled by these wonders. Sheremembered the girls' Sunday-school in her early girlhood, and her ownpoor little efforts at instruction, in the course of which she had seldomcarried her pupils out of the Garden of Eden, or been able to get over therivers that watered that paradise, as described by the juvenile inhabitantsof Arden, without little stifled bursts of laughter on her own part; while, in the very midst of her most earnest endeavours, she was apt to find herbrother Austin standing behind her, tempting the juvenile mind by thesurreptitious offer of apples or walnuts. The attempts at teachinggenerally ended in merry laughter and the distribution of nuts and apples, with humble apologies to the professional schoolmistress for so useless anintrusion. 

Miss Granger had no time to enlarge farther upon her manifold improvementsbefore dinner, to which she was escorted by one of the officers fromSteepleton, the nearest garrison town, who happened to be dining there thatday, and was very glad to get an innings with the great heiress. The masterof Arden Court had the honour of escorting Lady Laura; but from his postby the head of the long table he looked more than once to that remote spotwhere Clarissa sat, not far from his daughter. My lady saw those curiousglances, and was delighted to see them. They might mean nothing, of course;but to that sanguine spirit they seemed an augury of success for the schemewhich had been for a long time hatching in the matron's busy brain. 

"What do you think of my pet, Mr. Granger?" she asked presently. 

Mr. Granger glanced at the ground near my lady's chair with rather apuzzled look, half expecting to see a Maltese spaniel or a flossy-hairedSkye terrier standing on its hind legs. 

"What do you think of my pet and _protégée_, Miss Lovel?"

"Miss Lovel! Well, upon my word, Lady Laura, I am so poor a judge of themerits of young ladies in a general way; but she really appears a veryamiable young person. "

"And is she not lovely?" asked Lady Laura, contemplating the distantClarissa in a dreamy way through her double eye-glass. "I think it is thesweetest face I ever saw. "

"She is certainly very pretty, " admitted Mr. Granger. "I was struck by herappearance this afternoon in the library. I suppose there is somethingreally out of the common in her face, for I am generally the mostunobservant of men in such matters. "

"Out of the common!" exclaimed Lady Laura. "My dear sir, it is such a faceas you do not see twice in a lifetime. Madame Recamier must have beensomething like that, I should fancy--a woman who could attract the eyesof all the people in the great court of the Luxembourg, and divide publicattention with Napoleon. "

Mr. Granger did not seem interested in the rather abstract question ofClarissa's possible likeness to Madame Recamier. 

"She is certainly very pretty, " he repeated in a meditative manner; andstared so long and vacantly at a fricandeau which a footman was justoffering him, that any less well-trained attendant must have left him inembarrassment. 

The next few days were enlivened by a good deal of talk about the ball, inwhich event Miss Granger did not seem to take a very keen interest. 

"I go to balls, of course, " she said; "one is obliged to do so: for itwould seem so ungracious to refuse one's friends' invitations; but I reallydo not care for them. They are all alike, and the rooms are always hot. "

"I don't think you will be able to say that here, " replied Miss Fermor. "Lady Laura's arrangements are always admirable; and there is to be animpromptu conservatory under canvas the whole length of the terrace, infront of the grand saloon where we are to dance, so that the six windowscan be open all the evening. "

"Then I daresay it will be a cold night, " said Miss Granger, who was notprone to admire other people's cleverness. "I generally find that it is so, when people take special precautions against heat. "

Clarissa naturally found herself thrown a good deal into Sophia Granger'ssociety; but though they worked, and drove, and walked together, and playedcroquet, and acted in the same charades, it is doubtful whether there wasreally much more sympathy between these two than between Clarissa and LadyGeraldine. There was perhaps less; for Clarissa Lovel had been interestedin Geraldine Challoner, and she was not in the faintest degree interestedin Miss Granger. The cold and shining surface of that young lady'scharacter emitted no galvanic spark. It was impossible to deny that she waswise and accomplished; that she did everything well that she attempted;that, although obviously conscious of her own supreme advantages as theheiress to a great fortune, she was benignly indulgent to the less blessedamong her sex, --it was impossible to deny all this; and yet it was not anymore easy to get on with Sophia Granger than with Lady Geraldine. 

One day, after luncheon, when a bevy of girls were grouped round the pianoin the billiard-room, Lizzie Fermor--who indulged in the wildest latitudeof discourse--was audacious enough to ask Miss Granger how she would likeher father to marry again. 

The faultless Sophia elevated her well-marked eyebrows with a look ofastonishment that ought to have frozen Miss Fermor. The eyebrows were ashard and as neatly pencilled as the shading in Miss Granger's landscapes. 

"Marry again!" she repeated, "papa!--if you knew him better, Miss Fermor, you would never speculate upon such a thing. Papa will never marry again. "

"Has he promised you that?" asked the irrepressible Lizzie. 

"I do not require any promise from him. I know him too well to have theslightest doubt upon the subject. Papa might have married brilliantly, again and again, since I was a little thing. " (It was rather difficult tofancy Miss Granger a "little thing" in any stage of her existence. ) "Butnothing has ever been more remote from his ideas than a second marriage. Ihave heard people regret it. "

"_You_ have not regretted it, of course. "

"I hope I know my duty too well, to wish to stand between papa and hishappiness. If it had been for his happiness to marry--a person of asuitable age and position, of course--I should not have considered my ownfeelings in the matter. "

"Well, I suppose not, " replied Lizzie, rather doubtfully; "still it is niceto have one's father all to oneself--to say nothing of being an heiress. And the worst of the business is, that when a widower of your papa's agedoes take it into his head to marry, he is apt to fall in love with somechit of a girl. "

Miss Granger stared at the speaker with a gaze as stony as Antigone herselfcould have turned upon any impious jester who had hinted that Oedipus, inhis blindness and banishment, was groping for some frivolous successor toJocasta. 

"My father in love with a girl!" she exclaimed. "What a very false idea youmust have formed of his character, Miss Fermor, when you can suggest suchan utter absurdity!"

"But, you see, I wasn't speaking of Mr. Granger, only of widowers ingeneral. I have seen several marriages of that kind--men of forty or fiftythrowing themselves away, I suppose one ought to say, upon girls scarcelyout of their teens. In some cases the marriage seems to turn out wellenough; but of course one does sometimes hear of things not going on quitehappily. "

Miss Granger was grave and meditative after this--perhaps half disposed tosuspect Elizabeth Fermor of some lurking design on her father. She hadbeen seated at the piano during this conversation, and now resumed herplaying--executing a sonata of Beethoven's with faultless precision and thehighest form of taught expression; so much emphasis upon each note--careful_rallentando_ here, a gradual _crescendo_ there; nothing careless orslapdash from the first bar to the last. She would play the same piece ahundred times without varying the performance by a hair's-breadth. Nor didshe affect anything but classical music. She was one of those young ladieswho, when asked for a waltz or a polka, freeze the impudent demander byreplying that they play no dance music--nothing more frivolous than Mozart. 

The day for the ball came, but there was no George Fairfax. Lady Geraldinehad arrived at the Castle on the evening before the festival, bringing anexcellent account of her father's health. He had been cheered by her visit, and was altogether so much improved, that his doctors would have given himpermission to come down to Yorkshire for his daughter's wedding. It wasonly his own valetudinarian habits and extreme dread of fatigue which hadprevented Lady Geraldine bringing him down in triumph. 

Lady Laura was loudly indignant at Mr. Fairfax's non-appearance; and forthe first time Clarissa heard Lady Geraldine defend her lover with somenatural and womanly air of proprietorship. 

"After pledging his word to me as he did!" exclaimed my lady, when it hadcome to luncheon-time and there were still no signs of the delinquent'sreturn. 

"But really, Laura, there is no reason he should not keep his word, "Geraldine answered, with her serene air. "You know men like to do thesethings in a desperate kind of way--as if they were winning a race. Idaresay he has made his plans so as not to leave himself more thanhalf-an-hour's margin, and will reach the Castle just in time to dress. "

"That is all very well; but I don't call that keeping his promise to me, to come rushing into the place just as we are beginning to dance; aftertravelling all night perhaps, and knocking himself up in all sorts ofways, and with no more animation or vivacity left in him than a man who iswalking in his sleep. Besides, he ought to consider our anxiety. "

"Your anxiety, if you please, Laura. I am not anxious. I cannot see thatGeorge's appearance at the ball is a matter of such vital importance. "

"But, my deal Geraldine, it would seem so strange for him to be away. People would wonder so. "

"Let them wonder, " Lady Geraldine replied, with a little haughty backwardmovement of her head, which was natural to her. 

Amongst the cases and packages which had been perpetually arriving fromLondon during the last week or so, there was one light deal box whichLady Laura's second maid brought to Clarissa's room one morning withher mistress's love. The box contained the airiest and most girlish ofball-dresses, all cloudlike white tulle, and the most entrancing wreath ofwild-roses and hawthorn, such a wreath as never before had crowned MissLovel's bright-brown hair. Of course there was the usual amount of thanksand kissing and raptures. 

"I am responsible to your father for your looking your best, you see, Clary, " Lady Laura said, laughing; "and I intend you to make quite asensation to-night. The muslin you meant to wear is very pretty, and willdo for some smaller occasion; but to-night is a field-night. Be sure youcome to me when you are dressed. I shall be in my own rooms till the peoplebegin to arrive; and I want to see you when Fosset has put her finishingtouches to your dress. "

Clarissa promised to present herself before her kind patroness. She wasreally pleased with her dress, and sincerely grateful to the giver. LadyLaura was a person from whom it was easy to accept benefits. There wassomething bounteous and expansive in her nature, and her own pleasure inthe transaction made it impossible for any but the most churlish recipientto feel otherwise than pleased. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XIII. 

OPEN TREASON. 

The ball began, and without the assistance of Mr. Fairfax--much tomy lady's indignation. She was scarcely consoled by the praises andcompliments she received on the subject of her arrangements anddecorations; but these laudations were so unanimous and so gratifying, that she did at last forget Mr. Fairfax's defection in the delight of suchperfect success. 

_The_ Duke--the one sovereign magnate of that district--a tallgrand-looking old man with white hair, even deigned to be pleased andsurprised by what she had done. 

"But then you have such a splendid platform to work upon, " he said; "Idon't think we have a place in Yorkshire that can compare with Hale. Youhad your decorators from London, of course?"

"No, indeed, your grace, " replied my lady, sparkling with delighted pride;"and if there is anything I can boast of, it is that. Fred wanted meto send for London people, and have the thing done in their wholesalemanner--put myself entirely into their hands, give them _carte blanche_, and so on; so that, till the whole business was finished, I shouldn'thave known what the place was to be like; but that is just the kind ofarrangement I detest. So I sent for one of my Holborough men, told himmy ideas, gave him a few preliminary sketches, and after a good manyconsultations and discussions, we arrived at our present notion. Abolishevery glimmer of gas, " I said, "and give me plenty of flowers andwax-candles. The rest is mere detail. "

Everything was successful; Miss Granger's prophecy of cold weather washappily unfulfilled. The night was unusually still and sultry, a broadharvest moon steeping terraces and gardens in tender mellow light; not abreath to stir the wealth of blossoms, or to flutter the draperies of themany windows, all wide open to the warm night--a night of summer at thebeginning of autumn. 

Clarissa found herself in great request for the dances, and danced morethan she had done since the days of her schoolgirl waltzes and polkas inthe play-room at Belforêt. It was about an hour after the dancing hadbegun, when Lady Laura brought her no less a partner than Mr. Granger, whohad walked a solemn quadrille or two with a stately dowager, and whoserequest was very surprising to Clarissa. She had one set of quadrilles, however, unappropriated on her card, and expressed herself at Mr. Granger'sdisposal for that particular dance, and then tripped away, to be whirledround the great room by one of her military partners. 

Daniel Granger stood amongst the loungers at one end of the room, watchingthat aerial revolving figure. Yes, Lady Laura was right; she was verylovely. In all his life he had never before paid much heed to femaleloveliness, any more than to the grandeurs and splendours of nature, oranything beyond the narrow boundary of his own successful commonplaceexistence. But in this girl's face there was something that attracted hisattention, and dwelt in his memory when he was away from her; perhaps, after all, it was the result of her position rather than her beauty. It wasnatural that he should be interested in her, poor child. He had robbed herof her home, or it would seem so to her, no doubt; and she had let him seethat she set an exaggerated value on that lost home, that she clung to itwith a morbid sentimentality. 

"I should not wonder if she hates me, " he said to himself. He had neverthought as much about her father, but then certainly he had never beenbrought into such close contact with her father. 

He waited quietly for that appointed quadrille, declining a dance in whichLady Laura would have enlisted him, and keeping a close watch upon Clarissaduring the interval. What a gay butterfly creature she seemed to-night! Hecould scarcely fancy this was the same girl who had spoken so mournfullyof her lost home in the library that afternoon. He looked from her tohis daughter for a moment, comparing the two; Sophia resplendent in pinkareophane and pearls, and showing herself not above the pleasures of apolka; eminently a fine young woman, but O, of what a different day fromthat other one!

Once Miss Fermor, passing the rich man on the arm of her partner, surprisedthe watchful gray eyes with a new look in them--a look that was neithercold nor stern. 

"So, my gentleman, " thought the lively Lizzie, "is it that way your fanciesare drifting? It was I whom you suspected of dangerous designs the otherday, Miss Granger. Take care your papa doesn't fall into a deeper pitfall. I should like to see him marry again, if it were only to take down thatgreat pink creature's insolence. " Whereby it will be seen that Miss Grangerwas not quite so popular among her contemporaries as, in the serenity ofher self-possessed soul, she was wont to imagine herself. 

The quadrille began presently, and Clarissa walked through its seriousmazes with the man whom she was apt to consider the enemy of her race. Shecould not help wondering a little to find herself in this position, and herreplies to Mr. Granger's commonplace remarks were somewhat mechanical. 

Once he contrived to bring the conversation round to Arden Court. 

"It would give me so much pleasure to see you there as my daughter'sguest, " he said, in a warmer tone than was usual to him, "and I reallythink you would be interested in her parish-work. She has done wonders in asmall way. "

"I have no doubt. You are very kind, " faltered Clarissa; "but I do not theleast understand how to manage people as Miss Granger does, and I could notbear to come to the Court. I was so happy there with my brother, and nowthat he is gone, and that I am forbidden even to mention his name, theassociations of the place would be too painful. "

Mr. Granger grew suddenly grave and silent. 

"Yes, there was that business about the brother, " he thought to himself;"a bad business no doubt, or the father would never have turned him out ofdoors--something very queer perhaps. A strange set these Lovels evidently. The father a spendthrift, the son something worse. "

And then he looked down at Clarissa, and thought again how lovely she was, and pitied her for her beauty and her helplessness--the daughter of such afather, the sister of such a brother. 

"But she will marry well, of course, " he said to himself, just as GeorgeFairfax had done; "all these young fellows seem tremendously struck byher. I suppose she is the prettiest girl in the room. She will make a goodmatch, I daresay, and get out of her father's hands. It must be a drearylife for her in that cottage, with, a selfish disappointed man. "

The night waned, and there was no George Fairfax. Lady Geraldine boreherself bravely, and danced a good deal more than she would have done, hadthere not been appearances to be kept up. She had to answer a great manyquestions about her lover, and she answered all with supreme frankness. Hewas away in Scotland with some bachelor friends, enjoying himself no doubt. He promised to be with them to-night, and had broken his promise; that wasall--she was not afraid of any accident. 

"I daresay he found the grouse-shooting too attractive, " she said coolly. 

After supper, while the most determined of the waltzers were still spinninground to a brisk _deux temps_ of Charles d'Albert's, Clarissa was fain totell the last of her partners she could dance no more. 

"I am not tired of the ball, " she said; "I like looking on, but I reallycan't dance another step. Do go and get some one else for this waltz; Iknow you are dying to dance it. "

This was to the devoted Captain Westleigh, a person with whom Miss Levelalways felt very much at home. 

"With _you_, " he answered tenderly. "But if you mean to sit down, I am atyour service. I would not desert you for worlds. And you really are lookinga little pale. Shall we find some pleasanter place? That inner room, looksdeliciously cool. "

He offered his arm to Clarissa, and they walked slowly away towards a smallroom at the end of the saloon; a room which Lady Laura had arranged with anartful eye to effect, leaving it almost in shadow. There were only a fewwax-candles glimmering here and there among the cool dark foliage of theferns and pitcher-plants that filled every niche and corner, and themoonlight shone full into the room through a wide window that opened upon astone balcony a few feet above the terrace. 

"If I am left alone with her for five minutes, I am sure I shall propose, "Captain Westleigh thought, on beholding the soft secluded aspect of thisapartment, which was untenanted when he and Clarissa entered it. 

She sank down upon a sofa near the window, more thoroughly tired than shehad confessed. This long night of dancing and excitement was quite a newthing to her. It was nearly over now, and the reaction was coming, bringingwith it that vague sense of hopelessness and disappointment which had sogrown upon her of late. She had abandoned herself fully to the enchantmentof the ball, almost losing the sense of her own identity in that brilliantscene. But self-consciousness came back to her now, and she remembered thatshe was Clarissa Lovel, for whom life was at best a dreary business. 

"Can I get you anything?" asked the Captain, alarmed by her pallor. 

"Thanks, you are very kind. If it would not be too much trouble--I knowthe refreshment-room is a long way off--but I should be glad of a littlewater. "

"I'll get some directly. But I really am afraid you are ill, " said theCaptain, looking at her anxiously, scarcely liking to leave her for fearshe should faint before he came back. 

"No, indeed, I am not ill--only very tired. If you'll let me lest here alittle without talking. "

She half closed her eyes. There was a dizziness in her head very much likethe preliminary stage of fainting. 

"My dear Miss Lovel, I should be a wretch to bore you. I'll go for thewater this moment. "

He hurried away. Clarissa gave a long weary sigh, and that painfuldizziness passed off in some degree. All she wanted was air, she thought, if there had been any air to be got that sultry night. She rose from thesofa presently, and went out upon the balcony. Below her was the river; nota ripple upon the water, not a breath stirring the rushes on the banks. Between the balcony and the river there was a broad battlemented walk, andin the embrasures where cannon had once been there were great stone vasesof geraniums and dwarf roses, which seemed only masses of dark foliage inthe moonlight. 

The Captain was some little time gone for that glass of water. Clarissa hadforgotten him and his errand as she sat upon a bench in the balcony withher elbow leaning on the broad stone ledge, looking down at the water andthinking of her own life--thinking what it might have been if everything inthe world had been different. 

A sudden step on the walk below startled her, and a low voice said, "I would I were a glove upon that hand, that I might kiss that cheek. "

She knew the voice directly, but was not less startled at hearing it justthen. The step came near her, and in the next moment a dark figure hadswung itself lightly upward from the path below, and George Fairfax wasseated on the angle of the massive balustrade. 

"Juliet!" he said, in the same low voice, "what put it into your head toplay Juliet to-night? As if you were not dangerous enough without that. "

"Mr. Fairfax, how could you startle me so? Lady Laura has been expectingyou all the evening. "

"I suppose so. But you don't imagine I've been hiding in the garden all theevening, like the man in Tennyson's _Maud_? I strained heaven and earth tobe here in time; but there was a break-down between Edinburgh and Carlisle. Nothing very serious: an engine-driver knocked about a little, and a fewpassengers shaken and bruised more or less, but I escaped unscathed, andhad to cool my impatience for half a dozen hours at a dingy little stationwhere there was no refreshment for body or mind but a brown jug oftepid water and a big Bible. There I stayed till I was picked up by thenight-mail, and here I am. I think I shall stand absolved by my lady whenshe reads the account of my perils in to-morrow's papers. People are justgoing away, I suppose. It would be useless for me to dress and put in anappearance now. "

"I think Lady Laura would be glad to see you. She has been very anxious, Iknow. "

"Her sisterly cares shall cease before she goes to sleep to-night. Sheshall be informed that I am in the house; and I will make my peaceto-morrow morning. "

He did not go away however, and Clarissa began to feel that there wassomething embarrassing in her position. He had stepped lightly across thebalustrade, and had seated himself very near her, looking down at her face. 

"Clarissa, do you know what has happened to me since I have been away fromthis place?"

She looked up at him with an alarmed expression. It was the first time hehad ever uttered her Christian name, but his tone was so serious as to makethat a minor question. 

"You cannot guess, I suppose, " he went on, "I've made a discovery--a mostperplexing, most calamitous discovery. "

"What is that?"

"I have found out that I love you. "

Her hand was lying on the broad stone ledge. He took it in his firm grasp, and held it as he went on:

"Yes, Clarissa; I had my doubts before I went away, but thought I wasmaster of myself in this, as I have been in other things, and fanciedmyself strong enough to strangle the serpent. But it would not bestrangled, Clarissa; it has wound itself about my heart, and here I sit byyour side dishonoured in my own sight, come what may--bound to one womanand loving another with all my soul--yes, with all my soul. What am I todo?"

"Your duty, " Clarissa answered, in a low steady voice. 

Her heart was beating so violently that she wondered at her power to utterthose two words. What was it that she felt--anger, indignation? Alas, no;Pride, delight, rapture, stirred that undisciplined heart. She knew nowwhat was wanted to make her life bright and happy; she knew now that shehad loved George Fairfax almost from the first. And her own duty--the dutyshe was bound in honour to perform--what was that? Upon that question shehad not a moment's doubt. Her duty was to resign him without a murmur;never to let him know that he had touched her heart. Even after having donethis, there would be much left to her--the knowledge that he had loved her. 

"My duty! what is that?" he asked in a hoarse hard voice. "To keep faithwith Geraldine, whatsoever misery it may bring upon both of us? I am notone of those saints who think of everybody's happiness before their own, Clarissa. I am very human, with all humanity's selfishness. I want tobe happy. I want a wife for whom I can feel something more than a coldwell-bred liking. I did not think that it was in me to feel more than that. I thought I had outlived my capacity for loving, wasted the strength of myheart's youth on worthless fancies, spent all my patrimony of affection;but the light shines on me again, and I thank God that it is so. Yes, Clarissa, come what may, I thank my God that I am not so old a man in heartand feeling as I thought myself. "

Clarissa tried to stem the current of his talk, with her heart stillbeating stormily, but with semblance of exceeding calmness. 

"I must not hear you talk in this wild way, Mr. Fairfax, " she said. "I feelas if I had been guilty of a sin against Lady Geraldine in having listenedso long. But I cannot for a moment think you are in earnest. "

"Do not play the Jesuit, Clarissa. You _know_ that I am in earnest. "

"Then the railway accident must have turned your brain, and I can only hopethat to-morrow morning will restore your reason. "

"Well, I am mad, if you like--madly in love with you. What am I to do? Ifwith some show of decency I can recover my liberty--by an appeal to LadyGeraldine's generosity, for instance--believe me, I shall not break herheart; our mutual regard is the calmest, coolest sentiment possible--if Ican get myself free from this engagement, will you be my wife, Clarissa?"

"No; a thousand times no. "

"You don't care for me, then? The madness is all on my side?"

"The madness--if you are really in earnest, and not carrying on some absurdjest--is all on your side. "

"Well, that seems hard. I was vain enough to think otherwise. I thought sostrong a feeling on one side could not co-exist with perfect indifferenceon the other. I fancied there was something like predestination in this, and that my wandering unwedded soul had met its other half--it's an oldGreek notion, you know, that men and women were made in pairs--but I wasmiserably mistaken, I suppose. How many lovers have you rejected since youleft school, Miss Lovel?" he asked with a short bitter laugh. "Geraldineherself could not have given me my quietus more coldly. "

He was evidently wounded to the quick, being a creature spoiled by easyconquests, and would have gone on perhaps in the same angry strain, butthere was a light step on the floor within, and Lady Laura Armstrong camequickly towards the balcony. 

"My dearest Clary, Captain Westleigh tells me that you are quite knockedup--" she began; and then recognizing the belated traveller, cried out, "George Fairfax! Is it possible?"

"George Fairfax, my dear Lady Laura, and not quite so base a delinquent ashe seems. I must plead guilty to pushing matters to the last limit; butI made my plans to be here at seven o'clock this evening, and shouldinevitably have arrived at that hour, but for a smash between Edinburgh andCarlisle. "

"An accident! Were you hurt?"

"Not so much as shaken; but the break-down lost me half a dozen hours. We were stuck for no end of time at a dingy little station whose name Iforget, and when I did reach Carlisle, it was too late for any train tobring me on, except the night-mail, which does not stop at Holborough. Ihad to post from York, and arrived about ten minutes ago--too late foranything except to prove to you that I did make heroic efforts to keep myword. "

"And how, in goodness' name, did you get here, to this room, without myseeing you?"

"From the garden. Finding myself too late to make an appearance in theball-room, I prowled round the premises, listening to the sounds of revelrywithin; and then seeing Miss Lovel alone here--playing Juliet without aRomeo--I made so bold as to accost her and charge her with a message foryou. "

"You are amazingly considerate; but I really cannot forgive you for havingdeferred your return to the last moment. You have quite spoilt Geraldine'sevening, to say nothing of the odd look your absence must have to ourfriends. I shall tell her you have arrived, and I suppose that is all I cando. You must want some supper, by the bye: you'll find plenty of people inthe dining-room. "

"No, thanks; I had some cold chicken and coffee at Carlisle. I'll ringfor a soda-and-brandy when I get to my room, and that's all I shall doto-night. Good-night, Lady Laura; good-night, Miss Lovel. "

He dropped lightly across the balcony and vanished. Lady Laura stood inthe window for a few moments in a meditative mood, and then, looking upsuddenly, said, "O, by the bye, Clarissa, I came to fetch you for another dance, the lastquadrille, if you feel well enough to dance it. Mr. Granger wants you for apartner. "

"I don't think I can dance any more, Lady Laura. I refused CaptainWestleigh the last waltz. "

"Yes, but a quadrille is different. However, if you are really tired, Imust tell Mr. Granger so. What was George Fairfax saying to you just now?You both looked prodigiously serious. "

"I really don't know--I forget--it was nothing very particular, "Clarissa answered, conscious that she was blushing, and confused by thatconsciousness. 

Lady Laura looked at her with a sharp scrutinising glance. 

"I think it would have been better taste on George's part if he had takencare to relieve my sister's anxiety directly he arrived, instead of actingthe balcony scene in _Romeo and Juliet_. I must go back to Mr. Granger withyour refusal, Clarissa. O, here comes Captain Westleigh with some water. "

The Captain did appear at this very moment carrying a glass of thatbeverage, much to Clarissa's relief, for a _tête-à-tête_ with Lady Laurawas very embarrassing to her just now. 

"My dear Miss Lovel, you must think me an utter barbarian, " exclaimedthe Captain; "but you really can't conceive the difficulties I've had toovercome. It seemed as if there wasn't a drop of iced water to be had inthe Castle. If you'd wanted Strasburg pies or barley-sugar temples, I couldhave brought you them by cartloads. Moselle and Maraschino are the merestdrugs in the market; but not a creature could I persuade to get me thisglass of water. Of course the fellows all said, 'Yes, sir;' and then wentoff and forgot all about me. And even when I had got my prize, I waswaylaid by thirsty dowagers who wanted to rob me of it. It was likesearching for the North-west Passage. "

Lady Laura had departed by this time. Clarissa drank some of the water andtook the Captain's arm to return to the ball-room, which was beginning tolook a little empty. On the threshold of the saloon they met Mr. Granger. 

"I am so sorry to hear you are not well, Miss Lovel, " he said. 

"Thank you, Mr. Granger, but I am really not ill--only too tired to danceany more. "

"So Lady Laura tells me--very much to my regret. I had hoped for the honourof dancing this quadrille with you. "

"If you knew how rarely Mr. Granger dances, you'd consider yourself ratherdistinguished, I think, Miss Lovel, " said the Captain, laughing. 

"Well, no, I don't often dance, " replied Mr. Granger, with a shade ofconfusion in his manner; "but really, such a ball as this quite inspires aman--and Lady Laura was good enough to wish me to dance. "

He remained by Clarissa's side as they walked back through the rooms. Theywere near the door when Miss Granger met them, looking as cold and primin her pink crape and pearls as if she had that moment emerged from herdressing-room. 

"Do you know how late it is, papa?" she asked, contemplating her parentwith severe eyes. 

"Well, no, one does not think of time upon such an occasion as this. Isuppose it is late; but it would not do for us of the household to desertbefore the rest of the company. "

"I was thinking of saying good-night, " answered Miss Granger. "I don'tsuppose any one would miss me, or you either, papa, if we slipped awayquietly; and I am sure you will have one of your headaches to-morrowmorning. "

There is no weapon so useful in the hands of a dutiful child as somechronic complaint of its parent. A certain nervous headache from which Mr. Granger suffered now and then served the fair Sophia as a kind of rod forhis correction on occasions. 

"I am not tired, my dear. "

"O, papa, I know your constitution better than you do yourself. Poor LadyLaura, how worn out she must be!"

"Lady Laura has been doing wonders all the evening, " said CaptainWestleigh. "She has been as ubiquitous as Richmond at Bosworth, and she hasthe talent of never seeming tired. "

Clarissa took the first opportunity of saying good-night. If so important aperson as the heiress of Arden Court could depart and not leave a void inthe assembly, there could be assuredly no fear that she would be missed. Mr. Granger shook hands with her for the first time in his life as hewished her good-night, and then stood in the doorway watching her recedingfigure till it was beyond his ken. 

"I like your friend Miss Lovel, Sophia, " he said to his daughter presently. 

"Miss Lovel is hardly a friend of mine, papa, " replied that young ladysomewhat sharply. "I am not in the habit of making sudden friendships, andI have not known Miss Lovel a week. Besides which, she is not the kind ofgirl I care for. "

"Why not?" asked her father bluntly. 

"One can scarcely explain that kind of thing. She is too frivolous for meto get on very well with her. She takes no real interest in my poor, inspite of her connection with Arden, or in church music. I think she hardlyknows one _Te Deum_ from another. "

"She is rather a nice girl, though, " said the Captain, who would fain beloyal to Clarissa, yet for whom the good opinion of such an heiress is MissGranger could not be a matter of indifference--there was always the chancethat she might take a fancy to him, as he put it to his brother-officers, and what a lucky hit that would be! "She's a nice girl, " he repeated, "anduncommonly pretty. "

"I was not discussing her looks, Captain Westleigh, " replied Miss Grangerwith some asperity; "I was talking of her ideas and tastes, which are quitedifferent from mine. I am sorry you let Lady Laura persuade you to dancewith a girl like that, papa. You may have offended old friends, who wouldfancy they had a prior claim on your attention. "

Mr. Granger laughed at this reproof. 

"I didn't think a quadrille was such a serious matter, Sophy, " he said. "And then, you see, when a man of my age does make a fool of himself, helikes to have the prettiest girl in the room for his partner. "

Miss Granger made an involuntary wry face, as if she had been eatingsomething nasty. Mr. Granger gave a great yawn, and, as the rooms by thistime were almost empty, made his way to Lady Laura in order to offer hiscongratulations upon her triumph before retiring to rest. 

For once in a way, the vivacious châtelaine of Hale Castle was almostcross. 

"Do you really think the ball has gone off well?" she asked incredulously. "It seems to me to have been an elaborate failure. " She was thinking ofthose two whom she had surprised tête-à-tête in the balcony, and wonderingwhat George Fairfax could have been saying to produce Clarissa's confusion. Clarissa was her protégée, and she was responsible to her sister Geraldinefor any mischief brought about by her favourite. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MORNING AFTER. 

The day after the ball was a broken straggling kind of day, after the usualmanner of the to-morrow that succeeds a festival. Hale Castle was full tooverflowing with guests who, having been invited to spend one night, werepressed to stay longer. The men spent their afternoon for the most part inthe billiard-room, after a late lingering luncheon, at which there wasa good deal of pleasant gossip. The women sat together in groups in thedrawing-room, pretending to work, but all desperately idle. It was afine afternoon, but no one cared for walking or driving. A few youthfulenthusiasts did indeed get up a game at croquet, but even thissoul-enthralling sport was pursued with a certain listlessness. 

Mr. Fairfax and Lady Geraldine walked in the garden. To all appearance, aperfect harmony prevailed between them. Clarissa, sitting alone in an orielat the end of the drawing-room, watched them with weary eyes and a dullload at her heart, wondering about them perpetually, with a painful wonder. 

If she could only have gone home, she thought to herself, what a refugethe dull quiet of her lonely life would have been! She had not slept fiveminutes since the festival of last night, but had lain tossing wearily fromside to side, thinking of what George Fairfax had said to her--thinking ofwhat might have been and could never be, and then praying that she might doher duty; that she might have strength to keep firmly to the right, if heshould try to tempt her again. 

He would scarcely do that, she thought. That wild desperate talk of lastnight was perhaps the merest folly--a caprice of the moment, the shallowestrodomontade, which he would be angry with himself for having spoken. Shetold herself that this was so; but she knew now, as she had not knownbefore last night, that she had given this man her heart. 

It would be a hard thing to remain at Hale to perform her part in the grandceremonial of the marriage, and yet keep her guilty secret hidden fromevery eye; above all, from his whom it most concerned. But there seemed nopossibility of escape from this ordeal, unless she were to be really ill, and excused on that ground. She sat in the oriel that afternoon, wonderingwhether a painful headache, the natural result of her sleeplessness andhyper-activity of brain, might not be the beginning of some seriousillness--a fever perhaps, which would strike her down for a time and makean end to all her difficulties. 

She had been sitting in the window for a long time quite alone, looking outat the sunny garden and those two figures passing and repassing upon anelevated terrace, with such an appearance of being absorbed in each other'stalk, and all-sufficient for each other's happiness. It seemed to Clarissathat she had never seen them so united before. Had he been laughing ather last night? she asked herself indignantly; was that balcony scene apractical joke? He had been describing it to Lady Geraldine perhaps thisafternoon, and the two had been laughing together at her credulity. She wasin so bitter a mood just now that she was almost ready to believe this. 

She had been sitting thus a long time, tormented by her own thoughts, andhearing the commonplace chatter of those cheerful groups, now loud, nowlow, without the faintest feeling of interest, when a heavy step soundedon the floor near her, and looking up suddenly, she saw Mr. Grangerapproaching her solitary retreat. The cushioned seat in the oriel, theample curtains falling on either side of her, had made a refuge in whichshe felt herself alone, and she was not a little vexed to find her retreatdiscovered. 

The master of Arden Court drew a chair towards the oriel, and seatedhimself deliberately, with an evident intention of remaining. Clarissa wasobliged to answer his courteous inquiries about her health, to admit herheadache as an excuse for the heaviness of her eyes, and then to go ontalking about everything he chose to speak of. He did not talk stupidly byany means, but rather stiffly, and with the air of a man to whom friendlyconverse with a young lady was quite a new thing. He spoke to her a gooddeal about the Court and its surroundings--which seemed to her an error intaste--and appeared anxious to interest her in all his improvements. 

"You really must come and see the place, Miss Lovel, " he said. "I shall bedeeply wounded if you refuse. "

"I will come if you wish it, " Clarissa answered meekly; "but you cannotimagine how painful the sight of the dear old house will be to me. "

"A little painful just for the first time, perhaps. But that sort offeeling will soon wear off. You will come, then? That is settled. I want towin your father's friendship if I can, and I look to you to put me in theright way of doing so. "

"You are very good, but papa is so reserved--eccentric, I suppose mostpeople would call him--and he lives shut up in himself, as it were. Ihave never known him make a new friend. Even my uncle Oliver and he seemscarcely more than acquaintances; and yet I know my uncle would do anythingto serve us, and I believe papa knows it too. "

"We must trust to time to break down that reserve, Miss Lovel, " Mr. Grangerreturned cheerily; "and you will come to see us at the Court--that isunderstood. I want you to inspect Sophia's schools, and sewing classes, andcooking classes, and goodness knows what. There are plenty of peoplewho remember you, and will be delighted to welcome you amongst them. I haveheard them say how kind you were to them before you went abroad. "

"I had so little money, " said Clarissa, "I could do hardly anything. "

"But, after all, money is not everything with that class of people. Nodoubt they like it better than anything in the present moment; but assoon as it is gone they forget it, and are not apt to be grateful forsubstantial benefits in the past. But past kindness they do remember. Evenin my own experience, I have known men who have been ungrateful for largepecuniary benefits, and yet have cherished the memory of some smallkindness; a mere friendly word perhaps, spoken at some peculiar momentin their lives. No, Miss Lovel, you will not find yourself forgotten atArden. "

He was so very earnest in this assurance, that Clarissa could not helpfeeling that he meant to do her a kindness. She was ashamed of her unworthyprejudice against him, and roused herself with a great effort from herabstraction, in order to talk and listen to Mr. Granger with all duecourtesy. Nor had she any farther opportunity of watching those two figurespacing backward and forward upon the terrace; for Mr. Granger contrivedto occupy her attention till the dressing-bell rang, and afforded her theusual excuse for hurrying away. 

She was one of the last to return to the drawing-room, and to her surprisefound Mr. Granger by her side, offering his arm in his stately way when theprocession began to file off to the dining-room, oblivious of the claimswhich my lady's matronly guests might have upon him. 

Throughout that evening Mr. Granger was more or less by Clarissa's side. His daughter, perceiving this with a scarcely concealed astonishment, turned a deaf ear to the designing compliments of Captain Westleigh (whotold himself that a fellow might just as well go in for a good thing asnot when he had a chance), and came across the room to take part in herparent's conversation. She even tried to lure him away on some pretenceor other; but this was vain. He seemed rooted to his chair by Clarissa'sside--she listlessly turning over a folio volume of steel plates, hepointing out landscapes and scenes which had been familiar to him in hiscontinental rambles, and remarking upon them in a somewhat disjointedfashion--"Marathon, yes--rather flat, isn't it? But the mountains make afine background. We went there with guides one day, when I was a young man. The Acropolis--hum! ha!--very fine ruins, but a most inconvenient place toget at. Would you like to see Greece, Miss Lovel?"

Clarissa gave a little sigh--half pain, half rapture. What chance had sheof ever treading that illustrious soil, of ever emerging from the bondageof her dull life? She glanced across the room to the distant spot whereLady Geraldine and George Fairfax sat playing chess. _He_ had been there. She remembered his pleasant talk of his wanderings, on the night of theirrailroad journey. 

"Who would not like to see Greece?" she said. 

"Yes, of course, " Mr. Granger answered in his most prosaic way. "It's acountry that ought to be remarkably interesting; but unless one is verywell up in its history, one is apt to look at everything in a vagueuncertain sort of manner. A mountain here, and a temple there--and then theguides and that kind of people contrive to vulgarise everything somehow;and then there is always an alarm about brigands, to say nothing of thebadness of the inns. I really think you would be disappointed in Greece, Miss Lovel. "

"Let me keep my dream, " Clarissa answered rather sadly "I am never likelyto see the reality. "

"You cannot be sure of that; at your age all the world is before you. "

"You have read Grote, of course, Miss Lovel?" said Miss Granger, who hadread every book which a young lady ought to have read, and who ratherprided herself upon the solid nature of her studies. 

"Yes, I have read a good deal of Grote, " Clarissa replied meekly. 

Miss Granger looked at her as if she rather doubted this assertion, andwould like to have come down upon her with some puzzling question about theArchons or the Areopagus, but thought better of it, and asked her father ifhe had been talking to Mr. Purdew. 

Mr. Purdew was a landed gentleman of some standing, whose estate lay nearArden Court, and who had come with his wife and daughters to Lady Laura'sball. 

"He in sitting over there, near the piano, " added Sophia; "I expected tofind you enjoying a chat with him. "

"I had my chat with Purdew after luncheon, " answered Mr. Granger; andthen he went on turning the leaves for Clarissa with a solemn air, andoccasionally pointing out to her some noted feature in a landscape orcity. His daughter stared at him in supreme astonishment. She had seenhim conventionally polite to young ladies before to-night, but this wassomething more than conventional politeness. He kept his place all theevening, and all that Sophia could do was to remain on guard. 

When Clarissa was lighting her candle at a table in the corridor, Mr. Fairfax came up to her for the first time since the previous night. 

"I congratulate you on your conquest, Miss Lovel, " he said in a low voice. 

She looked up at him with a pale startled face, for she had not knownthat he was near her till his voice sounded close in her ear. "I don'tunderstand you, " she stammered. 

"O, of course not; young ladies never can understand that sort of thing. But I understand it very well, and it throws a pretty clear light upon ourinterview last night. I wasn't quite prepared for such wise counsel as yougave me then. I can see now whence came the strength of your wisdom. It isa victory worth achieving, Miss Lovel. It means Arden Court. --Yes, that's avery good portrait, isn't it?" he went on in a louder key, looking up ata somewhat dingy picture, as a little cluster of ladies came towards thetable; "a genuine Sir Joshua, I believe. "

And then came the usual good-nights, and Clarissa went away to her roomwith those words in her ears, "It means Arden Court. "

Could he be cruel enough to think so despicably of her as this? Could hesuppose that she wanted to attract the attention of a man old enough to beher father, only because he was rich and the master of the home she loved?The fact is that Mr. Fairfax--not too good or high-principled a man at thebest of times, and yet accounting himself an honourable gentleman--wasangry with himself and the whole world, most especially angry withClarissa, because she had shown herself strong where he had thought to findher weak. Never before had his vanity been so deeply wounded. He had halfresolved to sacrifice himself for this girl--and behold, she cared nothingfor him!

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XV. 

CHIEFLY PATERNAL. 

The preparations for the wedding went on. Clarissa's headache did notdevelop into a fever, and she had no excuse for flying from Hale Castle. Her father, who had written Lady Laura Armstrong several courteous littlenotes expressing his gratitude for her goodness to his child, surprisedMiss Lovel very much by appearing at the Castle one fine afternoon to makea personal acknowledgment of his thankfulness. He consented to remain todinner, though protesting that he had not dined away from home--except athis brother-in-law's--for a space of years. 

"I am a confirmed recluse, my dear Lady Laura, a worn-out old bookworm, with no better idea of enjoyment than a good fire and a favourite author, "he said; "and I really feel myself quite unfitted for civilised society. But you have a knack at commanding, and to hear is to obey; so if youinsist upon it, and will pardon my morning-dress, I remain. "

Mr. Lovel's morning-dress was a suit of rather clerical-looking black froma fashionable West-end tailor--a costume that would scarcely outrage theproprieties of a patrician dinner-table. 

"Clarissa shall show you the gardens between this and dinner-time, "exclaimed Lady Laura. "It's an age since you've seen them, and I want toknow your opinion of my improvements. Besides, you must have so much to sayto her. "

Clarissa blushed, remembering how very little her father ever had to say toher of a confidential nature, but declared that she would be very pleasedto show him the gardens; so after a little more talk with my lady they setout together. 

"Well, Clary, " Mr. Lovel began, with his kindest air, "you are making along stay of it. "

"Too long, papa. I should be so glad to come home. Pray don't think meungrateful to Lady Laura, she is all goodness; but I am so tired of thiskind of life, and I do so long for the quiet of home. "

"Tired of this kind of life! Did ever any one hear of such a girl! I reallythink there are some people who would be tired of Paradise. Why, child, it is the making of you to be here! If I were as rich as--as that fellowGranger, for instance; confound Croesus!--I couldn't give you a betterchance. You must stay here as long as that good-natured Lady Laura likesto have you; and I hope you'll have booked a rich husband before you comehome. I shall be very much disappointed if you haven't. "

"I wish you would not talk in that way, papa; nothing would ever induce meto marry for money. "

"_For_ money; no, I suppose not, " replied Mr. Lovel testily; "but you mightmarry a man _with_ money. There's no reason that a rich man should beinferior to the rest of his species. I don't find anything so remarkablyagreeable in poor men. "

"I am not likely to marry foolishly, papa, or to offend you in that way, "Clarissa answered with a kind of quiet firmness, which her father inwardlyexecrated as "infernal obstinacy;" "but no money in the world would be thefaintest temptation to me. "

"Humph! Wait till some Yorkshire squire offers you a thousand a yearpin-money; you'll change your tone then, I should hope. Have you seenanything of that fellow Granger, by the way?"

"I have seen a good deal of Mr. And Miss Granger, papa. They have beenstaying here for a fortnight, and are here now. "

"You don't say so! Then I shall be linked into an intimacy with the fellow. Well, it is best to be neighbourly, perhaps. And how do you like Mr. Granger?"

"He is not a particularly unpleasant person, papa; rather stiff andmatter-of-fact, but not ungentlemanly; and he has been especially polite tome, as if he pitied me for having lost Arden. "

In a general way Mr. Lovel would have been inclined to protest againstbeing pitied, either in his own person or that of his belongings, by such aman as Daniel Granger. But in his present humour it was not displeasing tohim to find that the owner of Arden Court had been especially polite toClarissa. 

"Then he is really a nice fellow, this Granger, eh, Clary?" he said airily. 

"I did not say nice, papa. "

"No, but civil and good-natured, and that kind of thing. Do you know, Ihear nothing but praises of him about Arden; and he is really doingwonders for the place. Looking at his work with an unjaundiced mind, it isimpossible to deny that. And then his wealth!--something enormous, theytell me. How do you like the daughter, by the way?"

This question Mr. Lovel asked with something of a wry face, as if theexistence of Daniel Granger's daughter was not a pleasing circumstance inhis mind. 

"Not particularly, papa. She is very good, I daresay, and seems anxious todo good among the poor; and she is clever and accomplished, but she is nota winning person. I don't think I could ever get on with her very well. "

"That's a pity, since you are such near neighbours. "

"But you have always avoided any acquaintance with the Grangers, papa, "Clarissa said wonderingly. 

"Yes, yes, naturally. I have shrunk from knowing people who have turned meout of house and home, as it were. But that sort of thing must come to anend sooner or later. I don't want to appear prejudiced or churlish; and inshort, though I may never care to cross that threshold, there is no reasonMiss Granger and you should not be friendly. You have no one at Arden ofyour own age to associate with, and a companion of that kind might beuseful. Has the girl much influence with her father, do you think?"

"She is not a girl, papa, she is a young woman. I don't suppose she is morethan two or three-and-twenty, but no one would ever think of calling MissGranger a girl. "

"You haven't answered my question. "

"I scarcely know how to answer it. Mr. Granger seems kind to his daughter, and she talks as if she had a great deal of influence over him; but onedoes not see much of people's real feelings in a great house like this. Itis 'company' all day long. I daresay Mr. And Miss Granger are very fond ofone another, but--but--they are not so much to each other as I should likeyou and me to be, papa, " Clarissa added with a sudden boldness. 

Mr. Lovel coughed, as if something had stuck in his throat. 

"My dear child, I have every wish to treat you fairly--affectionately, thatis to say, " he replied, after that little nervous cough; "but I am not aman given to sentiment, you see, and there are circumstances in my lifewhich go far to excuse a certain coldness. So long as you do not ask toomuch of me--in the way of sentiment, I mean--we shall get on very well, aswe have done since your return from school. I have had every reason to besatisfied. "

This was not much, but Clarissa was grateful even for so little. 

"Thank you, papa, " she said in a low voice; "I have been very anxious toplease you. "

"Yes, my dear, and I hope--nay, am sure--that your future conduct will giveme the same cause for satisfaction; that you will act wisely, and settlethe more difficult questions of life like a woman of sense and resolution. There are difficult questions to be solved in life, you know, Clary; andwoe betide the woman who lets her heart get the better of her head!"

Clarissa did not quite understand the drift of this remark, but her fatherdismissed the subject in his lightest manner before she could express herbewilderment. 

"That's quite enough serious talk, my dear, " he said; "and now give me the_carte du pays_. Who is here besides these Grangers? and what little socialcomedies are being enacted? Your letters, though very nice and dutiful, arenot quite up to the Horace-Walpole standard, and have not enlightened memuch about the state of things. "

Clarissa ran over the names of the Castle guests. There was one which shefelt would be difficult to pronounce, but it must needs come at last. Shewound up her list with it: "And--and there are Lady Geraldine Challoner, and the gentleman she is going to marry--Mr. Fairfax. "

To her extreme surprise, the name seemed to awaken some unwonted emotion inher father's breast. 

"Fairfax!" he exclaimed; "what Fairfax is that? You didn't tell me whomLady Geraldine was to marry when you told me you were to officiate asbridesmaid. Who is this Mr. Fairfax?"

"He has been in the army, papa, and has sold out. He is the heir to somegreat estate called Lyvedon, which he is to inherit from an uncle. "

"His son!" muttered Mr. Lovel. 

"Do you know Mr. Fairfax, papa?"

"No, I do not know this young man. But I have known others--members of thesame family--and have a good reason for hating his name. He comes of afalse, unprincipled race. I am sorry for Lady Geraldine. "

"He may not have inherited the faults of his family, papa. "

"May not!" echoed Mr. Lovel contemptuously; "or may. I fancy these vicesrun in the blood, child, and pass from father to son more surely than alanded estate. To lie and betray came natural to the man I knew. GreatHeaven! I can see his false smile at this moment. "

This was said in a low voice; not to Clarissa, but to himself; ahalf-involuntary exclamation. He turned impatiently presently, and walkedhurriedly back towards the Castle. 

"Let us go in, " he said. "That name of Fairfax has set my teeth on edge. "

"But you will not be uncivil to Mr. Fairfax, papa?" Clarissa askedanxiously. 

"Uncivil to him! No, of course not. The man is Lady Laura's guest, and astranger to me; why should I be uncivil to him?"

Nor would it have been possible to imagine by-and-by, when Mr. Lovel andGeorge Fairfax were introduced to each other, that the name of the youngerman was in any manner unpleasant to the elder. Clarissa's father hadevidently made up his mind to be agreeable, and was eminently successfulin the attempt. At the dinner-table he was really brilliant, and it wasa wonder to every one that a man who led a life of seclusion could shineforth all at once with more than the success of a professed diner-out. Butit was to Mr. Granger that Marmaduke Lovel was most particularly gracious. He seemed eager to atone, on this one occasion, for all former coldnesstowards the purchaser of his estate. Nor was Daniel Granger slow to takeadvantage of his urbane humour. For some reason or other, that gentlemanwas keenly desirous of acquiring Mr. Lovel's friendship. It might be thecommoner's slavish worship of ancient race, it might be some deeper motive, that influenced him, but about the fact itself there could be no doubt. Themaster of Arden was eager to place his coverts, his park, his library, hishot-houses, his picture-gallery--everything that he possessed--at the feetof his ruined neighbour. Yet even in his eagerness to confer these benefitsthere was some show of delicacy, and he was careful not to outrage thefallen man's dignity. 

Mr. Lovel listened, and bowed, and smiled; pledged himself to nothing;waived off every offer with an airy grace that was all his own. A primeminister, courted by some wealthy place-hunter, could not have had aloftier air; and yet he contrived to make Mr. Granger feel that this wasthe inauguration of a friendship between them; that he consented to thethrowing down of those barriers which had kept them apart hitherto. 

"For myself, I am a hermit by profession, " he said; "but I am anxious thatmy daughter should have friends, and I do not think she could have a moreaccomplished or agreeable companion than Miss Granger. "

He glanced towards that young lady with a smile--almost a triumphantsmile--as he said this. She had been seated next him at dinner, and he hadpaid her considerable attention--attention which had not been receivedby her with quite that air of gratification which Mr. Level's gracefulcompliments were apt to cause. He was not angry with her, however. Hecontemplated her with a gentle indulgence, as an interesting study in humannature. 

"Well, Mr. Lovel, " said Lady Laura in a confidential tone, when he waswishing her good-night, "what do you think of Mr. Granger now?"

"I think he is a very excellent fellow, my dear Lady Laura; and that I amto blame for having been so prejudiced against him. "

"I am so glad to hear you say that!" cried my lady eagerly. She had drawnhim a little way apart from the rest of her visitors, out of earshot of theanimated groups of talkers clustered here and there. "And now I want toknow if you have made any great discovery?" she added, looking at himtriumphantly. 

He responded to the look with a most innocent stare. 

"A discovery, my dearest Lady Laura--you mystify me. What discovery isthere for me to make, except that Hale Castle is the most delightful placeto visit?--and that fact I knew beforehand, knowing its mistress. "

"But is it possible that you have seen nothing--guessed nothing? And Ishould have supposed you such a keen observer--such a profound judge ofhuman nature. "

"One does not enlarge one's knowledge of human nature by being buriedamongst books as I have been. But seriously, Lady Laura, what is the answerto the enigma--what ought I to have guessed, or seen?"

"Why, that Daniel Granger is desperately in love with your daughter. "

"With Clarissa! Impossible! Why, the man is old enough to be her father. "

"Now, my dear Mr. Lovel, you know that is _no_ reason against it. I tellyou the thing is certain--palpable to any one who has had some experiencein such matters, as I have. I wanted to bring this about; I had set myheart upon it before Clarissa came here, but I did not think it would beaccomplished so easily. There is no doubt about his feelings, my dearMr. Lovel; I know the man thoroughly, and I never saw him pay any womanattention before. Perhaps the poor fellow is scarcely conscious of his owninfatuation yet, but the fact is no less certain. He has betrayed himselfto me ever so many times by little speeches he has let fall about our dearClary. I think even the daughter begins to see it. "

"And what then, my kind friend?" asked Mr. Lovel with an air of supremeindifference. "Suppose this fancy of yours to be correct, do you thinkClarissa would marry the man?"

"I do not think she would be so foolish as to refuse him, " Lady Lauraanswered quickly; "unless there were some previous infatuation on herside. "

"You need have no apprehension of that, " returned Mr. Lovel sharply. "Clarissa has never had the opportunity for so much as a flirtation. "

Lady Laura remembered that scene on the balcony with a doubtful feeling. 

"I hope she would have some regard for her own interest, " she saidthoughtfully. "And if such an opportunity as this were to presentitself--as I feel very sure it will--I hope your influence would be exertedon the right side. "

"My dear Lady Laura, my influence should be exercised in any manner youdesired, " replied Mr. Lovel eagerly. "You have been so good to that poorfriendless girl, that you have a kind of right to dispose of her fate. Heaven forbid that I should interfere with any plans you may have formed onher behalf, except to promote them. "

"It is so good of you to say that. I really am so fond of my dear Clary, and it would so please me to see her make a great marriage, such as thiswould be. If Mr. Granger were not a good man, if it were a mere questionof money, I would not urge it for a moment; but he really is in everyway unexceptionable, and if you will give me your permission to use myinfluence with Clary----"

"My dear Lady Laura, as a woman, as a mother, you are the fittest judgeof what is best for the girl. I leave her in your hands with entireconfidence; and if you bring this marriage about, I shall say Providencehas been good to us. Yes, I confess I should like to see my daughtermistress of Arden Court. "

Almost as he spoke, there arose before him a vision of what his ownposition would be if this thing should come to pass. Was it really worthwishing for at best? Never again could he be master of the home of hisforefathers. An honoured visitor perhaps, or a tolerated inmate--that wasall. Still, it would be something to have his daughter married to a richman. He had a growing, almost desperate need of some wealthy friend whoshould stretch out a saving hand between him and his fast-accumulatingdifficulties; and who so fitted for this office as a son-in-law? Yes, uponthe whole, the thing was worth wishing for. 

He bade Lady Laura good-night, declaring that this brief glimpse of thecivilised world had been strangely agreeable to him. He even promised tostay at the Castle again before long, and so departed, after kissing hisdaughter almost affectionately, in a better humour with himself and mankindthan had been common to him lately. 

"So that is young Fairfax, " he said to himself as he jogged slowly homewardin the Arden fly, the single vehicle of that kind at the disposal of thevillage gentility; "so that is the son of Temple Fairfax. There is a lookof his father in his eyes, but not that look of wicked power in his facethat there was in the Colonel's--not that thorough stamp of a bold bad man. It will come, I suppose, in good time. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XVI. 

LORD CALDERWOOD IS THE CAUSE OF INCONVENIENCE. 

The preparations for the wedding went on gaily, and whatever inclination torevolt may have lurked in George Fairfax's breast, he made no sign. Sincehis insolent address that night in the corridor he had scarcely spoken toClarissa; but he kept a furtive watch upon her notwithstanding, and sheknew it, and sickened under it as under an evil influence. He wasvery angry with her--she was fully conscious of that--unjustifiably, unreasonably angry. More than once, when Mr. Granger was especiallyattentive, she had encountered a withering glance from those dark grayeyes, and she had been weak enough, wicked enough perhaps, to try and makehim perceive that Mr. Granger's attentions were in no way pleasant to her. She could bear anything better than that he should think her capable ofcourting this man's admiration. She told herself sometimes that it would bean unspeakable relief to her when the marriage was over, and George Fairfaxhad gone away from Hale Castle, and out of her life for evermore; and then, while she was trying to believe this, the thought would come to her of whather life would be utterly without him, with no hope of ever seeinghim again, with the bitter necessity of remembering him only as LadyGeraldine's husband. She loved him, and knew that she loved him. To hearhis voice, to be in the same room with him, caused her a bitter kind ofjoy, a something that was sweeter than common pleasure, keener than commonpain. His presence, were he ever so silent or angry, gave colour to herlife, and to realise the dull blankness of a life without him seemedimpossible. 

While this silent struggle was going on, and the date of the marriagegrowing nearer and nearer, Mr. Granger's attentions became daily moremarked. It was impossible even for Clarissa, preoccupied as she was bythose other thoughts, to doubt that he admired her with something more thancommon admiration. Miss Granger's evident uneasiness and anger were inthemselves sufficient to give emphasis to this fact. That young lady, mistress of herself as she was upon most occasions, found the present stateof things too much for her endurance. For the last ten years of her life, ever since she was a precocious damsel of twelve, brought to a prematurestate of cultivation by an expensive forcing apparatus of governesses andmasters, she had been in the habit of assuring herself and her confidantesthat her father would never marry again. She had a very keen sense of theimportance of wealth, and from that tender age, of twelve or so upwards, she had been fully aware of the diminution her own position would undergoin the event of a second marriage, and the advent of a son to the house ofGranger. Governesses and maidservants had perhaps impressed this upon herat some still earlier stage of her existence; but from this time upwardsshe had needed nothing to remind her of the fact, and she had watched herfather with an unwearying vigilance. 

More than once, strong-minded and practical as he was, she had seen him indanger. Attractive widows and dashing spinsters had marked him for theirprey, and he had seemed not quite adamant; but the hour of peril hadpassed, and the widow or the spinster had gone her way, with all hermunitions of war expended, and Daniel Granger still unscathed. This time itwas very different. Mr. Granger showed an interest in Clarissa which he hadnever before exhibited in any member of her sex since he wooed and won thefirst Mrs. Granger; and as his marriage had been by no means a romanticaffair, but rather a prudential arrangement made and entered upon by DanielGranger the elder, cloth manufacturer of Leeds and Bradford, on the onepart, and Thomas Talloway, cotton-spinner of Manchester, on the other part, it is doubtful whether Miss Sophy Talloway had ever in her ante-nuptialdays engrossed so much of his attention. 

Having no one else at Hale to whom she could venture to unbosom herself, Miss Granger was fain to make a confidante of her maid, although she didnot, as a general rule, affect familiarity with servants. This maid, whowas a mature damsel of five-and-thirty or upwards, and a most estimableChurch-of-England person, had been with Miss Granger for a great manyyears; had curled her hair for her when she wore it in a crop, and evenremembered her in her last edition of pinafores. Some degree of familiaritytherefore might be excused, and the formal Sophia would now and then expanda little in her intercourse with Warman. 

One night, a very little while before Lady Geraldine's wedding-day, thecautious Warman, while brushing Miss Granger's hair, ventured to suggestthat her mistress looked out of spirits. Had she said that Sophia lookedexcessively cross, she would scarcely have been beside the mark. 

"Well, Warman, " Miss Granger replied, in rather a shrewish tone, "I _am_out of spirits. I have been very much annoyed this evening by papa'sattentions to--by the designing conduct of a young lady here. "

"I think I can guess who the young lady is, miss, " Warman answeredshrewdly. 

"O, I suppose so, " cried Sophia, giving her head an angry jerk which almostsent the brush out of her abigail's hand; "servants know everything. "

"Well, you see, miss, servants have eyes and ears, and they can't very wellhelp using them. People think we're inquisitive and prying if we venture tosee things going on under our very noses; and so hypocrisy gets be almostpart of a servant's education, and what people call a good servant isa smooth-faced creature that pretends to see nothing and to understandnothing. But my principles won't allow of my stooping to that sort ofthing, Miss Granger, and what I think I say. I know my duty as a servant, and I know the value of my own immortal soul as a human being. "

"How you do preach, Warman! Who wants you to be a hypocrite?" exclaimedSophia impatiently. "It's always provoking to hear that one's affairs havebeen talked over by a herd of servants, but I suppose it's inevitable. Andpray, what have they been saying about papa?"

"Well, miss, I've heard a good deal of talk of one kind and another. Yousee, your papa is looked upon as a great gentleman in the county, andpeople will talk about him. There's Norris, Lady Laura's own footman, who'sa good deal in the drawing-room--really a very intelligent-well-brought-upyoung man, and, I am happy to say, _not_ a dissenter. Norris takes a gooddeal of notice of what's going on, and he has made a good many remarks uponyour par's attention to Miss Lovel. Looking at the position of the parties, you see, miss, it would be such a curious thing if it was to be broughtround for that young lady to be mistress of Arden Court. "

"Good gracious me, Warman!" cried Sophia aghast, "you don't suppose thatpapa would marry again?"

"Well, I can't really say, miss. But when a gentleman of your par's agepays so much attention to a lady young enough to be his daughter, itgenerally do end that way. "

There was evidently no consolation to be obtained from Warman, nor was thatastute handmaiden to be betrayed into any expression of opinion againstMiss Lovel. It seemed to her more than probable that Clarissa Lovelmight come before long to reign over the household at Arden, and thisall-powerful Sophia sink to a minor position. Strong language of any kindwas therefore likely to be dangerous. Hannah Warman valued her place, whichwas a good one, and would perhaps be still better under a more impulsiveand generous mistress. The safest thing therefore was to close theconversation with one of those pious platitudes which Warman had always ather command. 

"Whatever may happen, miss, we are in the hands of Providence, " she saidsolemnly; "and let us trust that things will be so regulated as to work forthe good of our immortal souls. No one can go through life without trials, miss, and perhaps yours may be coming upon you now; but we know that suchchastisements are intended for our benefit. "

Sophia Granger had encouraged this kind of talk from the lips of Warman, and other humble disciples, too often too be able to object to it justnow; but her temper was by no means improved by this conversation, and shedismissed her maid presently with a very cool good-night. 

On the third day before the wedding, George Fairfax's mother arrived atthe Castle, in order to assist in this important event in her son's life. Clarissa contemplated this lady with a peculiar interest, and was not alittle wounded by the strange coldness with which Mrs. Fairfax greeted herupon her being introduced by Lady Laura to the new arrival. This coldnesswas all the more striking on account of the perfect urbanity of Mrs. Fairfax's manners in a general way, and a certain winning gentleness whichdistinguished her on most occasions. It seemed to Clarissa as if sherecoiled with something like aversion at the sound of her name. 

"Miss Lovel of Arden Court, I believe?" she said, looking at Lady Laura. 

"Yes; my dear Clarissa is the only daughter of the gentleman who tilllately was owner of Arden Court. It has passed into other hands now. "

"I beg your pardon. I did not know there had been any change. "

And then Mrs. Fairfax continued her previous conversation with Lady Laura, as if anxious to have done with the subject of Miss Lovel. 

Nor in the three days before the wedding did she take any farther notice ofClarissa; a neglect the girl felt keenly; all the more so because she wasinterested in spite of herself in this pale faded lady of fifty, who stillbore the traces of great beauty and who carried herself with the grace of aqueen. She had that air _du faubourg_ which we hear of in the great ladiesof a departed era in Parisian society, --a serene and tranquil elegancewhich never tries to be elegant, a perfect self-possession which neverdegenerates into insolence. 

In a party so large as that now assembled at Hale, this tacit avoidanceof one person could scarcely be called a rudeness. It might so easily beaccidental. Clarissa felt it nevertheless, and felt somehow that it was notaccidental. Though she could never be anything to George Fairfax, thoughall possibility even of friendship was at an end between them, she wouldhave liked to gain his mother's regard. It was an idle wish perhaps, butscarcely an unnatural one. 

She watched Mrs. Fairfax and Lady Geraldine together. The affection betweenthose two was very evident. Never did the younger lady appear to greateradvantage than in her intercourse with her future mother-in-law. All prideand coldness vanished in that society, and Geraldine Challoner becamegenial and womanly. 

"She has played her cards well, " Barbara Fermor said maliciously. "It isthe mother who has brought about this marriage. "

If Mrs. Fairfax showed herself coldly disposed towards Clarissa, there wasplenty of warmth on the parts of Ladies Emily and Louisa Challoner, whoarrived at the Castle about the same time, and at once took a fancy totheir sister's _protégée. _

"Laura has told us so much about you, Miss Lovel, " said Lady Louisa, "andwe mean to be very fond of you, if you will allow us; and, O, please may wecall you Clarissa? It is such a _sweet_ name!"

Both these ladies had passed that fearful turning-point in woman's life, her thirtieth birthday, and had become only more gushing and enthusiasticwith increasing years. They were very much like Lady Laura, had all hereasy good-nature and liveliness, and were more or less afraid of thestately Geraldine. 

"Do you know, we are quite glad she is going to be married at last, " LadyEmily said in a confidential tone to Clarissa; "for she has kept up a kindof frigid atmosphere at home that I really believe has helped to frightenaway all our admirers. Men of the present day don't like that sort ofthing. It went out of fashion in England with King Charles I. , I think, andin France with Louis XIV. You know how badly the royal household behavedcoming home from his funeral, laughing and talking and all that: Ibelieve it arose from their relief at thinking that the king of formsand ceremonies was dead. We always have our nicest littleparties--kettle-drums, and suppers after the opera, and that sort ofthing--when Geraldine is away; for we can do anything with papa. "

The great day came, and the heavens were propitious. A fine clear Septemberday, with a cool wind and a warm sun; a day upon which the diaphanouscostumes of the bridesmaids might be a shade too airy; but not a sternor cruel day, to tinge their young noses with a frosty hue, or blow thecrinkles out of their luxuriant hair. 

The bridesmaids were the Ladies Emily and Louisa Challoner, the two MissFermors, Miss Granger, and Clarissa--six in all; a moderation which LadyLaura was inclined to boast of as a kind of Spartan simplicity. They wereall to be dressed alike, in white, with bonnets that seemed composed ofwaxen looking white heather and tremulous harebells, and with blue sashesto match the harebells. The dresses were Lady Laura's inspiration: theyhad come to her almost in her sleep, she declared, when she had well-nighdespaired of realising her vague desires; and Clarissa's costume was, likethe ball-dress, a present from her benefactress. 

The nine-o'clock breakfast--a meal that begun at nine and rarely ended tilleleven--was hurried over in the most uncomfortable and desultory manner onthis eventful morning. The principals in the great drama did not appear atall, and Clarissa and Miss Granger were the only two bridesmaids who couldspare half an hour from the cares of the toilet. The rest breakfastedin the seclusion of their several apartments, with their hair incrimping-pins. Miss Granger was too perfect a being to crinkle her hair, or to waste three hours on dressing, even for a wedding. Lady Laurashowed herself among her guests, for a quarter of an hour or so, in asemi-hysterical flutter; so anxious that everything should go off well, so fearful that something might happen, she knew not what, to throw themachinery of her arrangements out of gear. 

"I suppose it's only a natural feeling on such an occasion as this, " shesaid, "but I really do feel as if something were going to happen. Thingshave gone on so smoothly up to this morning--no disappointmentsfrom milliners, no stupid mistakes on the part of those railwaypeople--everything has gone upon velvet; and now it is coming to the crisisI am quite nervous. "

Of course every one declared this was perfectly natural, and recommendedhis or her favourite specific--a few drops of sal-volatile--a liqueur-glassof dry curaçoa--red lavender--chlorodyne--and so on; and then Lady Lauralaughed and called herself absurd, and hurried away to array herself in apearl-coloured silk, half smothered by puffings of pale pink areophaneand Brussels-lace flounces; a dress that was all pearly gray and rose andwhite, like the sky at early morning. 

Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Granger, with some military men and country squires, took their breakfast as calmly as if a wedding were part of the dailybusiness of life. Miss Granger exhibited a polite indifference aboutthe great event; Miss Level was pale and nervous, not able to give muchattention to Daniel Granger, who had contrived to sit next her thatmorning, and talked to her a good deal, with an apparent unconsciousness ofthe severe gaze of his daughter, seated exactly opposite to him. 

Clarissa was glad to make her toilet an excuse for leaving Mr. Granger; butonce in the sanctuary of her own room, she sat down in an absent manner, and made no attempt to begin dressing. Fosset, the maid, found her there ata quarter past ten o'clock--the ceremony was to take place at eleven--andgave a cry of horror at seeing the toilet uncommenced. 

"Good gracious me, miss! what have you been thinking of? Your hair notbegun nor nothing! I've been almost torn to bits with one and another--MissFermor's maid bothering for long hair-pins and narrow black ribbon; andJane Roberts--Lady Emily Challoner's maid--who really never has anythinghandy, wanting half the things out of my work-box--or I should have beenwith you ever so long ago. My Lady would be in a fine way if you werelate. "

"I think my hair will do very well as it is, Fosset, " Clarissa saidlistlessly. 

"Lor, no, miss; not in that dowdy style. It don't half show it off. "

Clarissa seated herself before the dressing-table with an air ofresignation rather than interest, and the expeditious Fosset began herwork. It was done very speedily--that wealth of hair was so easy to dress;there was no artful manipulation of long hair-pins and black ribbon neededto unite borrowed tresses with real ones. The dress was put on, andClarissa was invited to look at herself in the cheval-glass. 

"I do wish you had a bit more colour in your cheeks to-day, miss, " Fossetsaid, with rather a vexed air. "Not that I'd recommend you any of theirvinegar rouges, or ineffaceable blooms, or anything of that kind. But Idon't think I ever saw you look so pale. One would think _you_ were goingto be married, instead of Lady Geraldine. _She's_ as cool as a cucumberthis morning, Sarah Thompson told me just now. You can't put _her_ outeasily. "

The carriages were driving up to the great door by this time. It was abouttwenty minutes to eleven, and in ten minutes more the procession would bestarting. Hale Church was within five minutes' drive of the Castle. 

Clarissa went fluttering down to the drawing-room, where she supposedpeople would assemble. There was no one there but Mr. Granger, who wasstalking up and down the spacious room, dressed in the newest and stiffestof coats and waistcoats, and looking as if he were going to assist at aprivate hanging. Miss Lovel felt almost inclined to ran away at sight ofhim. The man seemed to pursue her somehow; and since that night whenGeorge Fairfax had offered her his mocking congratulations, Mr. Granger'sattentions had been particularly repugnant to her. 

She could not draw back, however, without positive rudeness, and it wasonly a question of five minutes; so she went in and entered upon aninteresting little conversation about the weather. It was still fine; therewas no appearance of rain; a most auspicious day, really; and so on, --fromMr. Granger; to which novel remarks Clarissa assented meekly. 

"There are people who attach a good deal of significance to that kindof thing, " he said presently. "For my own part, _if_ I were going to bemarried to the woman I loved, I should care little how black the sky aboveus might be. That sounds rather romantic for me, doesn't it? A man of fiftyhas no right to feel like that. "

This he said with a half-bitter laugh. Clarissa was spared the trouble ofanswering by the entrance of more bridesmaids--Lady Louisa Challoner andMiss Granger--with three of the military men, who wore hothouse flowersin their buttonholes, and were altogether arrayed like the lilies of thefield, but who had rather the air of considering this marriage business atiresome interruption to partridge-shooting. 

"I suppose we are going to start directly, " cried Lady Louisa, who was afluttering creature of three-and-thirty, always eager to flit from onescene to another. "If we don't, I really think we shall be late--and thereis some dreadful law, isn't there, to prevent people being married aftereleven o'clock?"

"After twelve, " Mr. Granger answered in his matter of fact way. "LadyGeraldine has ample margin for delay. "

"But why not after twelve?" asked Lady Louisa with a childish air; "why notin the afternoon or evening, if one liked? What can be the use of such aridiculous law? One might as well live in Russia. "

She fluttered to one of the windows and looked out. 

"There are all the carriages. How well the men look! Laura must havespent a fortune in white ribbon and gloves for them--and the horses, dearthings!"--a woman of Lady Louisa's stamp is generally enthusiastic abouthorses, it is such a safe thing--"they look as if they knew it was awedding. O, good gracious!"

"What is the matter. Lady Louisa?"

"A man from the railway--with a telegram--yes, I am sure it's a telegram!Do you know, I have such a horror of telegrams! I always fancy they meanillness--or death--or something dreadful. Very absurd of me, isn't it? AndI daresay this is only a message about some delayed parcel, or some one whowas to be here and can't come, or something of that kind. "

The room was full of idle people by this time. Every one went to the openwindow and stared down at the man who had brought the telegram. He hadgiven his message, and was standing on the broad flight of steps beforethe Castle door, waiting for the return of the official who had taken it. Whether the electric wires had brought the tidings of some great calamity, or a milliner's apology for a delayed bonnet, was impossible to guess. Themessenger stood there stolid and impenetrable, and there was nothing to bedivined from his aspect. 

But presently, while a vague anxiety possessed almost every one present, there came from the staircase without a sudden cry of woe--a woman'sshriek, long and shrill, ominous as the wail of the banshee. There was arush to the door, and the women crowded, out in a distracted way. LadyLaura was fainting in her husband's arms, and George Fairfax was standingnear her reading a telegram. 

People had not long to wait for the evil news. Lord Calderwood had beenseized with a paralytic stroke--his third attack--at ten o'clock theprevious night, and had expired at half-past eight that morning. Therecould be no wedding that day--nor for many days and weeks to come. 

"O, Geraldine, my poor Geraldine, let me go to her!" cried Lady Laura, disengaging herself from her husband's arms and rushing upstairs. Mr. Armstrong hurried after her. 

"Laura, my sweet girl, don't agitate yourself; consider yourself, " hecried, and followed, with Lady Louisa sobbing and wailing behind him. Geraldine had not left her room yet. The ill news was to find her on thethreshold, calm and lovely in the splendour of her bridal dress. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XVII. 

"'TIS DEEPEST WINTER IN LORD TIMOR'S PURSE. "

Before nightfall--before the evening which was to have been enlivened by adinner-party and a carpet-dance, and while bride and bridegroom should havebeen speeding southwards to that noble Kentish mansion which his uncle hadlent George Fairfax--before the rooks flew homeward across the woods beyondHale--there had been a general flight from the Castle. People were anxiousto leave the mourners alone with their grief, and even the most intimatefelt more or less in the way, though Mr. Armstrong entreated that theremight be no hurry, no inconvenience for any one. 

"Poor Laura won't be fit to be seen for a day or two, " he said, "and ofcourse I shall have to go up to town for the funeral; but that need make nodifference. Hale is large enough for every one, and it will be a comfort toher by-and-by to find her friends round her. "

Through all that dreary day Lady Laura wandered about her morning-room, alternately sobbing and talking of her father to those chosen friends withwhom she held little interviews. 

Her sisters Louisa and Emily were with her for the greater part of thetime, echoing her lamentations like a feeble chorus. Geraldine kepther room, and would see no one--not even him who was to have been herbridegroom, and who might have supposed that he had the chiefest right toconsole her in this sudden affliction. 

Clarissa spent more than an hour with Lady Laura, listening with a tenderinterest to her praises of the departed. It seemed as if no elderlynobleman--more or less impecunious for the last twenty years of hislife--had ever supported such a load of virtues as Lord Calderwood hadcarried with him to the grave. To praise him inordinately was the onlyconsolation his three daughters could find in the first fervour of theirgrief. Time was when they had been apt to confess to one another thatpapa was occasionally rather "trying, " a vague expression which scarcelyinvolved a lapse of filial duty on the part of the grumbler. But to hearthem to-day one would have supposed that they had never been tried; thatlife with Lord Calderwood in a small house in Chapel-street, Mayfair, hadbeen altogether a halcyon existence. 

Clarissa listened reverently, believing implicitly in the merits of thenewly lost, and did her best to console her kind friend during the hour Mr. Armstrong allowed her to spend with Lady Laura. At the end of that time hecame and solemnly fetched her away, after a pathetic farewell. 

"You must come to me again, Clary, and very, very soon, " said my lady, embracing her. "I only wish Fred would let you stay with me now. You wouldbe a great comfort. "

"My dearest Lady Laura, it is better not. You have your sisters. "

"Yes, they are very good; but I wanted you to stay, Clary. I had such plansfor you. O, by the bye, the Grangers will be going back to-day, Isuppose. Why should they not take you with them in their great travellingcarriage?--Frederick, will you arrange for the Grangers to take Clarissahome?" cried Lady Laura to her husband, who was hovering near the door. In the midst of her grief my lady brightened a little; with the idea ofmanaging something, even so small a matter as this. 

"Of course, my dear, " replied the affectionate Fred. "Granger shall takeMiss Lovel home. And now I must positively hurry her away; all this talkand excitement is so bad for you. "

"I must see the Fermors before they go. You'll let me see the Fermors, Fred?"

"Well, well, I'll bring them just to say good-bye--that's all--Come along, Miss Lovel. "

Clarissa followed him through the corridor. 

"O, if you please, Mr. Armstrong, " she said, "I did not like to worry LadyLaura, but I would so much rather go home alone in a fly. "

"Nonsense! the Grangers can take you. You could have Laura's brougham, ofcourse; but if she wants you to go with the Grangers, you must go. Her wordis law; and she's sure to ask me about it by-and-by. She's a wonderfulwoman; thinks of everything. "

They met Mr. And Miss Granger presently, dressed for the journey. 

"O, if you please, Granger, I want you to take Miss Lovel home in yourcarriage. You've plenty of 'room, I know. "

Sophia looked as if she would have liked to say that there was no room, buther father's face quite flushed with pleasure. 

"I shall be only too happy, " he said, "if Miss Lovel will trust herself toour care. "

"And perhaps you'll explain toiler father what has happened, and how sorrywe are to lose her, and so on. "

"Certainly, my dear Armstrong. I shall make a point of seeing Mr. Lovel inorder to do so. "

So Clarissa had a seat in Mr. Granger's luxurious carriage, the proprietorwhereof sat opposite to her, admiring the pale patrician face, andwondering a little what that charm was which made it seem to him morebeautiful than any other countenance he had ever looked upon. They did nottalk much, Mr. Granger only making a few stereotyped remarks about theuncertainties of this life, or occasionally pointing out some feature ofthe landscape to Clarissa. The horses went at a splendid pace Their ownerwould have preferred a slower transit. 

"Remember, Miss Lovel, " he said, as they approached the village of Arden, "you have promised to come and see us. "

"You are very good; but I go out so little, and papa is always averse to myvisiting. "

"But he can't be that any more after allowing you to stay at the Castle, or he will offend commoner folks, like Sophy and me, by his exclusiveness. Besides, he told me he wished Sophy and you to be good friends. I am surehe will let you come to us. When shall it be? Shall we say to-morrow, before luncheon--at twelve or one, say? I will show you what I've donefor the house in the morning, and Sophy can take you over her schools andcottages in the afternoon. "

Sophia Granger made no attempt to second this proposition; but her fatherwas so eager and decisive, that it seemed quite impossible for Clarissa tosay no. 

"If papa will let me come, " she said doubtfully. 

"O, I'm quite sure he will not refuse, after what he was good enough to sayto me, " replied Mr. Granger; "and if he does not feel equal to going aboutwith us in the morning, I hope we shall be able to persuade him to come todinner. "

They were at the little rustic gate before Mill Cottage by this time. Howsmall the place looked after Hale Castle! but not without a prettinessof its own. The virginia creeper was reddening on the wall; the casementwindows open to the air and sunshine. Ponto ran out directly the gate wasopened--first to bark at the carriage, and then to leap joyously aboutClarissa, overpowering her with a fond canine welcome. 

"You'll come in with us, Sophia?" asked Mr. Granger, when he had alighted, and handed Clarissa out of the carriage. 

"I think not, papa. You can't want me; and this dreadful morning has givenme a wretched headache. "

"I thought there was something amiss. It would be more respectful to Mr. Lovel for you to come in. I daresay he'll excuse you, however, when hehears you are ill. "

Clarissa held out her hand, which Miss Granger took with an almost obviousreluctance, and the two young ladies said "Good-bye" to each other, withouta word from Sophia about the engagement for the next day. 

They found Mr. Lovel in his favourite sitting-room; not dreaming overa Greek play or a volume of Bentley, as it was his custom to do, butseriously engaged with a number of open letters and papers scattered on thewriting-table before him--papers that looked alarmingly like tradesmens'bills. He was taken by surprise on the entrance of Clarissa and hercompanion, and swept the papers into an open drawer with rather a nervoushand. 

"My dear Clarissa, this is quite unexpected!--How do you do, Mr. Granger?How very good of you to bring my little girl over to see me! Will you takethat chair by the window? I was deep in a file of accounts when you camein. A man must examine his affairs sometimes, however small his householdmay be. --Well, Clary, what news of our kind friends at the Castle? Why, bless my soul, this is the wedding-day, isn't it? I had quite forgotten thedate. Has anything happened?"

"Yes, papa; there has been a great misfortune, and the wedding is put off. "

Between them, Mr. Granger and Clarissa explained the state of affairs atthe Castle. Mr. Lovel seemed really shocked by the intelligence of theEarl's death. 

"Poor Calderwood! He and I were great friends thirty years ago. I supposeit's nearly twenty since I last saw him. He was one of the handsomest menI ever knew--Lady Geraldine takes after him--and when he was in thediplomatic service had really a very brilliant career before him; but hemissed it somehow. Had always rather a frivolous mind, I fancy, and a wantof perseverance. Poor Calderwood! And so he is gone! How old could he havebeen? Not much over sixty, I believe. I'll look into Debrett presently. "

As soon as he could decently do so after this, Mr. Granger urged hisinvitation for the next day. 

"O, certainly, by all means. Clary shall come to you as early as youlike. It will be a great relief for her from the dulness of this place. And--well--yes, if you insist upon it, I'll join you at dinner. But you seewhat a perfect recluse I am. There will be no one else, I suppose?"

"You have only to say that you wish it, and there shall be no one else, "Mr. Granger replied courteously. 

Never had he been so anxious to propitiate any one. People had courtedhim more or less all his life; and here he was almost suing for theacquaintance of this broken-down spendthrift--a man whom he had secretlydespised until now. 

On this assurance Mr. Lovel consented to dine with his neighbour for thefirst time; and Mr. Granger, having no excuse for farther lingering, tookhis departure, remembering all at once that he had such a thing as adaughter waiting for him in the carriage outside. 

He went, and Clarissa took up the thread of her old life just where she haddropped it. Her father was by no means so gracious or agreeable to-dayas he had been during his brief visit to Hale Castle. He took out histradesmen's letters and bills when Mr. Granger was gone, and went on withhis examination of them, groaning aloud now and then, or sometimes stoppingto rest his head on his hands with a dreary long-drawn sigh. Clarissa wouldhave been very glad to offer her sympathy, to utter some word of comfort;but there was something in her father's aspect which forbade anyinjudicious approach. She sat by the open window with a book in her hand, but not reading, waiting patiently in the hope that he would share histroubles with her by-and-by. 

He went on with his work for about an hour, and then tied the papers in abundle with an impatient air. 

"Arithmetic is no use in such a case as mine, " he said; "no man can makefifty pounds pay a hundred. I suppose it must end in the bankruptcy court. It will be only our last humiliation, the culminating disgrace. "

"The bankruptcy court! O, papa!" cried Clarissa piteously. She had a veryvague idea as to what bankruptcy meant, but felt that it was somethingunutterably shameful--the next thing to a criminal offence. 

"Better men than I have gone through it, " Mr. Lovel went on with a sigh, and without the faintest notice of his daughter's dismay; "but I couldn'tstand Arden and Holborough after that degradation. I must go abroad, tosome dull old town in the south of France, where I could have my books anddecent wine, and where, as regards everything else, I should be in a livinggrave. 

"But they would never make you bankrupt surely, papa;" Clarissa exclaimedin the same piteous tone. 

"_They_ would never make me bankrupt!" echoed her father fretfully. "Whatdo you mean by _they_? You talk like a baby, Clarissa. Do you suppose thattradesmen and bankers and bill-discounters would have more mercy upon methan upon other people? They may give me more time than they would giveanother man, perhaps, because they know I have some pride of race, andwould coin my heart's blood rather than adopt expedients that other menmake light of; but when they know there is no more to be got out of me, they will do their worst. It is only a question of time. "

"Are you very much in debt, papa?" Clarissa asked timidly, anticipating arebuff. 

"No; that is the most confounded part of the business. My liabilities onlyamount to a few pitiful hundreds. When I sold Arden--and I did not do thattill I was obliged, you may believe--the bulk of the purchase-money went tothe mortgagees. With the residue--a paltry sum--I bought myself an annuity;a transaction which I was able to conclude upon better terms than most menof my age, on account of my precarious health, and to which I was moststrongly urged by my legal advisers. On this I have existed, or tried toexist, ever since: but the income has not been sufficient even for themaintenance of this narrow household; if I lived in a garret, I must livelike a gentleman, and should be always at the mercy of my servants. These are honest enough, I daresay, but I have no power of checking myexpenditure. And then I had your schooling to pay for--no small amount, Iassure you. "

"Thank heaven that is over, papa! And now, if you would only let me go outas a governess, I might be some help to you instead of a burden. "

"There's time enough to think of that. You are not much of a burden to meat present. I don't suppose you add many pounds a year to the expenses ofthis house. And if I have to face the inevitable, and see my name in the_Gazette_, we must begin life again upon a smaller scale, and in a cheaperplace--some out-of-the-way corner of France or Belgium. The governessnotion will keep till I am dead. You can always be of some use to me as acompanion, if you choose. "

This was quite a concession. Clarissa came over to her father's chair, andlaid her hand caressingly upon his shoulder. 

"My dear father, " she said in a low sweet voice, "you make me almost happy, in spite of our troubles. I wish for nothing better than to stay with youalways. And by-and-by, if we have to live abroad, where you need not be soparticular about our name, I may be able to help you a little--by means ofart or music--without leaving home. I think I could be happy anywhere withyou, papa, if you would only love me a little. "

That appeal touched a heart not easily moved. Marmaduke Lovel puthis hand--such a slender feminine hand--into his daughter's with anaffectionate pressure. 

"Poor child!" he said sadly. "It would be hard if I couldn't love you alittle. But you were born under an evil star, Clarissa; and hithertoperhaps I have tried to shut my heart against you. I won't do that anymore. Whatever affection is in me to give shall be yours. God knows I haveno reason to withhold it, nor any other creature on this earth on whom tobestow it. God knows it is a new thing for me to have my love sued for. "

There was a melancholy in his tone which touched his daughter deeply. He seemed to have struck the key-note of his life in those few words; adisappointed unsuccessful life; a youth in which there had been some hiddencause for the ungenial temper of his middle age. 

It was nearly six o'clock by this time, and Clarissa strolled into thegarden with her father while the table was being laid for dinner. Therewere faint glimpses of russet here and there among the woods around ArdenCourt, but it still seemed summer time. The late roses were in full bloomin Mr. Lovel's fertile garden, the rosy apples were brightening in theorchard, the plums purpling on a crumbling old red-brick wall that boundedthe narrow patch of kitchen-garden. Yes, even after Hale Castle the placeseemed pretty; and a pang went through Clarissa's heart, as she thoughtthat this too they might have to leave; even this humble home was notsecure to them. 

Father and daughter dined together very pleasantly. Clarissa had beenalmost happy by her father's unwonted tenderness, and Mr. Lovel was intolerable spirits, in spite of that dreary afternoon's labour, thathopeless task of trying to find out some elastic quality in pounds, shillings, and pence. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XVIII. 

SOMETHING FATAL. 

AT seven o'clock Mr. Level composed himself for his after-dinner nap, andClarissa, being free to dispose of herself as she pleased till about nine, at which hour the tea-tray was wont to be brought into the parlour, put onher hat and went out into the village. It would be daylight till nearlyeight, and moonlight after that; for the moon rose early, as Miss Lovelremembered. She had a fancy to look at the familiar old plane again--thequiet village street, with its three or four primitive shops, and singleinn lying back a little from the road, and with a flock of pigeons andother feathered creatures always on the patch of grass before it; the lowwhite-walled cottages, in which there were only friendly faces for her. That suggestion of a foreign home had made her native village newly dear toher. 

She had not held much intercourse with these Arden people since her cominghome. The sense of her inability to help them in any substantial way hadkept her aloof from them. She had not the gift of preaching, or of layingdown the laws of domestic economy, whereby she might have made counseland admonition serve instead of gold or silver. Being able to give themnothing, she felt herself better out of the way; but there were twoor three households upon which she had contrived to bestow some smallbenefits--a little packet of grocery bought with her scanty pocket-money, a jar of good soup that she had coaxed good-natured Martha to make, and soon--and in which her visits had been very welcome. 

All was very quiet this evening. Clarissa went through the village withoutmeeting any one she knew. The gate of the churchyard stood open, and Ardenchurchyard was a favourite spot with Clarissa. A solemn old place, shadowedby funereal yews and spreading cedars, which must have been trees of someimportance before the Hanoverian succession. There was a narrow footpathbetween two rows of tall quaint old tombstones, with skulls and crossbonesout upon the moss-grown stone; a path leading to another gate which openedupon a wide patch of heath skirted by a scanty firwood. 

This was the wildest bit of landscape about Arden, and Clarissa loved itwith all an artist's love. She had sketched that belt of fir-trees underalmost every condition--with the evening sun behind them, standing blacklyout against the warm crimson light; or later, when the day had left no morethan a faint opal glimmer in the western sky; later still, in the fairsummer moonlight, or en a blusterous autumn afternoon, tossed by thepitiless wind. There was a poetry in the scene that seemed to inspire herpencil, and yet she could never quite satisfy herself. In short, shewas not Turner; and that wood and sky needed the pencil of a Turner totranslate them fully. This evening she had brought her pocket sketch-bookwith her. It was the companion of all her lonely walks. 

She sat down upon the low boundary-wall of the churchyard, close by therustic wooden gate through which she had come, facing the heath and thefirwood, and took out her sketch-book. There was always something new;inexhaustible Nature had ever some fresh lesson for her. But this eveningshe sat idle for a long time, with her pencil in her hand; and when at lastshe began to draw, it was no feature of heathy ridge or dark firwood, but aman's face, that appeared upon the page. 

It was a face that she had drawn very often lately in her idle moods, halfunconsciously sometimes--a bold handsome face, that offered none of thosedifficulties by which some countenances baffle the skill of a painter. Itwas the face of a man of whom she had told herself it was a sin even tothink; but the face haunted her somehow, and it seemed as if her pencilreproduced it in spite of herself. 

She was thinking as she drew near of Lady Geraldine's postponed wedding. Itwould have been better that the marriage should have taken place; betterthat the story should have ended to-day and that the frail link betweenherself and George Fairfax should have been broken. That accident of LordCalderwood's death had made everything more or less uncertain. Would themarriage ever take place? Would George Fairfax, with ample leisure fordeliberation, hold himself bound by his promise, and marry a woman to whomhe had confessed himself indifferent?

She was brooding over this question when she heard the thud of a horse'shoofs upon the grass, and, looking up, saw a man riding towards her. He wasleaning across his horse's head, looking down at her in the next moment--adark figure shutting out the waving line of fir-trees and the warm light inthe western sky. "What are you doing there, Miss Lovel?" asked a voice thatwent straight to her heart. Who shall say that it was deeper or sweeterthan, common voices? but for her it had a thrilling sound. 

She started and dropped her book. George Fairfax dismounted, tiedhis horse's bridle to the churchyard gate, and picked up the littlesketch-book. 

"My portrait!" he cried, recognizing the carelessly-pencilled bead. "Thenyou do think of me a little, Clarissa! Do you know that I have beenprowling about Arden for the last two hours, waiting and watching for you?I have ridden past your father's cottage twenty times, I think, and was onthe point of giving up all hope and galloping back to Hale, when I caughtsight of a familiar figure from that road yonder. "

He had taken a knife from his pocket, and was deliberately cutting out theleaf from Miss Lovel's sketch-book. 

"I shall keep this, Clarissa, --this one blessed scrap of evidence that youdo sometimes think of me. "

"I think of a good many people in the same manner, " she said, smiling, withrecovered self-possession. "I have very few acquaintance whose likenesses Ihave not attempted in some fashion. "

"But you have attempted mine very often, " he answered, looking over theleaves of the book. "Yes, here is my profile amongst bits of foliage, andscroll-work, and all the vagabond thoughts of your artistic brain. Youshall not snub me, Clarissa. You do think of me--not as I think of you, perhaps, by day and night, but enough for my encouragement, almost enoughfor my happiness. Good heavens, how angry I have been with you during thelast few weeks!"

"What right had you to be angry with me, Mr. Fairfax?"

"The sublime right of loving you. To my mind that constitutes a kind ofmoral ownership. And to see you flirting with that fellow Granger, andyet have to hold my peace! But, thank God, all pretences are done with. Irecognize the event of to-day as an interposition of Providence. As soon asI can decently do so, I shall tell Lady Geraldine the truth. "

"You will not break your engagement--at such a time--when she has doubleneed of your love?" cried Clarissa indignantly. 

She saw the situation from the woman's point of view, and it was ofGeraldine Challoner's feelings she thought at this crisis. George Fairfaxweighed nothing in the scale against that sorrowing daughter. And yet sheloved him. 

"My love she never had, and never can have; nor do I believe that honourcompels me to make myself miserable for life. Of course I shall not disturbher in the hour of her grief by any talk about our intended marriage; but, so soon as I can do so with kindness, I shall let her know the real stateof my feelings. She is too generous to exact any sacrifice from me. "

"And you will make her miserable for life, perhaps?"

"I am not afraid of that. I tell you, Clarissa, it is not in her cold proudnature to care much for any man. We can invent some story to account forthe rupture, which will save her womanly pride. The world can be told thatit is she who has broken the engagement: all that will be easily settled. Poor Lord Calderwood! Don't imagine that I am not heartily sorry for him;he was always a good friend to me; but his death has been most opportune. It has saved me, Clarissa. But for that I should have been a married manthis night, a bound slave for evermore. You can never conceive the gloomydogged spirit in which I was going to my doom. Thank God, the release came;and here, sitting by your side, a free man, I feel how bitter a bondage Ihave escaped. "

He put his arm round Clarissa, and tried to draw her towards him; but shereleased herself from him with a quick proud movement, and rose from herseat on the low wall. He rose at the same moment, and they stood facingeach other in the darkening twilight. 

"And what then, Mr. Fairfax?" she said, trembling a little, but looking himsteadily in the face nevertheless. "When you have behaved like a traitor, and broken your engagement, what then?"

"What then? Is there any possible doubt about what must come then? You willbe my wife, Clarissa!"

"You think that I would be an accomplice to such cruelty? You think thatI could be so basely ungrateful to Lady Laura, my first friend? Yes, Mr. Fairfax, the first friend I ever had, except my aunt, whose friendship hasalways seemed a kind of duty. You think that after all her goodness to me Icould have any part in breaking her sister's heart?"

"I think there is one person whose feelings you overlook in this business. "

"And who is that?"

"Myself. You seem to forget that I love you, and that my happiness dependsupon you. Are you going to stand upon punctilio, Clarissa, and break myheart because Laura Armstrong has been civil to you?"

Clarissa smiled--a very mournful smile. 

"I do not believe you are so dreadfully in earnest, " she said. "If I did--"

"If you did, what then, Clarissa?"

"It might be different. I might be foolish enough, wicked enough--But I amsure that this folly of yours is no more than a passing fancy. You will goaway and forget all about me. You would be very sorry by-and-by, if I wereweak enough to take you at your word; just as sorry as you are now for yourengagement to Lady Geraldine. Come, Mr. Fairfax, let us both be sensible, if we can, and let there be an end of this folly for evermore between us. Good-night; I must go home. It is half-past eight o'clock, and at nine papahas his tea. "

"You shall go home in time to pour out Mr. Lovel's tea; but you shall hearme out first, Clarissa, and you shall confess to me. I will not be kept inthe dark. "

And then he urged his cause, passionately, eloquently, or with that whichseemed eloquence to the girl of nineteen, who heard him with pale cheeksand fast-throbbing heart, and yet tried to seem unmoved. Plead as he might, he could win no admission from her. It was only in her eyes, which couldnot look denial, on her tremulous lips, which could not simulate coldness, that he read her secret. There he saw enough to make him happy andtriumphant. 

"Say what you please, my pitiless one, " he cried at last; "in less thanthree months you shall be my wife!"

The church-clock chimed the three-quarters. He had no excuse for keepingher any longer. 

"Come then, Clarissa, " he said, drawing her hand through his arm; "let mesee you to your father's door. "

"But your horse--you can't leave him here?"

"Yes, I can. I don't suppose any one will steal him in a quarter of an houror so; and I daresay we shall meet some village urchin whom I can send totake care of him. "

"There is no occasion. I am quite accustomed to walk about Arden alone. "

"Not at this hour. I have detained you, and am bound to see you safelylodged. "

"But if papa should hear----"

"He shall near nothing. I'll leave you within a few yards of his gate. "

It was no use for her to protest; so they went back to within half a dozenpaces of Mill Cottage arm-in-arm; not talking very much, but dangerouslyhappy in each other's company. 

"I shall see you again very soon, Clarissa, " George Fairfax said. And thenhe asked her to tell him her favourite walks; but this she refused to do. 

"No matter. I shall find you out in spite of your obstinacy. And remember, child, you owe nothing to Laura Armstrong except the sort of kindness shewould show to any pretty girl of good family. You are as necessary to heras the orchids on her dinner-table. I don't deny that she is a warm-heartedlittle woman, with a great deal that is good in her--just the sort of womanto dispense a large fortune. But I shall make matters all right in thatquarter, and at once. "

They were now as near Mill Cottage as Mr. Fairfax considered it prudent togo. He stopped, released Clarissa's hand from his arm, only to lift it tohis lips and kiss it--the tremulous little ungloved hand which had beensketching his profile when he surprised her, half an hour before, on thechurchyard wall. 

There was not a creature on the road before them, as they Stood thus inthe moonlight; but in spite of this appearance of security, they were notunobserved. A pair of angry eyes watched them from across a clipped hollyhedge in front of the cottage--the eyes of Marmaduke Lovel, who hadventured out in the soft September night to smoke his after-dinner cigar. 

"Good-night, Clarissa, " said George Fairfax; "I shall see you again verysoon. "

"No, no; I don't wish to see you. No good can come of our seeing eachother. "

"You will see me, whether you wish or not. Good-night. There is ninestriking. You will be in time to pour out papa's tea. "

He let go the little hand which he had held till now, and went away. WhenClarissa came to the gate, she found it open, and her father standing byit. She drew back with a guilty start. 

"Pray come in, " said Mr. Lovel, in his most ceremonious tone. "I am veryglad that a happy accident has enabled me to become familiar with your newhabits. Have you learnt to give clandestine meetings to your lovers atHale Castle? Have I to thank Lady Laura for this novel development of yourcharacter?"

"I don't know what you mean, papa. I was sitting in the churchyard justnow, sketching, when Mr. Fairfax rode up to me. He stopped talking alittle, and then insisted on seeing me home. That is all. "

"That is all. And so it was George Fairfax--the bridegroom that was to havebeen--who kissed your hand just now, in that loverlike fashion. Pray comeindoors; I think this is a business that requires to be discussed betweenus quietly. "

"Believe me you have no reason to be angry, papa, " pleaded Clarissa;"nothing could have been farther from my thoughts than the idea of meetingMr. Fairfax to-night. "

"I have heard that kind of denial before, and know what it is worth, "answered her father coldly. "And pray, if he did not come here to meet you, may I ask what motive brought Mr. Fairfax to Arden to-night? His properplace would have been at Hale Castle, I should have supposed. "

"I don't know, papa. He may have come to Arden for a ride. Everything is inconfusion at the Castle, I scarcely think he would be wanted there. "

"You scarcely think! And you encourage him to follow you here--this man whowas to have been married to Lady Geraldine Challoner to-day--and you lethim kiss your hand, and part from you with the air of a lover. I am ashamedof you, Clarissa. This business is odious enough in itself to provoke theanger of any father, if there were not circumstances in the past to make ittrebly hateful to me. "

They had passed in at the open window by this time, and were standing inthe lamp-lit parlour, which had a pretty air of home comfort, with itsdelicate tea-service and quaintly shaped silver urn. Mr. Lovel sank intohis arm-chair with a faint groan, and looking at him in the full light ofthe lamp, Clarissa saw that he was deadly pale. 

"Do you know that the father of that man was my deadliest foe?" heexclaimed. 

"How should I know that, papa?"

"How should you know it!--no. But that you should choose that man for yoursecret lover! One would think there was some hereditary curse upon yourmother's race, binding her and hers with that hateful name. I tell you, Clarissa, that if there had been no such creature as Temple Fairfax, mylife might have been as bright a one as any man need hope for. I owe everymisery of my existence to that man. "

"Did he injure you so deeply, papa?"

"He did me the worst wrong that one man can do to another. He came betweenme and the woman I loved; he stole your mother's heart from me, Clarissa, and embittered both our lives. "

He stopped, and covered his face with his hand. Clarissa could see that thehand trembled. She had never seen her father so moved before. She too wasdeeply moved. She drew a chair close to him, and sat down by his side, butdared not speak. 

"It is just as well that you should hear the story from me, " he said, aftera long pause. "You may hear hints and whispers about it from other peopleby-and-by perhaps, if you go more into society; for it was known toseveral. It is best you should know the truth. It is a common story enoughin the history of the world; but whenever it happens, it is enough to makethe misery of one man's life. I was not always what you have known me, Clarissa, --a worn-out machine, dawdling away the remnant of a wastedexistence. I once had hopes and passions like the rest of mankind--perhapsmore ardent than the most. Your mother was the loveliest and mostfascinating woman I ever met, and from the hour of our first meeting I hadbut one thought--how I should win her for my wife. It was not a prudentmarriage. She was my equal by birth; but she was the daughter of a ruinedspendthrift, and had learnt extravagance and recklessness in her verynursery. She thought me much richer than I was, and I did not care toundeceive her. Later, when we were married, and I could see that herextravagant habits were hastening my ruin, I was still too much a moralcoward to tell her the naked truth. I could not bear to come between herand caprices that seemed a natural accompaniment to her charms. I wasweakness itself in all that concerned her. "

"And she loved you, papa?" said Clarissa softly. "I am sure she must haveloved you. "

"That is a question that I have never answered with any satisfaction tomyself. I thought she loved me. She liked me well enough, I believe, tillthat man crossed her path, and might have learnt to like me better as shegrew older and wiser, and rose above the slavery of frivolous pleasures. But, in the most evil hour of her life, she met Temple Fairfax, and fromthat hour her heart was turned from me. We were travelling, trying torecover from the expenses of a house perpetually full of my wife's set;and it was at Florence that we first encountered the Colonel. He had justreturned from India, had been doing great things there, and was consideredrather a distinguished person in Florentine society. I need not stop todescribe him. His son is like him. He and I became friends, and met almostdaily. It was not till a year afterwards that I knew how pitiful a dupe ofthis man's treachery I had been from the very first. We were still in Italywhen I made my first discovery; it was one that let in the light upon hischaracter, but did not seriously involve my wife. We fought, and I waswounded. When I recovered, I brought my wife home to Arden. Our year'sretrenchment had left me poorer than when I left home. Your mother'sbeauty was a luxury not to be maintained more cheaply at Florence than inYorkshire. "

There was another pause, and then Marmaduke Lovel went on, in the samebitter tone:

"Within a short time of our return your brother was born. There are thingsthat I can't even hint to you, Clarissa; but there have been times when theshadow of that man has come between me and my children. Passion has made meunjust. I know that in her worst sin against my love--for I went on lovingher to the last--your mother remained what the world calls innocent. Butyears after I had believed there was an end of all communion between thosetwo, I discovered letters, even stolen meetings--rare, I confess, and neverwithout witnesses, but no less a treason against me. Colonel Fairfax hadfriends at Holborough, by whose aid he contrived to see my wife. That heurged her to leave me, I know, and that she was steadfast in her refusal todo me that last wrong. But I know too that she loved him. I have read theconfession of that which she called her 'madness' under her own hand. "

"O, papa, papa, how sad! how dreadful!"

"Within a year or two of your birth she began to fade. From my heart Ibelieve it was this struggle between passion and the last remnant of honourthat killed her. I need not tell you the details of my discoveries, some ofthem made not very long before her death. They led to bitter scenes betweenus; but I thank God I did believe her protestations of innocence, and thatI kept her under my own roof. There were others not so merciful. ColonelFairfax's wife was told of his devotion to mine at Florence, and the duelwhich ended our acquaintance. She found out something of his subsequentmeetings with your mother, and her jealousy brought about a separation. Itwas managed quietly enough, but not without scandal; and nothing but mydetermination to maintain my wife's position could have saved her fromutter disgrace. Yes, Clarissa, I loved her to the last, but the misery ofthat last year was something that no words can tell. She died in my arms, and in her latest hours of consciousness thanked me for what she called mygenerosity. I went straight from her funeral to London, with a bundle ofletters in my pocket, to find Temple Fairfax. What might have happenedbetween us, had we met, I can scarcely guess; but there were no scruples onmy side. Fortune favoured him, however; he had sailed for India a few weeksbefore, in command of his regiment. I had some thoughts of following himeven there, but abandoned the notion. My wrongs would keep. I waited forhis return, but that never happened. He was killed in Afghanistan, andcarried to his Indian grave the reputation of one of the worst men and bestsoldiers who ever bore the king's commission. "

This was all. To speak of these things had profoundly agitated MarmadukeLovel; but a sudden impulse had moved this man, who was apt to be so silentabout himself and his own feelings, and he had been in a manner constrainedto tell this story. 

"You can understand now, I suppose, Clarissa, " he said coldly, afteranother pause, "why this young man, George Fairfax, is hateful to me. "

"Yes, papa. It is only natural that you should be prejudiced against him. Does he know, do you think----" she faltered and stopped, with a bittersense of shame. 

"Does he know what?"

"About the past?"

"Of course he must know. Do you suppose his mother has not told him hergrievances?"

Clarissa remembered Mrs. Fairfax's cold manner, and understood the reasonof that tacit avoidance which had wounded her so deeply. She too, no doubt, was hateful; as hateful to the injured wife of Colonel Fairfax as his soncould be to her father. 

"And now, Clarissa, " said Mr. Lovel, "remember that any acquaintancebetween you and George Fairfax is most repugnant to me. I have told youthis story in order that there may be no possibility of any mistake betweenus. God only knows what it costs a man to open old wounds as I have openedmine to-night. Only this afternoon you affected a considerable regard forme, which I promised to return to the best of my power. All that is a deadletter if you hold any communion with this man. Choose him for your friend, and renounce me for your father. You cannot have both. "

"He is not my friend, papa; he is nothing to me. Even it there were nosuch thing as this prejudice on your part, I am not so dishonourably as toforget that Mr. Fairfax is engaged to Lady Geraldine. "

"And you promise that there shall be no more meetings, no repetition of thekind of thing I saw to-night?"

"I promise, papa, that of my own free will I will never see him again. Ourmeeting to-night was entirely accidental. "

"On your part, perhaps; but was it so on his?"

"I cannot tell that, papa. "

Mr. Lovel felt himself obliged to be satisfied with this answer. It seemedto him a hard thing that the son of his enemy should arise thus to tormenthim--an accident that might have tempted a superstitious man to think thatan evil fate brooded over his house; and Marmaduke Lovel's mind, beingby no means strongly influenced by belief, was more or less tainted withsuperstition. Looked at from any point of view, it was too provoking thatthis man should cross Clarissa's pathway at the very moment when it wasall-important to her destiny that her heart should be untouched, her fancyunfettered. 

"If nothing comes of this Granger business I shall take her abroad, " Mr. Lovel said to himself; "anything to get her out of the way of a Fairfax. "

He drank his tea in silence, meditating upon that little scene in themoonlight, and stealing a look at his daughter every now and then, as shesat opposite to him pretending to read. He could see that the open book wasthe merest pretence, and that Clarissa was profoundly agitated. Was it hermother's story that had moved her so deeply, or that other newer storywhich George Fairfax might have been whispering to her just now in thelonely moonlit road? Mr. Lovel was disturbed by this question, but did notcare to seek any farther explanation from his daughter. There are somesubjects that will not bear discussion. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XIX. 

MR. GRANGER IS PRECIPITATE. 

Clarissa had little sleep that night. The image of George Fairfax, andof that dead soldier whom she pictured darkly like him, haunted her allthrough the slow silent hours. Her mother's story had touched her to theheart; but her sympathies were with her father. Here was a new reason whyshe should shut her heart against Lady Geraldine's lover, if any reasonwere wanted to strengthen that sense of honour which reigns supreme in agirl's unsullied soul. In her conviction as to what was right she neverwavered. She felt herself very weak where this man was concerned--weakenough to love him in spite of reason and honour; but she did not doubther power to keep that guilty secret, and to hide her weakness from GeorgeFairfax. 

She had almost forgotten her engagement at Arden Court when her father camedown to his late breakfast, and found her sketching at a little table nearthe window, with the affectionate Ponto nestling close at her side. 

"I thought you would be dressing for your visit by this time, Clary, " hesaid very graciously. 

"My visit, papa? O, yes, to the Court, " she replied, with a faint sigh ofresignation. "I had very nearly forgotten all about it. I was to be therebetween twelve and one, I think. I shall have plenty of time to give youyour breakfast. It's not eleven yet. "

"Be sure you dress yourself becomingly. I don't want you to appear at adisadvantage compared with the heiress. "

"I'll put on my prettiest dress, if you like, papa; but I can't wear suchsilks and laces as Miss Granger wears. "

"You will have such things some day, I daresay, and set them off betterthan Miss Granger. She is not a bad-looking young woman--good complexion, fine figure, and so on--but as stiff as a poker. "

"I think she is mentally stiff, papa; she is a sort of person I could neverget on with. How I wish you were coming with me this morning!"

"I couldn't manage it, Clarissa. The schools and the model villagers wouldbe more than I could stand. But at your age you ought to be interested inthat sort of thing; and you really ought to get on with Miss Granger. "

It was half-past twelve when Miss Lovel opened the gate leading into ArdenPark--the first time that she had ever opened it; though she had stoodso often leaning on that rustic boundary, and gazing into the well-knownwoodland, with fond sad looks. There was an actual pain at her heart as sheentered that unforgotten domain; and she felt angry with Daniel Granger forhaving forced this visit upon her. 

"I suppose he is determined that we shall pay homage to his wealth, andadmire his taste, and drink the bitter cup of humiliation to the verydregs. If he had any real delicacy of feeling, he would understand ourreluctance to any intimacy with him. "

While she was thinking of Mr. Granger in this unfriendly spirit, a stepsounded on the winding path before her, and looking up, she perceived thesubject of her thoughts coming quickly towards her. Was there ever such anintrusive man? She blushed rosy red with vexation. 

He came to her, with his hat in his hand, looking very big and stiff andcounting-house like among the flickering shadows of forest trees; notan Arcadian figure by any means, but with a certain formalbusiness-like-dignity about him, for all that; not a man to be ridiculed ordespised. 

"I am glad you have not forgotten your promise to come early, Miss Lovel, "he said, in his strong sonorous voice. "I was just walking over to thecottage to remind you. Sophia is quite ready to do the honours of herschools. But I shall not let her carry you off till after luncheon; I wantto show you my improvements. I had set my heart on your seeing the Courtfor the first time--since its restoration--under my guidance. "

"Pompous, insufferable _parvenu_, " thought Clarissa, to whom this desire onMr. Granger's part seemed only an odious eagerness to exhibit his wealth. She little knew how much sentiment there was involved in this wish ofDaniel Granger's. 

They came into the open part of the park presently, and she was fain toconfess, that whatever changes had been made--and the alterations here werenot many--had been made with a perfect appreciation of the picturesque. Even the supreme neatness with which the grounds were now kept did notmar their beauty. Fairy-like young plantations of rare specimens of theconiferous tribe had arisen at every available point of the landscape, wherever there had been barrenness before. Here and there the old timberhad been thinned a little, always judiciously. No cockney freaks of fancydisfigured the scene. There were no sham ruins, no artificial waterfallspoorly supplied with water, no Chinese pagodas, or Swiss cottages, orgothic hermitages. At one point of the shrubbery where the gloom of cypressand fir was deepest, they came suddenly on a Grecian temple, whose slendermarble columns might have gleamed amidst the sacred groves of Diana; andthis was the only indulgence Mr. Granger had allowed to an architect'sfancy, Presently, at the end of a wide avenue, a broad alley of turfbetween double lines of unrivalled beeches, the first glimpse of the Courtburst upon Clarissa's sight--unchanged and beautiful. A man must have beena Goth, indeed, who had altered the outward aspect of the place by a hair'sbreadth. 

The house was surrounded by a moat, and there was a massive stone gateway, of older date than the Court itself--though that was old--dividing a smallprim garden from the park; this gatehouse was a noble piece of masonry, ofthe purest gothic, rich with the mellow tint of age, and almost as perfectas in the days when some wandering companionship of masons gave the laststroke of their chisels to the delicate tracery of window and parapet. 

The Court formed three sides of a quadrangle. A dear old place, lovablerather than magnificent, yet with all the grandeur of the middle ages; aplace that might have stood a siege perhaps, but had evidently been builtfor a home. The garden originally belonging to the house was simplicityitself, and covered scarcely an acre. All round the inner border of themoat there ran a broad terrace-walk, divided by a low stone balustrade froma grassy bank that sloped down to the water. The square plot of groundbefore the house was laid out in quaint old flower-beds, where the rosesseemed, to Clarissa at least, to flourish as they flourished nowhere else. The rest of the garden consisted of lawn and flower-beds, with more roses. There were no trees near the house, and the stables and out-offices, whichmade a massive pile of building, formed a background to the grave oldgothic mansion. 

Without, at least, Mr. Granger had respected the past. Clarissa feltrelieved by this moderation, and was inclined to think him a little lesshateful. So far he had said nothing which could seem to betray a boastfulspirit. He had watched her face and listened to her few remarks with a kindof deferential eagerness, as if it had been a matter of vital importanceto him that she should approve what he had done. A steward, who had beenentrusted with the conduct of alterations and renovations during theabsence of his master, could scarcely have appeared more anxious as to theresult of his operations. 

The great iron gates under the gothic archway stood wide open just as theyhad been wont to do in Mr. Lovel's time, and Clarissa and her companionpassed into the quiet garden. How well she remembered the neglected air ofthe place when last she had seen it--the mossgrown walks, the duckweed inthe moat, the straggling rose-bushes, everything out of order, from thebroken weathercock on one of the gateway towers, to the scraper by thehalf-glass door in one corner of the quadrangle, which had been, usedinstead of the chief entrance! It seems natural to a man of decayed fortuneto shut up his hall-door and sneak in and out of his habitation by someobscure portal. 

Now all was changed; a kind of antique primness, which had no taint ofcockney stiffness, pervaded the scene. One might have expected to see SirThomas More or Lord Bacon emerge from the massive gothic porch, and strollwith slow step and meditative aspect towards the stone sun-dial that stoodin the centre of that square rose-garden. The whole place had an air ofdoublet and hose. It seemed older to Clarissa than when she had seenit last--older and yet newer, like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, restored, after a century of decay, to all its original grandeur. 

The door under the porch stood open; but there were a couple of men in asober livery waiting in the hall--footmen who had never been rearedin those Yorkshire wilds--men with powdered hair, and the stamp ofGrosvenor-square upon them. Those flew to open inner doors, and Clarissabegan with wonder to behold the new glories of the mansion. She followedMr. Granger in silence through dining and billiard-rooms, saloon andpicture-gallery, boudoir and music-room, in all of which the Elizabethanair, the solemn grace of a departed age, had been maintained with amarvellous art. Money can do so much; above all, where a man has nobigoted belief in his own taste or capacity, and will put his trust in theintelligence of professional artists. Daniel Granger had done this. He hadsaid to an accomplished architect, "I give you the house of my choice; makeit what it was in its best days. Improve wherever you can, but alter aslittle as possible; and, above all, no modernising. "

Empowered by this _carte blanche_, the architect had given his soul todreams of mediaeval splendour and had produced a place which, in its way, was faultless. No matter that some of the carved-oak furniture was freshfrom the chisel of the carver, while other things were the spoil of oldBelgian churches; that the tapestry in one saloon was as old as the days ofits designer, Boucher, and that in the adjoining chamber made on purposefor Arden Court at the Gobelins manufactory of his Imperial MajestyNapoleon III. No matter that the gilt-leather hangings in one room had hungthere in the reign of Charles I. , while those in another were supplied by aWest-end upholsterer. Perfect taste had harmonised every detail; there wasnot so much as a footstool or a curtain that could have been called ananachronism. Clarissa looked at all these things with a strange sense ofwandering somewhere in a dream. It was, and yet was not her old home. Therewas nothing incongruous. The place scarcely seemed new to her, thougheverything was altered. It was only as it ought to have been always. 

She remembered the bare rooms, the scanty shabby furniture of the Georgianera, the patches and glimpses of faded splendour here and there, theBond-street prettinesses and fripperies in her mother's boudoir, which, even in her early girlhood, had grown tawdry and _rococo_, the old picturesrotting in their tarnished frames; everything with that sordid air ofpoverty and decay upon it. "

"Well, Miss Lovel, " Daniel Granger said at last, when they had gone throughall the chief rooms almost in silence, "do you approve of what has beendone?"

"It is beautiful, " Clarissa answered, "most beautiful; but--but it breaksmy heart to see it. "

The words were wrung from her somehow. In the next moment she was ashamedof them--it seemed like the basest envy. 

"O, pray, pray do not think me mean or contemptible, Mr. Granger, " shesaid; "it is not that I envy you your house, only it was my home so long, and I always felt its neglect so keenly; and to see it now so beautiful, asI could have only pictured it in my dreams--and even in them I could notfancy it so perfect. "

"It may be your home again, Clarissa, if you care to make it so, " said Mr. Granger, coming very close to her, and with a sudden passion in his voice. "I little thought when I planned this place that it would one day seemworthless to me without one lovely mistress. It is all yours, Clarissa, ifyou will have it--and the heart of its master, who never thought that itwas in his nature to feel what he feels for you. "

He tried to take her hand; but she shrank away from him, trembling alittle, and with a frightened look in her face. 

"Mr. Granger, O, pray, pray don't----"

"For God's sake don't tell me that this seems preposterous or hateful toyou--that you cannot value the love of a man old enough to be your father. You do not know what it is for a man of my age and my character to love forthe first time. I had gone through life heart-whole, Clarissa, till I sawyou. Between my wife and me there was never more than liking. She was agood woman, and I respected her, and we got on very well together. That wasall. Clarissa, tell me that there is some hope. I ought not to have spokenso soon; I never meant to be such a fool--but the words came in spite ofme. O, my dearest, don't crush me with a point-blank refusal. I know thatall this must seem strange to you. Let it pass. Think no more of anything Ihave said till you know me better--till you find my love is worth having. I believe I fell in love with you that first afternoon in the libraryat Hale. From that time forth your face haunted me--like some beautifulpicture--the loveliest thing I had ever seen, Clarissa. "

"I cannot answer you, Mr. Granger, " she said in a broken voice; "you haveshocked and surprised me so much, I----"

"Shocked and surprised you! That seems hard. "

In that very moment it flashed upon her that this was what her father andLady Laura Armstrong had wished to bring about. She was to win back thelost heritage of Arden Court--win it by the sacrifice of every naturalfeeling of her heart, by the barter of her very self. 

How much more Mr. Granger might have said there is no knowing--for, once having spoken, a man is loth to leave such a subject as thisunexhausted--but there came to Clarissa's relief the rustling sound of astiff silk dress, announcing the advent of Miss Granger, who sailed towardsthem through a vista of splendid rooms, with a stately uncompromising airthat did not argue the warmest possible welcome for her guest. 

"I have been hunting for you everywhere, papa, " she said in an aggrievedtone. "Where have you been hiding Miss Lovel?"

And then she held out her hand and shook hands with Clarissa in the coldestmanner in which it was possible for a human being to perform that ceremony. She looked at her father with watchful suspicious eyes as he walked away toone of the windows, not caring that his daughter should see his face justat that moment. There was something, evidently, Sophia thought, --somethingwhich it concerned her to discover. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XX. 

MODEL VILLAGERS. 

They went to luncheon in a secondary dining room--a comfortable apartment, which served pleasantly for all small gatherings, and had that social airso impossible in a stately banqueting-chamber--a perfect gem of a room, hung with gilt leather, relieved here and there by a choice picture in aframe of gold and ebony. Here the draperies were of a dark crimson cutvelvet, which the sunshine brightened into ruby. The only ornaments in thisroom were a pair of matchless Venetian girandoles on the mantelpiece, anda monster Palissy dish, almost as elaborate in design as the shield ofAchilles, on the oaken buffet. 

The luncheon was not a very genial repast; Miss Granger maintained a politesulkiness; Clarissa had not yet recovered from the agitation which Mr. Granger's most unexpected avowal had occasioned; and even the strong manhimself felt his nerves shaken, and knew that he was at a disadvantage, between the daughter who suspected him and the woman who had all butrefused his hand. He did his utmost to seem at his ease, and to beguilehis daughter into a more cordial bearing; but there was a gloom upon thatlittle party of three which was palpably oppressive. It seemed in vain tostruggle against the dismal influence. Mr. Granger felt relieved when, justat the close of the meal, his butler announced that Mr. Tillott was in thedrawing-room. Mr. Tillott was a mild inoffensive young man of High-churchtendencies, the curate of Arden. 

"I asked Tillott to go round the schools with us this afternoon, " Mr. Granger said to his daughter in an explanatory tone. "I know what aninterest he takes in the thing, and I thought it would be pleasanter. "

"You are very kind, papa, " Miss Granger replied, with implacable stiffness;"but I really don't see what we want with Mr. Tillott, or with you either. There's not the least reason that we should take you away from your usualoccupations; and you are generally so busy of an afternoon. Miss Lovel andI can see everything there is to be seen, without any escort; and I havealways heard you complain that my schools bored you. "

"Well, perhaps I may have had rather an overdose of the philanthropicbusiness occasionally, my dear, " answered Mr. Granger, with a good-humouredlaugh. "However, I have set my heart upon seeing how all your improvementsaffect Miss Lovel. She has such a peculiar interest in the place, you see, and is so identified with the people. I thought you'd be pleased to haveTillott. He's really a good fellow, and you and he always seem to have somuch to talk about. "

On this they all repaired to the drawing-room, where Mr. Tillott the curatewas sitting at a table, turning over the leaves of an illuminated psalter, and looking altogether as if he had just posed himself for a photograph. 

To this mild young man Miss Granger was in a manner compelled to relax theausterity of her demeanour. She even smiled in a frosty way as she shookhands with him; but she had no less a sense of the fact that her father hadout-manoeuvred her, and that this invitation to Mr. Tillott was a craftydesign whereby he intended to have Clarissa all to himself during thatafternoon. 

"I am sorry you could not come to luncheon with us, Tillott, " said Mr. Granger in his hearty way. "Or are you sure, by the bye, that you havetaken luncheon? We can go back to the dining-room and hear the last news ofthe parish while you wash down some game-pie with a glass or two of the oldmadeira. "

"Thanks, you are very good; but I never eat meat on Wednesdays or Fridays. I had a hard-boiled egg and some cocoa at half-past seven this morning, and shall take nothing more till sunset. I had duties at Swanwick whichdetained me till within the last half-hour, or I should have been veryhappy to have eaten a biscuit with you at your luncheon. "

"Upon my word, Tillott, you are the most indefatigable of men; but I reallywish you High-church people had not such a fancy for starving yourselves. So much expenditure of brain-power must involve a waste of the coarsermaterial. Now, Sophy, if you and Miss Lovel are ready, we may as wellstart. "

They went out into the sunny quadrangle, where the late roses were bloomingwith all their old luxuriance. How well Clarissa remembered them in thosedays when they had been the sole glory of the neglected place! In spiteof Sophia, who tried her hardest to prevent the arrangement, Mr. Grangercontrived that he and Clarissa should walk side by side, and that Mr. Tillott should completely absorb his daughter. This the curate was by nomeans indisposed to do; for, if the youthful saint had a weakness, it layin the direction of vanity. He sincerely admired the serious qualities ofMiss Granger's mind, and conceived that, blest with such a woman and withthe free use of her fortune, he might achieve a rare distinction for hislabours in tins fold, to say nothing of placing himself on the high-road toa bishopric. Nor was he inclined to think Miss Granger indifferent to hisown merits, or that the conquest would be by any means an impossible one. It was a question of time, he thought; the sympathy between them was toostrong not to take some higher development. He thought of St. Francis deSales and Madame de Chantal, and fancied himself entrusted with the fullguidance of Miss Granger's superior mind. 

They walked across the park to a small gothic gateway, which had been madesince the close of Marmaduke Lovel's reign. Just outside this stood thechapel of Mr. Granger's building, and the new schools, also gothic, andwith that bran-new aspect against which architecture can do nothing. Theywould be picturesque, perhaps, ten years hence. To-day they had the odourof the architect's drawing-board. 

Beyond the schools there were some twenty cottages, of the same moderngothic, each habitation more or less borne down and in a mannerextinguished by its porch and chimney. If the rooms had been in reasonableproportion to the chimneys, the cottages would have been mansions; butgothic chimneys are pleasing objects, and the general effect was good. These twenty cottages formed the beginning of Mr. Granger's modelvillage--a new Arden, which was to arise on this side of the Court. Theywere for the most part inhabited by gardeners and labourers more or lessdependent on Arden Court, and it had been therefore an easy matter for MissGranger to obtain a certain deference to her wishes from the tenants. 

The inspection of the schools and cottages was rather a tedious business. Sophia would not let her companions off with an iota less than thewhole thing. Her model pupils were trotted out and examined in theScriptures--always in Kings and Chronicles--and evinced a familiarity withthe ways of Jezebel and Rehoboam that made Clarissa blush at the thoughtof her own ignorance. Then there came an exhibition of plain needlework, excruciatingly suggestive of impaired eyesight; then fancy-work, which MissGranger contemplated with a doubtful air, as having a frivolous tendency;and then the school mistress's parlour and kitchen were shown, anddisplayed so extreme a neatness that made one wonder where she lived; andthen the garden, where the heels of one's boots seemed a profanation;and then, the schools and schoolhouses being exhausted, there came thecottages. 

How Clarissa's heart bled for the nice clean motherly women who were putthrough their paces for Miss Granger's glorification, and were fain toconfess that their housekeeping had been all a delusion and a snare tillthat young lady taught them domestic economy! How she pitied them as thesevere Sophia led the way into sacred corners, and lifted the lids ofcoppers and dustholes, and opened cupboard-doors, and once, with an aspectof horror, detected an actual cobweb lurking in an angle of the whitewashedwall! Clarissa could not admire things too much, in order to do away withsome of the bitterness of that microscopic survey. Then there was suchcross-examination about church-going, and the shortcomings of the absenthusbands were so ruthlessly dragged into the light of day. The poor wivesblushed to own that these unregenerate spirits had still a lurking desirefor an occasional social evening at the Coach and Horses, in spite of thecharms of a gothic chimney, and a porch that was massive enough for thedungeon of a mediaeval fortress. Miss Granger and the curate played intoeach other's hands, and between the two the model villagers underwent akind of moral dissection. It was dreary work altogether; and Daniel Grangerhad been guilty of more than one yawn before it was all over, even thoughhe had the new delight of being near Clarissa all the time. It was finishedat last. One woman, who in her benighted state had known Miss Lovel, hadshown herself touched by the sight of her. 

"You never come anigh me now, miss, " she said tenderly, "though I've knowedyou ever since you was a little girl; and it would do my heart good to seeyour sweet face here once in a way. "

"You've better friends now, you see, Mrs. Rice, " Clarissa answered gently. "I could do so little for you. But I shall be pleased to look in upon younow and then. "

"Do'ee, now, miss; me and my master will be right down glad to see you. However kind new friends may be, " this was said with a conciliatory curtseyto Miss Granger, "we can't forget old friends. We haven't forgot yourgoodness when my boy Bill was laid up with the fever, miss, and how you satbeside his bed and read to him. "

It was at this juncture that Sophia espied another cobweb, after which thelittle party left this the last of the cottages, and walked back to thepark, Daniel Granger still by Clarissa's side. He did not make the faintestallusion to that desperate avowal of the morning. He was indeed cruellyashamed of his precipitation, feeling that he had gone the very way to ruinhis cause. All that afternoon, while his daughter had been peering intocoppers and washing-tubs and dustholes, he had been meditating upon theabsurdity of his conduct, and hating himself for his folly. He was not aman who suffered from a mean opinion of his own merits. On the contrary, inall the ordinary commerce of life he fancied himself more than the equal ofthe best among his fellow-men. He had never wished himself other than whathe was, or mistrusted his own judgment, or doubted that he, Daniel Granger, was a very important atom in the scheme of creation. But in this case itwas different. He knew himself to be a grave middle-aged man, with noneof those attributes that might have qualified him to take a young woman'sheart by storm; and as surely as he knew this, he also knew himself to bepassionately in love. All the happiness of his future life depended on thisgirl who walked by his side, with her pale calm face and deep hazel eyes. If she should refuse him, all would be finished. He had dreamed his dream, and life could never any more be what it had been for him. The days werepast in which, he himself had been all-sufficient for his own happiness. But, though he repented that hasty betrayal of his feelings, he did notaltogether despair. It is not easy to reduce a man of his age and characterto the humble level of a despairing lover. He had so much to bestow, andcould not separate himself in his own mind from those rich gifts of fortunewhich went along with him. No, there was every chance of ultimate success, he thought, in spite of his rashness of that morning. He had only to teachhimself patience--to bide his time. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXI. 

VERY FAR GONE. 

It was a little after six when they came to the gateway of the Court, atwhich point Mr. Tillott made his adieux. Mr. Granger would have been veryglad to ask him to dinner, had he not promised Mr. Lovel that they wouldbe quite alone; so he made up for any apparent inhospitality towards thecurate by a hearty invitation for the following Sunday. 

There was nearly an hour and a half before dinner; but Sophia carried offher guest to her own rooms at once, for the revision of her toilet, anddetained her in those upper regions until just before the ringing of thesecond bell, very much to the aggravation of Mr. Granger, who paced thelong drawing-room in dismal solitude, waiting for Mr. Lovel's arrival. 

In her own rooms Miss Granger became a shade more gracious to Clarissa. Theexhibition of her _sanctum sanctorum_ was always pleasing to her. It wasthe primmest of apartments, half study, half office; and Sophia, one ofwhose proudest boasts was of her methodical habits, here displayed herselfin full force. It seemed as if she had inherited all the commercialfaculties of her father, and having no other outlet for this mercantilegenius, was fain to expend her gifts upon the petty details of a woman'slife. Never had Clarissa seen such a writing-table, with so manypigeon-holes for the classification of documents, and such ranges ofdrawers with Brahma locks. Miss Granger might have carried on a smallbanking business with less paraphernalia than she employed in the conductof her housekeeping and philanthropy. 

"I am my own housekeeper, " she told Clarissa triumphantly, "and know theconsumption of this large establishment to an ounce. There is no stint ofanything, of course. The diet in the servant's hall is on the most liberalscale, but there is no waste. Every cinder produced in the house is sifted;every candle we burn has been in stock a twelvemonth. I could not pretendto teach my cottagers economy if I did not practise it myself. I ruleeverything by the doctrine of averages--so much consumed in one month, somuch necessarily required in another; and I reduce everything to figures. Figures cannot deceive, as I tell Mrs. Plumptree, my cook, when she showsme a result that I cannot understand or accept. And there are my books. "

Miss Granger waved her hand towards a row of most uncompromising-lookingvolumes of the ledger or day-book species. The delight which she displayedin these things was something curious to behold. Every small charityMiss Granger performed, every shortcoming of the recipients thereof, wasrecorded in those inexorable volumes. She had a book for the record of thechurch-going, a book for the plain needlework, and was wont to freeze theyoung blood of her school-children by telling them at the end of the yearhow many inches of cambric frilling they had hemmed, and how many timesthey had missed afternoon service. To them she appeared a supernaturalcreature--a kind of prophetess, sent upon earth for their correction andabasement. 

On a solid ecclesiastical-looking oak table in one of the windows MissGranger had a row of brass-bound money-boxes, inscribed, "For the HomeMission, " "For the Extra Curate Society, " and so on--boxes into which MissGranger's friends and visitors were expected to drop their mite. Clarissafelt that if she had been laden down with shillings, she could not for hervery life have approached those formidable boxes to drop one in under MissGranger's ken; but, of course, this was a morbid fancy. On another tablethere were little piles of material for plain work; so prim, so square, so geometrically precise, that Clarissa thought the flannel itself lookedcold--a hard, fibrous, cruel fabric, that could never be of use to mortalflesh except as an irritant. 

Miss Granger's bedroom and dressing-room were like Miss Granger'smorning-room. No frivolous mediaevalism here, no dainty upholsterer's workin many-coloured woods, but solid mahogany, relieved by solemn draperiesof drab damask, in a style which the wise Sophia called unpretentious. Thechief feature in one room was a sewing-machine that looked like a smallchurch organ, and in the other a monster medicine-chest, from the contentsof which Miss Granger dealt out doses of her own concoction to herparishioners. Both of these objects she showed to Clarissa with pride, butthe medicine-chest was evidently the favourite. 

Having improved the time after this manner till twenty minutes past seven, with a very brief interval devoted to the duties of the toilet, the twoyoung ladies went down to the drawing-room, where the lamps were lighted, and Mr. Lovel just arrived. 

That gentleman had the honour of taking Miss Granger in to dinner, and didhis utmost to render himself agreeable to her in a quiet undemonstrativeway, and to take the gauge of her mental powers. She received hisattentions graciously enough--indeed it would not have been easy for anyone to be ungracious to Marmaduke Lovel when he cared to please--but hecould see very clearly that she suspected the state of affairs, andwould be, to the last degree, antagonistic to his own and his daughter'sinterests. He saw how close a watch she kept upon her father all throughthe dinner, and how her attention was distracted every now and then when hewas talking to Clarissa. 

"It is only natural that she should set her face against the business, "he said to himself; "no woman in her position could be expected to actotherwise; but it strikes me that Granger is not a man likely to beinfluenced by domestic opposition. He is the kind of man to take his ownway, I fancy, in defiance of an opposing universe--a very difficult manto govern. He seems over head and ears in love, however, and it will beClarissa's own fault if she doesn't do what she likes with him. Heavengrant she may prove reasonable! Most women would be enchanted with suchan opportunity, but with a raw school-girl there is no knowing. Andthat fellow Fairfax's influence may work against us, in spite of herprotestations last night. "

This was the gist of Mr. Level's disjointed musings during the progress ofthe dinner; but he took care not to neglect Miss Granger even for a moment, and he gave her very little time to listen to her father's conversationwith Clarissa. 

The dinner ceremonial was performed in a manner which seemed perfection, even to the fastidious taste of Marmaduke Lovel. There was not the faintestindication of ostentation. Daniel Granger's father had been rich beforehim; he had been born in the commercial purple, as it were, and none ofthese things were new to him. Before the Arden Court days he had occupieda handsome modern country house southward, near Doncaster. He had onlyexpanded his style of living after the purchase of the Court, that was all. He had good taste too, and a keen sense of the incongruous. He did notaffect the orchids and frivolous floral decorations, the fragile fairy-likeglass, with which Lady Laura Armstrong brightened her dinner-table; but, onthe other hand, his plate, of which he exhibited no vulgar profusion, wasin the highest art, the old Indian china dinner-service scarcely lesscostly than solid silver, and the heavy diamond-cut glass, with goldemblazonment of crest and monogram, worthy to be exhibited behind theglazed doors of a cabinet. There was no such abomination as gas in thestate chambers of Arden Court. Innumerable candles, in antique silvercandelabra, gave a subdued brightness to the dining-room. More candles, in sconces against the walls, and two pairs of noble moderator-lamps, onbronze and ormolu pedestals six feet high, lighted the drawing-room. Inthe halls and corridors there was the same soft glow of lamplight. Only inkitchens and out-offices and stables was the gas permitted to blaze merrilyfor the illumination of cooks and scullions, grooms and helpers. 

Miss Granger only lingered long enough to trifle with a cluster of purplegrapes before giving the signal for withdrawal Her father started up toopen the dining-room door, with a little sudden sigh. He had had Clarissaall to himself throughout the dinner, and had been very happy, talkingabout things that were commonplace enough in themselves, but finding aperfect contentment in the fact that he was talking to her, thatshe listened to him and smiled upon him graciously, with a sweetself-possession which put him quite at his ease. She had recovered fromthat awkward scene of the morning, and had settled in her own mind that thebusiness was rather absurd than serious. She had only to take care that Mr. Granger never had any second opportunity for indulging in such folly. 

He held the door open as Clarissa and his daughter went out of theroom--held it till that slim girlish figure had vanished at the end of thecorridor, and then came back to his seat with another sigh. 

"Very far gone, " Mr. Lovel thought, smiling ever so little, as he bent overhis claret-glass, pretending to admire the colour of the wine. 

It was really wonderful. That vague dream which had grown out of LadyLaura's womanly hints, that pleasant phantom which she had conjured up inMr. Lovel's mental vision a month or two ago, in the midsummer afternoon, had made itself into a reality so quickly as to astound a man too Horatianin his philosophy to be easily surprised. The fish was such a big one tobe caught so easily--without any exercise of those subtle manoeuvres andMachiavellian artifices in which the skilful angler delights--nay, topounce open-eyed upon the hook, and swallow it bodily!

Mr. Granger filled his glass with such a nervous hand, that half the clarethe poured out ran upon the shining oak table. He wiped up the spilt wineclumsily enough, with a muttered denunciation of his own folly, and thenmade a feeble effort to talk about indifferent things. 

It was of no use; with every appearance of courtesy and interest Mr. Lovelcontrived _not_ to help him. One subject after another fell flat: the stateof the Conservative party, the probability of a war--there is always aprobability of war somewhere, according to after-dinner politicians--theaspect of the country politically and agriculturally, and so on. No, it wasno use; Daniel Granger broke down altogether at last, and thought it bestto unbosom himself. 

"There is something that I think you have a right to know, Mr. Lovel, " hesaid, in an awkward hesitating way; "something which I should scarcely likeyou to learn from your daughter's lips, should she think it worth her whileto mention it, before you have heard it from mine. The fact is, in plainEnglish"--he was playing with his dessert-knife as he spoke, and seemed tobe debating within himself whereabouts upon the dinning-table he shouldbegin to carve his name--"the fact is, I made an abject fool of myself thismorning. I love your daughter--and told her so. "

Mr. Lovel gave a little start, the faintest perceptible movement, expressive of a gentle astonishment. 

"I need hardly tell you that you have taken me entirely by surprise, " hesaid in his quietest tone. 

"Of course not. People always are surprised when a man of my age presumesto fall in love with a beautiful girl of eighteen or twenty. If I were tomarry some worn-out woman of fashion, some battered widow, steeped to thelips in worldly wisdom, every one would call the match the most suitablething possible. But if a man of fifty ventures to dream a brighter dream, he is condemned at once for a fool. "

"Pardon me, my dear Granger; I have no idea of looking at things in thatlight. I only remark that you surprise me, as you no doubt surprised mydaughter by any avowal you may have made this morning. "

"Yes; and, I fear, disgusted her still more. I daresay I did my cause allthe harm that it was possible to do it. "

"I must own that you were precipitate, " Mr. Lovel answered, with his quietsmile. He felt as if he had been talking to a schoolboy. In his own wordsthe man was so "very far gone. "

"I shall know how to be more careful in future, if not wiser; but Isuffered myself to be carried away by impulse this morning. It wasaltogether unworthy of--of my time of life. " This was said rather bitterly. "Frankly, now, Mr. Lovel: if in the future I were able to gain some holdupon your daughter's affection--without that I would do nothing, no, sohelp me heaven, however passionately I might love her; if I could--if, inspite of the difference of our ages, I could win her heart--would you be inany way antagonistic to such a marriage?"

"On the contrary, my dear Granger. " Mr. Lovel had already something of thetone of a father-in-law. "Slight as our actual acquaintance has been, Ithink I know the estimable qualities of your character well enough fromother sources to be able to say that such a marriage would be eminentlypleasing to me. Nor is this all. I mean to be perfectly candid with you, Granger. My daughter and myself have both an almost romantic attachment tothis place, and I freely own that it would be very delightful to me to seeher mistress of her old home. But, at the same time, I give you my honourthat nothing would induce me to govern her choice by the smallest exerciseof parental influence. If you can win her, win her, and my best wishesshall go with your wooing; but I will utter no word to persuade her to beyour wife. "

"I respect you for that resolution; I think I should have asked you to beneutral, if you hadn't said as much. I couldn't stand the idea of a wifedriven into my arms by fatherly coercion. I suppose such things are done inmodern society. No, I must win my treasure myself, or not at all. I haveeverything against me, no doubt, except a rival. There is no fear of_that_, is there, Lovel?"

"Not the slightest. Clarissa is the merest school-girl. Her visit to LadyLaura Armstrong was her first glimpse of the world. No, Granger, you havethe field all before you. And you strike me as a man not likely to bevanquished by small difficulties. "

"I never yet set myself to do a thing which I didn't accomplish in the longrun, " answered Mr. Granger; "but then I never set myself to win a woman'sheart. My wife and I came together easily enough--in the way of business, as I may say--and liked each other well enough, and I regretted herhonestly when she was gone, poor soul! but that was all. I was never 'inlove' till I knew your daughter; never understood the meaning of thephrase. Of all the accidents that might have happened to me, this is themost surprising to myself. I can never cease to wonder at my own folly. "

"I do not know why you should call it a folly. You are only in the verymiddle of a man's life; you have a fortune that exempts you from all careand labour, and of course at the same time leaves you more or less withoutoccupation. Your daughter will marry and leave you in a year or two, nodoubt. Without some new tie your future existence must needs be veryempty. "

"I have felt that; but only since I have loved your daughter. "

This was all. The men came in with coffee, and put an end to allconfidential converse; after which Mr. Granger seemed very glad to go backto the drawing-room, where Clarissa was playing a mazurka; while Sophiasat before a great frame, upon which some splendid achievement in Berlinwoolwork, that was to be the glory of an approaching charity bazaar, wasrapidly advancing towards completion. The design was a group of dogs, after Landseer, and Miss Granger was putting in the pert black nose of aSkye-terrier as the gentlemen entered. The two ladies were as far apart asthey well could be in the spacious room, and had altogether an inharmoniousair, Mr. Granger thought; but then he was nervously anxious that these twoshould become friends. 

He went straight to the piano, and seated himself near Clarissa, almostwith the air of having a right to take that place. 

"Pray go on playing, " he said; "that seems very pretty music. I am nojudge, and I don't pretend to care for that classical music which every onetalks about nowadays, but I know what pleases me. "

The evening was not an especially gay one; but it seemed pleasant enoughto Mr. Granger, and he found himself wondering at its brevity. He showedClarissa some of his favourite pictures. His collection of modern art was afine one--not large, but very perfect in its way, and he was delighted tosee her appreciation of his treasures. Here at least was a point uponwhich they might sympathise. He had been a good deal worried by Sophia'sobtuseness upon all artistic matters. 

Mr. Lovel was not very sorry when the fly from the Arden Inn was announced, and it was time to go home. The pictures were fine, no doubt, and the oldhouse was beautiful in its restored splendour; but the whole businessjarred upon Marmaduke Lovel's sensitive nerves just a little, in spite ofthe sudden realization of that vague dream of his. This place might be hisdaughter's home, and he return to it: but not as its master. The day ofhis glory was gone. He was doubtful if he should even care to inhabit thathouse as his daughter's guest. He had to remind himself of the desperatecondition of his own circumstances before he could feel duly grateful toProvidence for his daughter's subjugation of Daniel Granger. 

He was careful to utter no word about her conquest on the way home, orduring the quarter of an hour Clarissa spent with him before going to herroom. 

"You look pale and tired, my child, " he said, with a sympathetic air, turning over the leaves of a book as he spoke. 

"The day was rather fatiguing, papa, " his daughter answered listlessly, "and Miss Granger is a tiring person. She is so strong-minded, that shemakes one feel weak and helpless by the mere force of contrast. "

"Yes, she is a tiring person, certainly; but I think I had the worst of herat dinner and in the evening. "

"But there was all the time before dinner, papa. She showed us hercottages--O, how I pitied the poor people! though I daresay she is kind tothem, in her way; but imagine any one coming in here and opening all ourcupboards, and spying out cobwebs, and giving a little shriek at thediscovery of a new loaf in our larder. She found out that one of her modelcottagers had been eating new bread. She said it gave her quite a revulsionof feeling. And then when we went home she showed me her account-books andher medicine-chest. It was very tiring. "

"Poor child! and this young woman will have Arden Court some day--unlessher father should marry again. "

Clarissa's pale face flamed with sudden crimson. 

"Which he is pretty sure to do, sooner or later, " continued Mr. Lovel, withan absent meditative air, as of a man who discusses the most indifferentsubject possible. "I hope he may. It would be a pity for such a place tofall into such hands. She would make it a phalanstery, a nest for Dorcassocieties and callow curates. "

"But if she does good with her money, papa, what more could one wish?"

"I don't believe that she would do much good. There is a pinched hardlook about the lower part of her face which makes me fancy she is mean. Ibelieve she would hoard her money, and make a great talk and fuss aboutnothing. Yes, I hope Granger will marry again. The house is very fine, isn't it, since its renovation?"

"It is superb, papa. Dearly as I love the place, I did not think it couldbe made so beautiful. "

"Yes, and everything has been done in good taste, too, " Mr. Lovel went on, in rather a querulous tone. "I did not expect to see that. But of course aman of that kind has only to put himself into the hands of a first-classarchitect, and if he is lucky enough to select an architect with anartistic mind, the thing is done. All the rest is merely a question ofmoney. Good heavens, what a shabby sordid hole this room looks, after theplace we have come from!"

The room was not so bad as to merit that look of angry disgust with whichMr. Lovel surveyed it. Curtains and carpet were something the worse forwear, the old-fashioned furniture was a little sombre; but the richbinding of the books and a rare old bronze here and there redeemed it fromcommonness--poor jetsam and flotsam from the wreck of the great house, butenough to give some touch of elegance to meaner things. 

"O, papa, " Clarissa cried reproachfully, "the room is very nice, and wehave been peaceful and happy in it. I don't suppose all the splendour ofArden would have made us much happier. Those external things make so littledifference. "

She thought of those evenings at Hale Castle, when George Fairfax hadabandoned her to pay duty to his betrothed, and of the desolation of spiritthat had come upon her in the midst of those brilliant surroundings. 

Her father paced the little room as if it had been a den, and answered herphilosophic remonstrance with an exclamation of contempt. 

"That's rank nonsense, Clarissa--copybook morality, which nobody in hisheart ever believes. External things make all the difference--except whena man is writhing in physical pain perhaps. External things make thedifference between a king and a beggar. Do you suppose that man Granger isno happier for the possession of Arden Court--of those pictures of his?Why, every time he looks at a Frith or Millais he feels a little thrill oftriumph, as he says to himself, 'And that is mine. ' There is a sensuousdelight in beautiful surroundings which will remain to a man whose heart isdead to every other form of pleasure. I suppose that is why the Popes weresuch patrons of art in days gone by. It was the one legitimate delight leftto them. Do you imagine it is no pleasure to dine every night as that mandines? no happiness to feel the sense of security about the future which hefeels every morning? Great God, when I think of his position and of mine!"

Never before had he spoken so freely to his daughter; never had he socompletely revealed the weakness of his mind. 

She was sorry for him, and forbore to utter any of those pious commonplacesby which she might have attempted to bring him to a better frame of mind. She had tact enough to divine that he was best left to himself--left tostruggle out of this grovelling state by some effort of his own, ratherthan to be dragged from the slough of despond by moral violence of hers. 

He dismissed her presently with a brief good-night; but lying awake nearlytwo hours afterwards, she heard him pass her door on the way to his room. He too was wakeful, therefore, and full of care. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXII. 

TAKING THE PLEDGE. 

Clarissa had a visitor next day. She was clipping and trimming the lateroses in the bright autumnal afternoon, when Lady Laura Armstrong's closecarriage drove up to the gate, with my lady inside it, in deep mourning. The visit was unexpected, and startled Clarissa a little, with a sensationthat was not all pleasure. She could scarcely be otherwise than glad to seeso kind a friend; but there were reasons why the advent of any one fromHale Castle should be somewhat painful to her. That meeting with GeorgeFairfax by the churchyard had never been quite out of her mind since ithappened. His looks and his words had haunted her perpetually, and now shewas inclined to ascribe Lady Laura's coming to some influence of his. Shehad a guilty feeling, as if she had indeed tried to steal Lady Geraldine'slover. 

Lady Laura greeted her with all the old cordiality. There was a relief inthat; and Clarissa's face, which had been very pale when she opened thegate to admit her visitor, brightened a little as my lady kissed her. 

"My dear child, I am so glad to see you again!" exclaimed Lady Laura. "I amnot supposed to stir outside the Castle in all this dreary week. Poorpapa is to be buried to-morrow; but I wanted so much to see you on a mostimportant business; so I ordered the brougham and drove here, with theblinds down all the way; and I'm sure, Clary, you won't think that I feelpapa's loss any less because I come to see you just now. But I declare youare looking as pale and wan as any of us at Hale. You have not recoveredthat dreadful shock yet. "

"It was indeed a dreadful shock, dear Lady Laura, " said Clarissa; and thenin a less steady tone she went on: "Lady Geraldine is better, I hope?"

"Geraldine is what she always is, Clary--a marvel of calmness. And yet Iknow she feels this affliction very deeply. She was papa's favourite, youknow, and had a most extraordinary influence over him. He was so proud ofher, poor dear!"

"Won't you come into the house, Lady Laura?"

"By and by, just to pay my respects to your papa. But we'll stay in thegarden for the present, please, dear. I have something most particular tosay to you. "

Clarissa's heart beat a little quicker. This most particular something wasabout George Fairfax: she felt very sure of that. 

"I am going to be quite candid with you, Clary, " Lady Laura beganpresently, when they were in a narrow walk sheltered by hazel bushes, themost secluded bit of the garden. "I shall treat you just as if you were ayounger sister of my own. I think I have almost a right to do that; for I'msure I love you as much as if you were my sister. "

And here Lady Laura's plump little black-gloved hand squeezed Clarissa'stenderly. 

"You have been all goodness to me, " the girl answered; "I can never be toograteful to you. "

"Nonsense, Clary; I will not have that word gratitude spoken between us. Ionly want you to understand that I am sincerely attached to you, and thatI am the last person in the world to hold your happiness lightly. And now, dearest child, tell me the truth--have you seen George Fairfax since youleft Hale?"

Clarissa flushed crimson. To be asked for the truth, as if, under anycircumstances, she would have spoken anything less than truth about GeorgeFairfax! And yet that unwonted guilty feeling clung to her, and she was nota little ashamed to confess that she had seen him. 

"Yes, Lady Laura. "

"I thought so. I was sure of it. He came here on the very day you left--theday which was to have been his wedding-day. "

"It was on that evening that I saw him; but he did not come to this house. I was sitting outside the churchyard sketching when I saw him. "

"He did not come to the house--no; but he came to Arden on purpose to seeyou, " Lady Laura answered eagerly. "I am sure of that. "

Unhappily Clarissa could not deny the fact. He had told her only tooplainly that he had come to Arden determined to see her. 

"Now, Clary, let us be perfectly frank. Before my sister Geraldine came toHale, I told you that the attachment between her and George Fairfax was oneof long standing; that I was sure her happiness was involved in the matter, and how rejoiced I was at the turn things had taken. I told you all this, Clary; but I did not tell you that in the years we had known him Mr. Fairfax had been wild and unsteady; that, while always more or less devotedto Geraldine, he had had attachments elsewhere--unacknowledged attachmentsof no very creditable nature; such affairs as one only hears of by a sidewind, as it were. How much Geraldine may have known of this, I cannot tell. I heard the scandals, naturally enough, through Fred; but she may haveheard very little. I said nothing of this to you, Clarissa; it was notnecessary that I should say anything to depreciate the character of myfuture brother-in-law, and of a man I really liked. "

"Of course not, " faltered Clarissa. 

"Of course not. I was only too happy to find that George had become areformed person, and that he had declared himself so soon after the changein his fortunes. I was convinced that Geraldine loved him, and that shecould only be really happy as his wife. I am convinced of that still; butI know that nothing on earth could induce her to marry him if she had theleast doubt of his devotion to herself. "

"I hope that she may never have occasion to doubt that, Lady Laura, "answered Clarissa. It was really all she could find to say under thecircumstances. 

"I hope not, and I think not, Clary. He has been attached to my sister solong--he proposed to her in such a deliberate manner--that I can scarcelyimagine he would prove really inconstant. But I know that he is a slave toa pretty face, and fatally apt to be ruled by the impulse of the moment. Itwould be very hard now, Clary, if some transient fancy of that kind were toruin the happiness of two lives--would it not, my dear?"

"It would be very hard. "

"O, Clarissa, do pray be candid. You _must_ understand what I mean. Thatwretched man has been making love to you?"

"You ought not to ask me such a question, Lady Laura, " answered Clarissa, sorely perplexed by this straight attack. 

"You must know that I should respect Lady Geraldine's position--that Ishould be incapable of forgetting her claims upon Mr. Fairfax. Whatever hemay have said to me has been, the merest folly. He knows that I consider itin that light, and I have refused ever to see him again if I can possiblyhelp it. "

"That's right, dear!" cried Lady Laura, with a pleased look. "I knew thatyou would come out of the business well, in spite of everything. Of courseyou can care nothing for this foolish fellow; but I know Geraldine'ssensitive nature so well, and that if she had the faintest suspicion ofGeorge's conduct, the whole thing would be off for ever--an attachment ofmany years' standing, think of that, Clary! Now I want you to promise methat, come what may, you will give Mr. Fairfax no encouragement. Withoutencouragement this foolish fancy will die out very quickly. Of course, ifit were possible you could care for him, I would not come here to ask yousuch a thing as this. You would have a right to consider your own happinessbefore my sister's. But as that is out of the question, and the man isalmost a stranger to you----"

"Out of the question--almost a stranger. " Clarissa remembered that night inthe railway carriage, and it seemed to her as if she and George Fairfax hadnever been strangers. 

"It is so easy for you to give me this promise. Tell me now, Clary dear, that you will not have anything to say to him, if he should contrive to seeyou again. "

"I will not, Lady Laura. "

"Is that a promise, now, Clarissa?"

"A most sacred promise. "

Lady Armstrong kissed her young friend in ratification of the compact. 

"You are a dear generous-minded girl, " she said, "and I feel as if I hadsaved my sister's happiness by this bold course. And now tell me what youhave been doing since you left us. Have you seen anything more of theGrangers?"

Questioned thus, Clarissa was fain to give her friend some slight accountof her day at Arden. 

"It must have affected you very much to see the old place. Ah, Clary, it isyou who ought to be mistress there, instead of Miss Granger!"

Clarissa blushed, remembering that awkward avowal of Daniel Granger's. 

"I am not fit to be mistress of such, a place, " she said. "I could nevermanage things as Miss Granger does. "

"Not in that petty way, perhaps. I should not care to see you keepingaccounts and prying into grocery-lists as she does. You would govern yourhouse on a grander scale. I should like to see you the owner of a greathouse"

"That is a thing you are never likely to see, Lady Laura. "

"I am not so sure of that. I have an idea that there is a great fortunelying at your feet, if you would only stoop to pick it up. But girls are sofoolish; they never know what is really for their happiness; and if by anychance there should happen to be some passing folly, some fancy of themoment, to come between them and good fortune, everything is lost. "

She looked at Clarissa closely as she said this. The girl's face had beenchanging from red to pale throughout the interview. She was very pale now, but quite self-possessed, and had left off blushing. Had she not givenher promise--pledged away her freedom of action with regard to GeorgeFairfax--and thus made an end of everything between them? She felt verycalm, but she felt as if she had made a sacrifice. As for Daniel Granger, any reference to him and his admiration for her touched upon the regions ofthe absurd. Nothing--no friendly manoeuvring of Lady Laura's, no selfishdesires of her father's--could ever induce her to listen for a moment toany proposition from that quarter. 

She asked her visitor to go into the house presently, in order to put anend to the conversation; and Lady Laura went in to say a few words toMr. Lovel. They were very melancholy words--all about the dead, and hisinnumerable virtues--which seemed really at this stage of his historyto have been alloyed by no human frailty or shortcoming. Mr. Lovel wassympathetic to the last degree--sighed in unison with his visitor, andbrushed some stray drops of moisture from his own eyelids when Lady Laurawept. And then he went out to the carriage with my lady, and saw her driveaway, with the blinds discreetly lowered as before. 

"What did she come about, Clarissa?" he asked his daughter, while they weregoing back to the house. 

"Only to see me, papa. "

"Only to see you! She must have had something very important to say to you, I should think, or she would scarcely have come at such a time. "

He glanced at his daughter sharply as he said this, but did not questionher farther, though he would have liked to do so. He had a shrewd suspicionthat this visit of Lady Laura's bore some reference to George Fairfax. Hadthere been a row at the Castle? he wondered, and had my lady come to scoldher protégée?

"I don't suppose they would show her much mercy if she stood in the way oftheir schemes, " he said to himself. "His brother's death makes this youngFairfax a very decent match. The property must be worth five or sixthousand a year--five or six thousand. I wonder what Daniel Granger'sincome is? Nearer fifty thousand than five, if I may believe what I havebeen told. "

Mr. Granger and his daughter called at Mill Cottage next day: the fairSophia with a somewhat unwilling aspect, though she was decently civilto Mr. And Miss Lovel. She had protested against the flagrant breach ofetiquette in calling on people who had just dined with her, instead ofwaiting until those diners had discharged their obligation by calling onher; but in vain. Her father had brought her to look at some of Clarissa'ssketches, he told his friends. 

"I want her to take more interest in landscape art, Mr. Lovel, " he said, "and I think your daughter's example may inspire her. Miss Lovel seems tome to have a real genius for landscape. I saw some studies of ferns andunderwood that she had done at Hale--full of freedom and of feeling. Sophiadoesn't draw badly, but she wants feeling. "

The young lady thus coldly commended gave her head rather a supercilioustoss as she replied, --

"You must remember that I have higher duties than sketching, papa, " shesaid; "I cannot devote _all_ my existence to ferns and blackberry-bushes. "

"O, yes, of course; you've your schools, and that kind of thing; butyou might give more time to art than you do, especially if you left themanagement of the house more to Mrs. Plumptree. I think you waste time andenergy upon details. "

"I hope I know my duty as mistress of a large establishment, papa, and thatI shall never feel the responsibility of administering a large income anyless than I do at present. It would be a bad thing for you if I becamecareless of your interests in order to roam about sketching toadstools andblackberry-bushes. "

Mr. Granger looked as if he were rather doubtful upon this point, but itwas evidently wisest not to push the discussion too far. 

"Will you be so kind as to show us your portfolio, Miss Lovel?" he asked. 

"Of course she will, " answered her father promptly; "she will only betoo happy to exhibit her humble performances to Miss Granger. Bring yourdrawing-book, Clary. "

Clarissa would have given the world to refuse. A drawing-book is in somemeasure a silent confidante--almost a journal. She did not know how far herrandom sketches--some of them mere vagabondage of the pencil, jotted downhalf unconsciously--might betray the secrets of her inner life to the coldeyes of Miss Granger. 

"I'd better bring down my finished drawings, papa; those that were mountedfor you at Belforêt, " she said. 

"Nonsense, child; Mr. Granger wants to see your rough sketches, notthose stiff schoolgirl things, which I suppose were finished by yourdrawing-master. Bring that book you are always scribbling in. The girlhas a kind of passion for art, " said Mr. Lovel, rather fretfully; "she isseldom without a pencil in her hand. What are you looking for, Clarissa, inthat owlish way? There's your book on that table. "

He pointed to the volume--Clarissa's other self and perpetualcompanion--the very book she had been sketching in when George Fairfaxsurprised her by the churchyard wall. There was no help for it, nodisobeying that imperious finger of her father's; so she brought the bookmeekly and laid it open before Sophia Granger. 

The father and daughter turned over the leaves together. It was book of"bits:" masses of foliage, bramble, and bird's-nest; here the head of ananimal, there the profile of a friend; anon a bit of still life; a vaseof flowers, with the arabesqued drapery of a curtain for a background;everywhere the evidence of artistic feeling and a practised hand, everywhere a something much above a schoolgirl's art. 

Miss Granger looked through the leaves with an icy air. She was obliged tosay, "Very pretty, " or "Very clever, " once in a way; but this cold praiseevidently cost her an effort. Not so her father. He was interested inevery page, and criticised everything with a real knowledge of what he wastalking about, which made Clarissa feel that he was at least no pretenderin his love of art; that he was not a man who bought pictures merelybecause he was rich and picture-buying was the right thing to do. 

They came presently to the pages Clarissa had covered at Hale Castle--bitsof familiar landscape, glimpses of still life in the Castle rooms, andlightly-touched portraits of the Castle guests. There was one head thatappeared very much oftener than others, and Clarissa felt herself blushinga deeper red every time Mr. Granger paused to contemplate this particularlikeness. 

He lingered longer over each of these sketches, with rather a puzzled air, and though the execution of these heads was very spirited, he forbore topraise. 

"There is one face here that I see a good deal of, Miss Lovel, " he said atlast. "I think it is Mr. Fairfax, is it not?"

Clarissa looked at a profile of George Fairfax dubiously. 

"Yes, I believe I meant that for Mr. Fairfax; his is a very easy faceto draw, much easier than Lady Geraldine's, though her features are soregular. All my portraits of her are failures. "

"I have only seen one attempt at Lady Geraldine's portrait in this book, Miss Lovel, " said Sophia. 

"I have some more on loose sheets of paper, somewhere; and then I generallydestroy my failures, if they are quite hopeless. "

"Mr. Fairfax would be quite flattered if he could see how often you havesketched him, " Sophia continued blandly. 

Clarissa thought of the leaf George Fairfax had cut out of herdrawing-book; a recollection which did not serve to diminish herembarrassment. 

"I daresay Mr. Fairfax is quite vain enough without any flattery ofthat kind, " said Mr. Lovel. "And now that you have exhibited your roughsketches, you can bring those mounted drawings, if you like, Clarissa. "

This was a signal for the closing of the book, which Clarissa felt wasintended for her relief. She put the volume back upon the little side-tablefrom which she had taken it, and ran upstairs to fetch her landscapes. These Miss Granger surveyed in the same cold tolerant manner with which shehad surveyed the sketch-book--the manner of a person who could have donemuch better in that line herself, if she had cared to do anything sofrivolous. 

After this Mr. Lovel and his daughter called at the Court; and theacquaintance between the two families being thus formally inaugurated by adinner and a couple of morning calls, Mr. Granger came very often to theCottage, unaccompanied by the inflexible Sophia, who began to feel that herfather's infatuation was not to be lessened by any influence of hers, andthat she might just as well let him take his own way. It was an odiousunexpected turn which events had taken; but there was no help for it. Her confidential maid, Hannah Warman, reminded her of that solemn truthwhenever she ventured to touch upon this critical subject. 

"If your pa was a young man, miss, or a man that had admired a great manyladies in his time, it would be quite different, " said the astute Warman;"but never having took notice of any one before, and taking such particularnotice of this young lady, makes it clear to any one that's got eyes. Depend upon it, miss, it won't be long before he'll make her an offer; andit isn't likely she'll refuse him--not with a ruined pa to urge her on!"

"I suppose not, " said Sophia disconsolately. 

"And after all, miss, he might have made a worse choice. If he were tomarry one of those manoeuvring middle-aged widows we've met so often outvisiting, you'd have had a regular stepmother, that would have taken everybit of power out of your hands, and treated you like a child. But MissLovel seems a very nice young lady, and being so near your own age will bequite a companion for you. "

"I don't want such a companion. There is no sympathy between Miss Loveland me; you ought to know that, Warman. Her tastes are the very reverse ofmine, in every way. It's not possible we can ever get on well together; andif papa marries her, I shall feel that he is quite lost to me. Besides, howcould I ever have any feeling but contempt for a girl who would marry formoney? and of course Miss Lovel could only marry papa for the sake of hismoney. "

"It's done so often nowadays. And sometimes those matches turn out verywell--better than some of the love-matches, I've heard say. "

"It's no use discussing this hateful business, Warman, " Miss Grangeranswered haughtily. "Nothing could change my opinion. "

And in this inflexible manner did Daniel Granger's daughter set her faceagainst the woman he had chosen from among all other women for his wife. Hefelt that it was so, and that there would be a hard battle for him to fightin the future between these two influences; but no silent opposition of hisdaughter's could weaken his determination to win Clarissa Lovel, if she wasto be won by him. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"HE'S SWEETEST FRIEND, OR HARDEST FOE. "

Mr. Granger fell into the habit of strolling across his park, and droppinginto the garden of Mill Cottage by that little gate across which Clarissahad so often contemplated the groves and shades of her lost home. He woulddrop in sometimes in the gloaming, and take a cup of tea in the brightlamplit parlour, where Mr. Lovel dawdled away life over Greek plays, Burton's _Anatomy_, and Sir Thomas Browne--a humble apartment, which seemedpleasanter to Mr. Granger under the dominion of that spell which bound himjust now, than the most luxurious of his mediaeval chambers. Here he wouldtalk politics with Mr. Lovel, who took a mild interest in the course ofpublic affairs, and whose languid adherence to the Conservative partyserved to sustain discussion with Daniel Granger, who was a vigorousLiberal. 

After tea the visitor generally asked for music; and Clarissa would playher favourite waltzes and mazourkas, while the two gentlemen went on withtheir conversation. There were not many points of sympathy between the two, perhaps. It is doubtful whether Daniel Granger had ever read a line of aGreek play since his attainment to manhood and independence, though he hadbeen driven along the usual highway of the Classics by expensive tutors, and had a dim remembrance of early drillings in Caesar and Virgil. Burtonhe had certainly never looked into, nor any of those other English classicswhich were the delight of Marmaduke Lovel; so the subject of books was adead letter between them. But they found enough to talk about somehow, andreally seemed to get on very tolerably together. Mr. Granger was bent uponstanding well with his poor neighbour; and Mr. Lovel appeared by no meansdispleased by the rapid growth of this acquaintance, from which he hadso obstinately recoiled in the past. He took care, however, not to bedemonstrative of his satisfaction, and allowed Mr. Granger to feel that atthe best he was admitted to Mill Cottage on sufferance, under protest as itwere, and as a concession to his own wishes. Yet Mr. Lovel meant all thistime that his daughter should be mistress of Arden Court, and that hisdebts should be paid, and his future comfort provided for out of the amplepurse of Daniel Granger. 

"I shall go and live on the Continent, " he thought, "when that is allsettled. I could not exist as a hanger-on in the house that was once myown, I might find myself a _pied à terre_ in Paris or Vienna, and finishlife pleasantly enough among some of the friends I liked when I was young. Six or seven hundred a year would be opulence for a man of my habits. "

Little by little Clarissa came to accept those visits of Mr. Granger's as acommon part of her daily life; but she had not the faintest notion that shewas drifting into a position from which it would be difficult by-and-by toescape. He paid her no disagreeable attentions; he never alluded to thatunfortunate declaration which she remembered with such a sense of itsabsurdity. It did not seem unreasonable to suppose that he came to MillCottage for no keener delight than a quiet chat with Mr. Lovel about thepossibility of a coming war, or the chances of a change in the ministry. 

Clarissa had been home from Hale nearly six weeks, and she had neitherheard nor seen any more of George Fairfax. So far there had been notemptation for the violation of that sacred pledge which she had given toLady Laura Armstrong. His persistence did not amount to much evidently; hisardour was easily checked; he had sworn that night that she should see him, should listen to him, and six weeks had gone by without his having made thefaintest attempt to approach her. It was best, of course, that it should beso--an unqualified blessing for the girl whose determination to be trueto herself and her duty was so deeply fixed; and yet she felt a littlewounded, a little humiliated, as if she had been tricked by the commonphrases of a general wooer--duped into giving something where nothing hadbeen given to her. 

"Lady Laura might well talk about his transient folly, " she said toherself. "It has not lasted very long. She need scarcely have taken thetrouble to be uneasy about it. "

There had been one brief note for Clarissa from the mistress of HaleCastle, announcing her departure for Baden with Mr. Armstrong, who wasgoing to shoot capercailzies in the Black Forest. Lady Geraldine, who wasvery much shaken by her father's death, was to go with them. There was nota word about Mr. Fairfax, and Clarissa had no idea as to his whereabouts. He had gone with the Baden party most likely, she told herself. 

It was near the close of October. The days were free from rain orblusterous winds, but dull and gray. The leaves were falling silently inthe woods about Arden, and the whole scene wore that aspect of subduedmournfulness which is pleasant enough to the light of heart, but verysad to those who mourn. Clarissa Lovel was not light-hearted. She haddiscovered of late that there was something wanting in her life. The dayswere longer and drearier than they used to be. Every day she awoke with afaint sense of expectation that was like an undefined hope; something wouldcome to pass, something would happen to her before the day was done, toquicken the sluggish current of her life; and at nightfall, when theuneventful day had passed in its customary blankness, her heart would growvery heavy. Her father watched her somewhat anxiously at this crisis of herlife, and was inwardly disturbed on perceiving her depression. 

She went out into the garden alone one evening after dinner, as it was herwont to do almost every evening, leaving Mr. Lovel dozing luxuriously inhis easy-chair by the fire--she went out alone in the chill gray dusk, andpaced the familiar walks, between borders in which there were only paleautumnal flowers, chrysanthemums and china asters of faint yellow andfainter purple. Even the garden looked melancholy in this wan light, Clarissa thought. She made the circuit of the small domain, walked up anddown the path by the mill-stream two or three times, and then went into theleafless orchard, where the gnarled old trees cast their misshapen shadowson the close-cropped grass. A week-old moon had just risen, pale in thelessening twilight. The landscape had a cold shadowy beauty of its own; butto-night everything seemed wan and cheerless to Clarissa. 

She was near the gate leading into Arden Park, when she heard a cracklingof withered leaves, the sound of an approaching footstep. It was Mr. Granger, of course. She gave a sigh of resignation. Another evening of thepattern which had grown so familiar to her, that it seemed almost as if Mr. Granger must have been dropping in of an evening all her life. The usualtalk of public matters--the leaders in that day's _Times_, and so on. Theusual request for a little music; the usual inquiries about her recentartistic studies. It was as monotonous as the lessons she had learned atMadame Marot's seminary. 

"Is my life to go on like that for ever?" she asked herself. 

The step came a little nearer. Surely it was lighter and quicker thanDaniel Granger's--it had a sharp martial sound; it was like a step she hadlearned to know very well in the gardens of Hale Castle. 

"He is at Baden, " she said to herself. 

But the beating of her heart grew faster in spite of that tranquillizingassurance. She heard an unaccustomed hand trying the fastening of the gate, then a bolt withdrawn, the sharp light step upon the turf behind her, andin the next moment George Fairfax was by her side, among the weird shadowsof the orchard trees. 

He tried to draw her towards him, with the air of an accepted lover. 

"My darling!" he said, "I knew I should find you here. I had a fancy thatyou would be here, waiting for me in the pale moonlight. "

Clarissa laughed--rather an artificial little laugh--but she felt thesituation could only be treated lightly. The foolish passionate heart wasbeating so fast all the time, and the pale face might have told so much, ifthe light of the new-risen moon had not been dim as yet. 

"How long do you suppose I have been waiting at this spot for you, Mr. Fairfax?" she asked lightly. "For six weeks?"

"Six weeks! Yes, it is six weeks since I saw you. It might be six years, if I were to measure the time by my own impatience. I have been at Nice, Clarissa, almost ever since that night we parted. "

"At Nice! with Lady Laura and Lady Geraldine, I suppose, I thought theywere going to Baden. "

"They are at Baden; but I have not been with them. I left England with mymother, who had a very bad attack of her chronic asthma earlier than usualthis year, and was ordered off to the South of France, where she is obligedto spend all her winters, poor soul. I went with her, and stayed till shewas set up again in some measure. I was really uneasy about her; and it wasa good excuse for getting away from Hale. "

Clarissa murmured some conventional expression of sympathy, but that wasall. 

"My darling, " said George Fairfax, taking her cold hand in his--she triedto withdraw it, but it was powerless in that firm grasp--"My darling, youknow why I have come here; and you know now why my coming has been so longdelayed. I could not write to you. The Fates are against us, Clarissa, andI do not expect much favour from your father. So I feared that a lettermight do us mischief, and put off everything till I could come, I said afew words to Laura Armstrong before I left the Castle--not telling her verymuch, but giving her a strong hint of the truth. I don't think she'll besurprised by anything I may do; and my letters to Geraldine have all beenwritten to prepare the way for our parting. I know she will be generous;and if my position with regard to her is rather a despicable one, I havedone all I could to make the best of it. I have not made things worse bydeceit or double-dealing. I should have boldly asked for my freedom beforethis, but I hear such bad accounts of poor Geraldine, who seems to bedreadfully grieved by her father's loss, that I have put off all ideaof any direct explanation for the present. I am not the less resolved, however, Clarissa. "

Miss Lovel turned her face towards him for the first time, and looked athim with a proud steady gaze. She had given her promise, and was not afraidthat anything, not even his tenderest, most passionate pleading, could evertempt her to break it; but she knew more and more that she loved him--thatit was his absence and silence which, had made her life so blank, that hiscoming was the event she had waited and watched for day after day. 

"Why should you break faith with Lady Geraldine?" she asked calmly. 

"Why! Because my bondage has been hateful to me ever since I came to Hale. Because there is only one woman I will have for my wife--and her name isClarissa Lovel!"

"You had better keep your word, Mr. Fairfax. I was quite in earnest in whatI said to you six weeks ago. Nothing in the world would ever induce me tohave any part in your breach of faith. Why, even if I loved you--" hervoice trembled a little here, and George Fairfax repeated the words afterher, "_Even_ if you loved me--I could never trust you. How could I hopethat, after having been so false to her, you could be true to me?"

"Even if I loved you. Tell me that you do love me--as I havehoped and dreamed--as I dared to believe sometimes at Hale, when mywedding-day was so near, that I seemed like some wretch bound to the wheel, for whom there is no possibility of escape. That is all over now, darling. To all intents and purposes I am free. Confess that you love me. " This wassaid half tenderly, half imperiously--with the air of a conqueroraccustomed to easy triumphs, an air which this man's experience had madenatural to him. "Come, Clarissa, think how many miles I have travelled forthe sake of this one stolen half hour. Don't be so inexorable. "

He looked down at her with a smile on his face, not very much alarmed byher obduracy. It seemed to him only a new form of feminine eccentricity. Here was a woman who actually could resist him for ten minutes at astretch--him, George Fairfax!

"I am very sorry you should have come so far. I am very sorry you shouldhave taken so much trouble; it is quite wasted. "

"Then you don't like me, Miss Lovel, " still half playfully--the thing wastoo impossible to be spoken of in any other tone. "For some reason or otherI am obnoxious to you. Look me full in the face, and swear that you don'tcare a straw for me. "

"I am not going to swear anything so foolish. You are not obnoxious to me. I have no wish to forfeit your friendship; but I will not hear of anythingmore than friendship from your lips. "

"Why not?"

"For many reasons. In the first place, because there would be treasonagainst Lady Geraldine in my listening to you. "

"Put that delusion out of your mind. There would be no treason; all is overbetween Lady Geraldine and me. "

"There are other reasons, connected with papa. "

"Oh, your father is against me. Yes, that is only natural. Any morereasons, Clarissa?"

"One more. "

"What is that?"

"I cannot tell you. "

"But I insist upon being told. "

She tried her uttermost to avoid answering his questions; but he waspersistent, and she admitted at last that she had promised not to listen tohim. 

"To whom was the promise given?"

"That is my secret. "

"To your father?"

"That is my secret, Mr. Fairfax. You cannot extort it from me. And now Imust go back to papa, if you please, or he will be sending some one to lookfor me. "

"And I shall be discovered in Mr. Capulet's orchard. Ten minutes more, Clarissa, and I vanish amidst the woods of Arden, through which I came likea poacher in order to steal upon you unawares by that little gate. And now, my darling, since we have wasted almost all our time in fencing with words, let us be reasonable. Promises such as you speak of are pledges given tothe winds. They cannot hold an hour against true love. Listen, Clary, listen. "

And then came the pleading of a man only too well accustomed to plead--aman this time very much in earnest: words that seemed to Clarissa full ofa strange eloquence, tones that went to her heart of hearts. But she hadgiven her promise, and with her that promise meant something very sacred. She was firm to the last--firm even when those thrilling tones changed fromlove to auger. 

All that he said towards the end she scarcely knew, for there was adizziness in her brain that confused her, and her chiefest fear was thatshe should drop fainting at his feet; but the last words of all struck uponher ear with a cruel distinctness, and were never forgotten. 

"I am the merest fool and schoolboy to take this matter so deeply toheart, " he said, with a scornful laugh, "when the reason of my rejectionis so obvious. What I saw at Hale Castle might have taught me wisdom. Evenwith my improved prospects I am little better than a pauper compared withDaniel Granger. And I have heard you say that you would give all the worldto win back Arden Court. I will stand aside, and make way for a wealthiersuitor. Perhaps we may meet again some day, and I may not be so unfortunateas my father. "

He was gone. Clarissa stood like a statue, with her hands clasped beforeher face. She heard the gate shut by a violent hand. He was gone in supremeanger, with scorn and insult upon his lips, believing her the basest of thebase, the meanest of the mean, she told herself. The full significance ofhis last words she was unable to understand, but it seemed to her that theyveiled a threat. 

She was going back to the house slowly, tearless, but with something likedespair in her heart, when she heard the orchard gate open again. He hadcome back, perhaps, --returned to forgive and pity her. No, that was not hisfootstep; it was Mr. Granger, looking unspeakably ponderous and commonplacein the moonlight, as he came across the shadowy grass towards her. 

"I thought I saw a white dress amongst the trees, " he said, holding out hishand to her for the usual greeting. "How cold your hand is, Miss Lovel! Isit quite prudent of you to be out so late on such a chilly evening, and inthat thin dress? I think I must ask your papa to lecture you. "

"Pray don't, Mr. Granger; I am not in the habit of catching cold, and I amused to being in the gardens at all times and seasons. You are late. "

"Yes; I have been at Holborough all day, and dined an hour later thanusual. Your papa is quite well, I hope?"

"He is just the same as ever. He is always more or less of an invalid, youknow. "

They came in sight of the broad bay window of the parlour at this moment, and the firelight within revealed Mr. Lovel in a very comfortable aspect, fast asleep, with his pale aristocratic-looking face relieved by thecrimson cushions of his capacious easy-chair, and the brown setter's headon his knee. There were some books on the table by his side, but it wasevident that his studies since dinner had not been profound. 

Clarissa and her companion went in at a half-glass door that opened into asmall lobby next the parlour. She knew that to open the window at such anhour in the month of October was an unpardonable crime in her father'seyes. They went into the room very softly; but Mr. Lovel, who was a lightsleeper, started up at their entrance, and declared with some show ofsurprise that he must have been indulging in a nap. 

"I was reading a German critic on Aeschylus, " he said. "Those Germans areclever, but too much given to paradoxes. Ring the bell for tea, Clary. Ididn't think we should see you to-night, Granger; you said you were goingto a dinner at Sir Archer Taverham's. "

"I was engaged to dine with Sir Archer; but I wrote him a note thismorning, excusing myself upon the plea of gout. I really had a few twingeslast night, and I hate dinner-parties. "

"I am glad you have so much wisdom. I don't think any man under aTalleyrand or an Alvanley can make a masculine dinner worth going to; andas for your mixed herds of men and women, every man past thirty knows thatkind of thing to be an abomination. "

The rosy-faced parlour-maid brought in the lamp and the tea-tray, andClarissa sat quietly down to perform her nightly duties. She took her seatin the full light of the lamp, with no evidence of emotion on her face, andpoured out the tea, and listened and replied to Mr. Granger's commonplaceremarks, just the same as usual, though the sound of another voice was inher ear--the bitter passionate sound of words that had been almost curses. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"IT MEANS ARDEN COURT. "

The time went by, and Daniel Granger pursued his wooing, his tacitundemonstrative courtship, with the quiet persistence of a man who meantto win. He came to Mill Cottage almost every evening throughout the lateautumn and early winter months, and Clarissa was fain to endure hispresence and to be civil to him. She had no ground for complaint, noopportunity for rebellion. His visits were not made ostensibly on heraccount, though friends, neighbours, and servants knew very well whyhe came, and had settled the whole business in their gossiping littlecoteries. Nor did he take upon himself the airs of a lover. He was bidinghis time, content to rejoice in the daily presence of the woman he loved;content to wait till custom should have created a tie between them, and till he could claim her for his wife by right of much patience andfidelity. He had an idea that no woman, pure and true as he believed thiswoman to be, could shut her heart against an honest man's love, if he wereonly patient and faithful, single-minded and unselfish in his wooing. 

George Fairfax kept his word. From the hour of that bitter parting he madeno sign of his existence to Clarissa Lovel. The Armstrongs were still inGermany when December came, and people who had any claim upon Lady Laura'shospitality lamented loudly that there were to be no gaieties at the Castlethis year. It was the second Christmas that the family had been absent. Mr. Fairfax was with them at Baden most likely, Clarissa thought; and she triedto hope that it was so. 

Christmas came, and Miss Lovel had to assist at Miss Granger's triumphs. That young lady was in full force at this time of year, dealing outblankets of the shaggiest and most uncompromising textures--such coveringsas might have suited the requirements of a sturdy Highlander or a stalwartbushranger sleeping in the open air, but seemed scarcely the pleasantestgifts for feeble old women or asthmatic old men--and ticketsrepresentative of small donations in kind, such as a quart of split-peas, or a packet of prepared groats, with here and there the relief of a coupleof ounces of tea. Against plums and currants and candied peel Miss Grangerset her face, as verging on frivolity. The poor, who are always givento extravagance, would be sure to buy these for themselves: witnessthe mountain of currants embellished with little barrows of citron andorange-peel, and the moorland of plums adorned with arabesques of Jamaicaginger in the holly-hung chandler's shop at Arden. Split-peas and groatswere real benefits, which would endure when the indigestible delightsof plum-pudding were over. Happily for the model villagers, Mr. Grangerordered a bullock and a dozen tons of coal to be distributed amongst them, in a large liberal way that was peculiar to him, without consulting hisdaughter as to the propriety of the proceeding. She was very busy withthe beneficent work of providing her special _protégées_ with the ugliestimaginable winter gowns and frocks. Clarissa, who was eager to contributesomething to this good work, had wounded her fingers desperately in themanufacture of these implacable fabrics, which set her teeth on edge everytime she touched them. Mr. Lovel would not even allow them to be in theroom where he sat. 

"If you must work at those unspeakably odious garments, Clarissa, " he said, "for pity's sake do it out of my presence. Great Heavens! what cultivatorof the Ugly could have invented those loathsome olive-greens, or thatrevolting mud-colour? evidently a study from the Thames at low water, justabove Battersea-bridge. And to think that the poor--to whom nature seems tohave given a copyright in warts and wens and boils--should be made stillmore unattractive by such clothing as that! If you are ever rich, Clarissa, and take to benevolence, think of your landscape before you dress yourpoor. Give your old women and children scarlet cloaks and gray petticoats, and gratify your men with an orange neckerchief now and then, to make apatch of colour against your russet background. "

There were dinner-parties at Arden Court that winter, to which Mr. Lovelconsented to take his daughter, obnoxious as he had declared all suchfestivities to be to him. He went always as a concession to his host'sdesires, and took care to let Daniel Granger know that his going was anact of self-sacrifice; but he did go, and he gave his daughter a ten-poundnote, as a free-will offering, for the purchase of a couple of new dresses. 

Clarissa wondered not a little at the distinction with which her father andherself were treated by every one who met them at Mr. Granger's house. Shedid not know that a good deal of this attention was given to the futuremistress of Arden Court, and that, in the eyes of county people andHolborough gentry alike, she stood in that position. She did not know thather destiny was a settled business in every one's mind except her own: thather aunt Oliver and the Rector, quite as much as her father, looked uponher marriage with Daniel Granger as inevitable. Mr. Lovel had been carefulnot to alarm his daughter by any hint of his convictions. He was very wellsatisfied with the progress of affairs. Daniel Granger was too securelycaught for there to be any room for fear of change on his part, and DanielGranger's mode of carrying on the siege seemed to Mr. Lovel an excellentone. Whatever Clarissa's feelings might have been in the beginning, shemust needs succumb before such admirable patience, such almost sublimedevotion. 

Christmas passed, and the new year and all festivities belonging to theseason, and a dreary stretch of winter remained, bleak and ungenial, enlivened only by Christmas bills, the chill prelude of another year ofstruggle. Towards the end of January, Marmarduke Lovel's health broke downall of a sudden. He was really ill, and very fretful in his illness. Thosecreditors of his became desperately pressing in their demands; almost everymorning's post brought him a lawyer's letter; and, however prostrate hemight feel, he was obliged to sit up for an hour or so in the day, restinghis feverish head upon his hand, while he wrote diplomatic letters for thetemporary pacification of impatient attorneys. 

Poor Clarissa had a hard time of it in these days. Her father was adifficult patient, and that ever-present terror of insolvency, and all thepains and perils attendant thereupon, tormented her by day and kept herawake at night. Every ring at the cottage gate set her heart beating, andconjured up the vision of some brutal sheriff's officer, such as she hadread of in modern romance. She nursed her father with extreme tenderness. He was not confined to his room for any length of time, but was weak andill throughout the bleak wintry months, with a racking cough and a touch oflow fever, lying prostrate for the greater part of the day on a sofa by thefire, and only brightening a little in the evening when Mr. Granger paidhis accustomed visit. Clarissa tended him all through these melancholydays, when the rain beat against the windows and the dull gray sky lookedas if it would never more be illuminated by a gleam of sunshine; tended himwith supreme patience, and made heroic efforts to cheer and sustain hisspirits, though her own heart was very heavy. And it came to pass that, inthese most trying days, Daniel Granger repeated the avowal of his love, noturging his suit with any hazardous impatience, but offering to wait as longas Clarissa pleased for his sentence. And then, in the midst of the girl'sdistress at the renewal of this embarrassing declaration, her father spoketo her, and told her plainly that she was, in all honour, bound to becomeMr. Granger's wife. She had suffered him to devote himself to her, with adevotion rare in a man of his age and character. She had allowed the outerworld to take the business for granted. It would be a cruel wrong done tothis man, if she were to draw back now and leave him in the lurch. 

"Draw back, papa!" she cried with unmitigated surprise and alarm; "but whathave I done to give you or Mr. Granger, or any one else, the slightestjustification for supposing I ever thought of him, except as the mostcommonplace acquaintance?"

"That pretence of unconsciousness is the merest affectation, Clarissa. Youmust have known why Mr. Granger came here. "

"I thought he came to see you, papa, just like any other acquaintance. "

"Nonsense, child; one man does not dance attendance upon another likethat--crying off from important dinner-parties in order to drink tea withhis neighbour, and that kind of thing. The case has been clear enough fromthe beginning, and you must have known how it was--especially as Grangermade some declaration to you the first time you went to the Court. He toldme what he had done, in a most honourable manner. It is preposterous topretend, after that, you could mistake his intentions. I have never worriedyou about the business; it seemed to me wisest and best to let matters taketheir natural course; and I am the last of men to play the domestic tyrantin order to force a rich husband upon my daughter; but I never for a momentdoubted that you understood Mr. Granger's feelings, and were prepared toreward his patience. "

"It can never be, papa, " Clarissa said decisively; "I would not commit sucha sin as to marry a man I could not love. I am grateful to Mr. Granger, of course, and very sorry that he should think so much more of me than Ideserve, but----"

"For God's sake don't preach!" cried her father fretfully. "You won'thave him; that's enough. The only road there was to extrication from mydifficulties is shut up. The sheriff's officers can come to-morrow. I'llwrite no more humbugging letters to those attorneys, trying to stave offthe crisis. The sooner the crash comes the better; I can drag out the restof my existence somehow, in Bruges or Louvain. It is only a question of ayear or two, I daresay. "

The dreary sigh with which Mr. Lovel concluded this speech went toClarissa's heart. It can scarcely be said that she loved him very dearly, but she pitied him very much. To his mind, no doubt, it seemed a hard thingthat she should set her face against a change of fortune that would haveensured ease and comfort for his declining years. She knew him weighed downby embarrassments which were very real--which had been known to her beforeDaniel Granger's appearance as a wooer. There was no pretence about theruin that menaced them; and it was not strange that her father, who hadbeen loath to move beyond the very outskirts of his lost domain, shouldshrink with a shuddering dread from exile in a dismal Belgian town. 

After that one bitter speech and that one dreary sigh, Mr. Lovel madeno overt attempt to influence his daughter's decision. He had a morescientific game to play, and he knew how to play it. Peevish remonstrancesmight have availed nothing; threats or angry speeches might have provoked aspirit of defiance. Mr. Lovel neither complained nor threatened; he simplycollapsed. An air of settled misery fell upon him, an utter hopelessness, that was almost resignation, took possession of him. There was an unwontedgentleness in his manner to his daughter; he endured the miseries ofweakness and prostration with unaccustomed patience; meekness pervaded allhis words and actions, but it was the meekness of despair. And so--andso--this was how the familiar domestic drama came to be acted oncemore--the old, old story to be repeated. It was Robin Gray over again. Ifthe cow was not stolen, the sheriff's officers were at the door, and, for lack of a broken arm, Marmaduke Lovel did not want piteous silentarguments. He was weak and ill and despairing, and where threats orjesuitical pleading would have availed little, his silence did much; untilat last, after several weary weeks of indecision, during which Mr. Grangerhad come and gone every evening without making any allusion to his suit, there came one night when Clarissa fell on her knees by her father's sofa, and told him that she could not endure the sight of his misery any longer, and that she was willing to be Daniel Granger's wife. Marmaduke Lovel puthis feeble arms round his daughter's neck, and kissed her as he had neverkissed her before; and then burst into tears, with his face hidden upon hershoulder. 

"It was time, Clarissa, " he said at last. "I could not have kept thebrokers out another week. Granger has been offering to lend me money eversince he began to suspect my embarrassments, but I could not put myselfunder an obligation to him while I was uncertain of your intentions: itwill be easy to accept his help now; and he has made most liberal proposalswith regard to your marriage settlements. Bear witness, Clary, that I nevermentioned that till now. I have urged no sordid consideration upon you tobring about this match; although, God knows, it is the thing I desire mostin this world. "

"No, no, papa, I know that, " sobbed Clarissa. And then the image of GeorgeFairfax rose before her, and the memory of those bitter words, "It meansArden Court. "

What would he think of her when he should come to hear that she was to beDaniel Granger's wife? It would seem a full confirmation of his basestsuspicions. He would never know of her unavailing struggles to escape thisdoom--never guess her motives for making this sacrifice. He would think ofher, in all the days to come, only as a woman who sold herself for the sakeof a goodly heritage. 

Once having given her promise, there was no such thing as drawing back forClarissa, even had she been so minded. Mr. Lovel told the anxious loverthat his fate was favourably decided, warning him at the same time that itwould be well to refrain from any hazardous haste, and to maintain as faras possible that laudable patience and reserve which had distinguished hisconduct up to this point. 

"Clarissa is very young, " said her father; "and I do not pretend to tellyou that she is able to reciprocate, as fully as I might wish, the ardourof your attachment. One could hardly expect that all at once. "

"No, one could hardly expect that, " Mr. Granger echoed with a faint sigh. 

"As a man of the world, you would not, I am sure, my dear Granger, overlookthe fact of the very wide difference in your ages, or expect more than isreasonable. Clarissa admires and esteems you, I am sure, and is deeplygrateful for a devotion to which she declares herself undeserving. She isnot a vain frivolous girl, who thinks a man's best affection only a tributedue to her attractions. And there is a kind of regard which grows up in agirl's heart for a sensible man who loves her, and which I believe with allmy soul to be better worth having than the romantic nonsense young peopletake for the grand passion. I make no profession, you see, my dear Granger, on my daughter's part; but I have no fear but that Clarissa will learn tolove you, in good time, as truly as you can desire to be loved. "

"Unless I thought that she had some affection for me, I would never ask herto be my wife, " said Mr. Granger. 

"Wouldn't you?" thought Mr. Lovel. "My poor Granger, you are farther gonethan you suppose!"

"You can give me your solemn assurance upon one point, eh, Lovel?" said themaster of Arden Court anxiously; "there is no one else in the case? Yourdaughter's heart is quite free? It is only a question as to whether I canwin it?"

"Her heart is entirely free, and as pure as a child's. She is full ofaffection, poor girl, only yearning to find an outlet for it. She ought tomake you a good wife, Daniel Granger. There is nothing against her doingso. "

"God grant she may!" replied Mr. Granger solemnly; "God knows how dearly Ilove her, and what a new thing this love is to me!"

He took heed of his future father-in-law's counsel, and said nothing moreabout his hopes to Clarissa just yet awhile. It was only by an undefinablechange in his manner--a deeper graver tenderness in his tone--that sheguessed her father must have told him her decision. 

From this day forth all clouds vanished from the domestic sky at MillCottage. Mr. Lovel's debts were paid; no more threatening letters made hisbreakfast-table a terror to him; there were only agreeable-looking stampeddocuments in receipt of payment, with little apologetic notes, andentreaties for future favours. 

Mr. Granger's proposals respecting a settlement were liberal, but, takinginto consideration the amount of his wealth, not lavish. He offered tosettle a thousand a year upon his wife--five hundred for her own use aspin-money, five hundred as an annuity for her father. He might as easilyhave given her three thousand, or six thousand, as it was for no lack ofgenerous inclination that he held his hand; but he did not want to doanything that might seem like buying his wife. Nor did Marmaduke Lovelgive the faintest hint of a desire for larger concessions from his futureson-in-law: he conducted the business with the lofty air of a man above theconsideration of figures. Five hundred a year was not much to get from aman in Granger's position; but, added to his annuity of three hundred, itwould make eight--a very decent income for a man who had only himself toprovide for; and then of course there would be no possibility of his everwanting money, with such a son-in-law to fall back upon. 

Mr. Granger did not lose any time in making his daughter acquainted withthe change that was about to befall her. He was quite prepared to find heradverse to his wishes, and quite prepared to defend his choice; and yet, little subject as he was to any kind of mental weakness, he did feel ratheruncomfortable when the time came for addressing Miss Granger. 

It was after dinner, and the father and daughter were sitting alone in thesmall gothic dining-room, sheltered from possible draughts by mediaevalscreens of stamped leather and brazen scroll-work, and in a glowingatmosphere of mingled fire and lamp light, making a pretty cabinet-pictureof home life, which might have pleased a Flemish painter. 

"I think, Sophia, " said Mr. Granger, --"I think, my dear, there is nooccasion for me to tell you that there is a certain friend and neighbour ofyours who is something more to me than the ordinary young ladies of youracquaintance. "

Miss Granger seemed as if she were trying to swallow some hardsubstance--a knotty little bit of the pineapple she had just been eating, perhaps--before she replied to this speech of her father's. 

"I am sure, papa, I am quite at a loss to comprehend your meaning, " shesaid at last. "I have no near neighbour whom I can call my friend, unlessyou mean Mrs. Patterly, the doctor's wife, who has taken such a warminterest in my clothing-club, and who has such a beautiful mind. But youwould hardly call her a young lady. "

"Patterly's wife! no, I should think not!" exclaimed Mr. Grangerimpatiently: "I was speaking of Clarissa Lovel. "

Miss Granger drew herself up suddenly, and pinched her lips together as ifthey were never to unclose again. She did open them nevertheless, after apause, to say in an icy tone, --

"Miss Lovel is my acquaintance, but not my friend. "

"Why should she not be your friend? She is a very charming girl. "

"Oh, yes, I have no doubt of that, papa, from your point of view; that isto say, she is very pretty, and thinks a great deal of dress, and is quiteready to flirt with any one who likes to flirt with her--I'm sure you musthave seen _that_ at Hale Castle--and fills her scrap-book with portraits ofengaged men; witness all those drawings of Mr. Fairfax. I have no doubt sheis just the kind of person gentlemen call charming; but she is no friend ofmine, and she never will be. "

"I am sorry to hear that, " said her father sternly; "for she is very likelyto be your stepmother. "

It was a death-blow, but one that Sophia Granger had anticipated for a longtime. 

"You are going to marry Miss Lovel, papa--a girl two years younger than Iam?"

"Yes, I am going to marry Miss Lovel, and I am very proud of her youthand beauty; but I do not admit her want of more solid charms than those, Sophia. I have watched her conduct as a daughter, and I have a most perfectfaith in the goodness and purity of her heart. "

"Oh, very well, papa. Of course you know what is best for your ownhappiness. It is not for me to presume to offer an opinion; I trust I havetoo clear a sense of duty for that. " And here Miss Granger gave a sighexpressive of resignation under circumstances of profound affliction. 

"I believe you have, Sophy, " answered her father kindly. "I believe that, however unwelcome this change may be to you at first--and I suppose it isonly natural that it should be unwelcome--you will reconcile your mind toit fully when you discover that it is for my happiness. I am not ashamed toconfess to you that I love Clarissa very fondly, and that I look forwardto a happy future when she is my wife. "

"I hope, papa, that your life has not been unhappy hitherto--that I havenot in any manner failed in my duties as a daughter. "

"Oh, dear no, child; of course not. That has nothing to do with thequestion. "

"Will it--the marriage--be very soon, papa?" asked Miss Granger, withanother gulp, as if there were still some obstructive substance in herthroat. 

"I hope so, Sophy. There is no reason, that I can see, why it should not bevery soon. "

"And will Mr. Lovel come to live with us?"

"I don't know; I have never contemplated such a possibility. I think Mr. Lovel is scarcely the kind of person who would care to live in anotherman's house. "

"But this has been his own house, you see, papa, and will seem to belong tohim again when his daughter is the mistress of it. I daresay he will lookupon us as interlopers. "

"I don't think so, Sophia. Mr. Lovel is a gentleman, and a sensible maninto the bargain. He is not likely to have any absurd ideas of that kind. "

"I suppose he is very much pleased at having secured such a rich husbandfor his daughter, " Miss Granger hazarded presently, with the air of sayingsomething agreeable. 

"Sophia!" exclaimed her father angrily, "I must beg that the question ofmoney may never be mooted in relation to Miss Lovel and myself--by youabove all people. I daresay there may be men and women in the worldmalignant enough to say--mean enough to suppose--that this dear girl canonly consent to marry me because I am a rich man. It is my happiness toknow her to be much too noble to yield to any sordid consideration of thatkind. It is my happiness to know that her father has done nothing to urgethis marriage upon her. She gives herself to me of her own free-will, nothurried into a decision by any undue persuasion of mine, and under nopressure from outer circumstances. "

"I am very glad to hear it, papa. I think I should have broken my heart, ifI had seen you the dupe of a mercenary woman. "

Mr. Granger got up from his seat with an impatient air, and began to pacethe room. His daughter had said very little, but that little had beenbeyond measure irritating to him. It galled him to think that this marriageshould seem to her an astonishing--perhaps even a preposterous--thing. Truethat the woman he was going to marry was younger, by a year or two, thanhis own daughter. In his own mind there was so little sense of age, that hecould scarcely understand why the union should seem discordant. He was notquite fifty, an age which he had heard men call the very meridian of life;and he felt himself younger now than he had ever been since he firstassumed the cares of manhood--first grew grave with the responsibilitiesinvolved in the disposal of a great fortune. Was not this newly-born love, this sudden awakening of a heart that had slumbered so long, a renewal ofyouth? Mr. Granger glanced at his own reflection in a glass over a buffet, as he paced to and fro. The figure that he saw there bore no sign of age. It was a relief to him to discover that--a thing he had never thought oftill that moment. 

"Why should she not love me?" he asked himself. "Are youth and a handsomeface the only high-road to a woman's heart? I can't believe it. Surelyconstancy and devotion must count for something. Is there another man inthe world who would love her as well as I? who could say, at fifty years ofage, This is my first love?"

"I am to give up the housekeeping, of course, papa, when you are married, "Miss Granger said presently, with that subdued air of resignation in whichshe had wrapped herself as in a garment since her father's announcement. 

"Give up the housekeeping!" he echoed a little impatiently; "I don't seethe necessity for that. Clarissa"--oh, how sweet it was to him to pronounceher name, and with that delicious sense of proprietorship!--"Clarissa istoo young to care much for that sort of thing--dealing out groceries, andkeeping account-books, as you do. Very meritorious, I am sure, my dear, andno doubt useful. No, I don't suppose you'll be interfered with, Sophy. Inall essentials you will still be mistress. If Clarissa is queen, you willbe prime minister; and you know it is the minister who really pulls thestrings. And I do hope that in time you two will get to love each other. "

"I shall endeavour to do my duty, papa, " Miss Granger answered primly. "Wecannot command our feelings. "

It was some feeble relief to her to learn that her grocery-books, herday-books by double-entry, and all those other commercial volumes dear toher heart, were not to be taken away from her; that she was still to retainthe petty powers she had held as the sole daughter of Daniel Granger'shouse and heart. But to resign her place at the head of her father's table, to see Clarissa courted and caressed, to find faltering allegiance perhapseven among her model poor--all these things would be very bitter, and inher heart Sophia Granger was angry with her father for a line of conductwhich she considered the last stage of folly. She loved him, after herown precise well-regulated fashion--loved him as well as a creature soself-conscious could be expected to love; but she could not easily forgivehim for an act which seemed, in some sort, a fraud upon herself. She hadbeen brought up to believe herself his sole heiress, to look upon hissecond marriage as an utter impossibility. How often had she heardhim ridicule the notion when it was suggested to him by some jocoseacquaintance! and it did seem a very hard thing that she should be pushedall at once from this lofty stand-point, and levelled to the very dust. There would be a new family, of course; a brood of sons and daughters todivide her heritage. Hannah Warman had suggested as much when discussingthe probability of the marriage, with that friendly candour, anddisposition to look at the darker side of the picture, which are apt todistinguish confidantes of her class. 

"I am sure, papa, " Miss Granger whimpered by-and-by, not quite able torefrain from some expression of ill-temper, "I have scarcely had a pleasantevening since you have known the Lovels. You are always there, and it isvery dull to be alone every night. "

"It has been your own fault in some measure, Sophy. You might have hadClarissa here, if you'd chosen to cultivate her friendship. "

"Our inclinations are beyond our control, papa. Nothing but your expresscommands, and a sense of duty, would induce me to select Miss Lovel for acompanion. There is no sympathy between us. "

"Why should there not be? You cannot think her unamiable, nor question herbeing highly accomplished. "

"But it is not a question of playing, or singing, or painting, or talkingforeign languages, papa. One selects a friend for higher qualities thanthose. There is Mary Anne Patterly, for instance, who can scarcely playthe bass in a set of quadrilles, but whose admirable gifts and Christiancharacter have endeared her to me. Miss Lovel is so frivolous. See howstupid and listless she seemed that day we took her over the schools andcottages. I don't believe she was really interested in anything she saw. And, though she has been at home a year and a half, she has not onceoffered to take a class in either of the schools. "

"I daresay she sees the schools are well officered, my dear, and doesn'tlike to interfere with your functions. "

"No, papa, it is not that. She has no vocation for serious things. Her mindis essentially frivolous; you will discover that for yourself by-and-by. Ispeak in perfect candour, you know, papa. Whatever your feelings about MissLovel may be, I am above concealing mine. I believe I know my duty; but Icannot stoop to hypocrisy. "

"I suppose not. But I must say, you might have taken this business in apleasanter spirit, Sophia. I shall expect, however, to see you take morepains to overcome your prejudice against the young Indy I have chosen formy wife; and I shall be rather slow to believe in your affection for myselfunless it shows itself in that manner. "

Miss Granger covered her face with her handkerchief, and burst into a floodof tears. 

"Oh, papa, papa, it only needed that! To think that any one's influence canmake my father doubt my affection for him, after all these years of dutyand obedience!"

Mr. Granger muttered something about "duty, " which was the very reverse ofa blessing, and walked out of the room, leaving Sophia to her tears. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXV. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

There was no reason why the marriage should not take place very soon. Mr. Granger said so; Mr. Lovel agreed with him, half reluctantly as it were, and with the air of a man who is far from eager to precipitate events. There was no imaginable reason for delay. 

Upon this point Mr. And Mrs. Oliver were as strong as Daniel Grangerhimself. A union in every way so propitious could not be too speedily madesecure. Matthew Oliver was full of demonstrative congratulation now when hedined at Mill Cottage. 

"Who would have guessed when I brought you home from the station thatmorning, and we drove through the park, that you were going to be mistressof it so soon, Clary?" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Do you remember cryingwhen you heard the place was sold? I do, poor child; I can see your piteousface at this moment. And now it is going to be yours again. Upon my word, Providence has been very good to you, Clarissa. "

Providence had been very good to her. They all told her the same story. Amongst her few friends there was not one who seemed to suspect that thismarriage might be a sacrifice; that in her heart of hearts there might besome image brighter than Daniel Granger's. 

She found herself staring at these congratulatory friends in blankamazement sometimes, wondering that they should all look at this engagementof hers from the same point of view, all be so very certain of herhappiness. 

Had she not reason to be happy, however? There had been a time when she hadtalked and thought of her lost home almost as Adam and Eve may have donewhen yet newly expelled from Paradise, with the barren world in all itsstrangeness before them. Was it not something to win back this beloveddwelling-place--something to obtain comfort for her father's age--to securean income which might enable her to help her brother in the days to come?Nor was the man she had promised to marry obnoxious to her. He had donemuch towards winning her regard in the patient progress of his wooing. Shebelieved him to be a good and honourable man, whose affection was somethingthat a woman might be proud of having won--a man whom it would be a bitterthing to offend. She was clear-sighted enough to perceive his superiorityto her father--his utter truthfulness and openness of character. She didfeel just a little proud of his love. It was something to see this bigstrong man, vigorous in mind as in body, reduced to so complete a bondage, yet not undignified even in his slavery. 

What was it, then, which came between her and the happiness which thatcongratulatory chorus made so sure of? Only the image of the man shehad loved--the man she had rejected for honour's sake one bleak Octoberevening, and whom she had never ceased to think of since that time. Sheknew that Daniel Granger was, in all likelihood, a better and a noblerman than George Fairfax; but the face that had been with her in thedimly-lighted railway-carriage, the friendly voice that had cheered her onthe first night of her womanhood, were with her still. 

More than once, since that wintry afternoon when Mr. Granger had claimedher as his own for the first time--taking her to his breast with a graveand solemn tenderness, and telling her that every hope and desire of hismind was centred in her, and that all his life to come would be devoted tosecuring her happiness--more than once since that day she had been temptedto tell her lover all the truth; but shame kept her silent. She did notknow how to begin her confession. On that afternoon she had been strangelypassive, like a creature stunned by some great surprise; and yet, afterwhat she had said to her father, she had expected every day that Mr. Granger would speak. 

After a good deal of discussion among third parties, and an undeviatingurgency on the part of Mr. Granger himself, it was arranged that thewedding should take place at the end of May, and that Clarissa should seeSwitzerland in its brightest aspect. She had once expressed a longing forAlpine peaks and glaciers in her lover's presence, and he had from thatmoment, determined that Switzerland should be the scene of his honeymoon. They would go there so early as to avoid the herd of autumnal wanderers. Heknew the country, and could map out the fairest roads for their travels, the pleasantest resting-places for their repose. And if Clarissa cared toexplore Italy afterwards, and spend October and November in Rome, shecould do so. All the world would be bright and new to him with her for hiscompanion. He looked forward with boyish eagerness to revisiting scenesthat he had fancied himself weary of until now. Yes; such a love as thiswas indeed a renewal of youth. 

To all arrangements made on her behalf Clarissa was submissive. What coulda girl, not a quite twenty, urge against the will of a man like DanielGranger, supported by such powerful allies as father, and uncle and aunt, and friends? She thanked him more warmly than usual when he proposed theSwiss tour. Yes; she had wished very much to see that country. Her brotherhad gone there on a walking expedition when he was little more than a boy, and had very narrowly escaped with his life from the perils of the road. She had some of his Alpine sketches, in a small portfolio of particulartreasures, to this day. 

Mrs. Oliver revelled in the business of the trosseau. Never since theextravagant days of her early youth had she enjoyed such a feast ofmillinery. To an aunt the provision of a wedding outfit is peculiarlydelightful. She has all the pomp and authority of a parent, without aparent's responsibility. She stands _in loco parentis_ with regardto everything except the bill. No uneasy twinge disturbs her, as theglistening silk glides through the shopman's hands, and ebbs and flows inbillows of brightness on the counter. No demon of calculation comes betweenher and the genius of taste, when the milliner suggests an extra flounce ofMarines, or a pelerine of Honiton. 

A trip to London, and a fortnight or so spent in West-end shops, would havebeen very agreeable to Mrs. Oliver; but on mature reflection she convincedherself that to purchase her niece's trosseau in London would be a foolishwaste of power. The glory to be obtained in Wigmore or Regent-street wasa small thing compared with the _kudos_ that would arise to her from theexpenditure of a round sum of money among the simple traders of Holborough. Thus it was that Clarissa's wedding finery was all ordered at Brigson andHolder's, the great linendrapers in Holborough market-place, and all madeby Miss Mallow, the chief milliner and dressmaker of Holborough, who was ina flutter of excitement from the moment she received the order, and heldlittle levees amongst her most important customers for the exhibition ofMiss Lovel's silks and laces. 

Towards the end of April there came a letter of congratulation from LadyLaura Armstrong, who was still in Germany; a very cordial and affectionateletter, telling Clarissa that the tidings of her engagement had justreached Baden; but not telling her how the news had come, and containingnot a word of allusion to Lady Geraldine or George Fairfax. 

 "Now that everything is so happily settled, Clary, " wrote my lady, "without any finesse or diplomacy on my part, I don't mind telling you that I have had this idea in my head from the very first day I saw you. I wanted you to win back Arden Court, the place you love so dearly; and as Mr. Granger, to my mind, is a very charming person, nothing seemed more natural than that my wishes should be realised. But I really did not hope that matters would arrange themselves so easily and so speedily. A thousand good wishes, dear, both for yourself and your papa. We hope to spend the autumn at Hale, and I suppose I shall then have the pleasure of seeing you begin your reign as mistress of Arden Court. You must give a great many parties, and make yourself popular in the neighbourhood at once. _Entre nous_, I think our friend Miss Granger is rather fond of power. It will be wise on your part to take your stand in the beginning of things, and then affairs are pretty sure to go pleasantly. Ever your affectionate

 "LAURA ARMSTRONG. "

Not a word about George Fairfax. Clarissa wondered where he was; whetherhe was still angry with her, or had forgotten her altogether. The latterseemed the more likely state of affairs. She wondered about him and thenreminded herself that she had no right even to wonder now. His was an imagewhich must be blotted out of her life. She cut all those careless sketchesout of her drawing-book. If it had only been as easy to tear the memory ofhim out of her mind!

The end of May came very quickly, and with it Clarissa's wedding-day. Before that day Miss Granger made a little formal address to her futurestepmother--an address worded with studious humility--promising a strictperformance of duty on Miss Granger's part in their new relations. 

This awful promise was rather alarming to Clarissa, in whose mind Sophiaseemed one of those superior persons whom one is bound to respect andadmire, yet against whom some evil spark of the old Adam in our degradednatures is ever ready to revolt. 

"Pray don't talk of duty, my dear Sophia, " she answered in a shy tremulousway, clinging a little closer to Mr. Granger's arm. It was at Mill Cottagethat this conversation took place, a few days before the wedding. "Therecan scarcely be a question of duty between people of the same age, likeyou and me. But I hope we shall get to love each other more and more everyday. "

"Of course you will, " cried Daniel Granger heartily. "Why should you notlove each other? If your tastes don't happen to be exactly the same justnow, habitual intercourse will smooth down all that, and you'll find allmanner of things in which you _can_ sympathise. I've told Sophy that Idon't suppose you'll interfere much with her housekeeping, Clarissa. That'srather a strong point with her, and I don't think it's much in your line. "

Miss Granger tightened her thin lips with a little convulsive movement. This speech seemed to imply that Miss Lovel's was a loftier line than hers. 

Clarissa remembered Lady Laura's warning, and felt that she might be doingwrong in surrendering the housekeeping. But then, on the other hand, shefelt herself quite unable to cope with Miss Granger's account-books. 

"I have never kept a large house, " she said. "I should be very sorry tointerfere. "

"I was sure of it, " exclaimed Mr. Granger; "and you will have more time tobe my companion, Clarissa, if your brain is not muddled with groceries andbutcher's-meat. You see, Sophia has such a peculiarly business-like mind. "

"However humble my gifts may be, I have always endeavoured to employ themfor your benefit, papa, " Miss Granger replied with a frosty air. 

She had come to dine at Mill Cottage for the first time since she had knownof her father's engagement. She had come in deference to her father'sexpress desire, and it was a hard thing for her to offer even this smalltribute to Clarissa. It was a little family dinner--the Olivers, Mr. Padget, the rector of Arden, who was to assist cheery Matthew Oliver intying the fatal knot, and Mr. And Miss Granger--a pleasant little party ofseven, for whom Mr. Lovel's cook had prepared quite a model dinner. Shehad acquired a specialty for about half-a-dozen dishes which her masteraffected, and in the preparation of these could take her stand against thepampered matron who ruled Mr. Granger's kitchen at a stipend of seventyguineas a year, and whose subordinate and assistant had serious thoughtsof launching herself forth upon the world as a professed cook, byadvertisement in the _Times_--"clear soups, entrées, ices, &c. "

The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Mr. Lovel had expressed a strongdesire that it should be so; and Mr. Granger's wishes in no way clashedwith those of his father-in-law. 

"I am a man of fallen fortunes, " said Mr. Lovel, "and all Yorkshire knowsmy history. Anything like pomp or publicity would be out of place in themarriage of my daughter. When she is your wife it will be different. Herposition will be a very fine one; for she will have some of the oldestblood in the county, supported by abundance of money. The Lycians used totake their names from their mothers. I think, if you have a son. Granger, you ought to call him Lovel. "

"I should be proud to do so, " answered Mr. Granger. "I am not likely toforget that my wife is my superior in social rank. "

"A superiority that counts for very little when unsustained by hard cash, my dear Granger, " returned Marmaduke Lovel lightly. He was supremelycontent with the state of affairs, and had no wish to humiliate hisson-in-law. 

So the wedding was performed as simply as if Miss Lovel had been unitingher fortunes with those of some fledgling of the curate species. Therewere only two bridesmaids--Miss Granger, who performed the office with anunwilling heart; and Miss Pontifex, a flaxen-haired young lady of highfamily and no particular means, provided for the occasion by Mrs. Oliver, at whose house she and Clarissa had become acquainted. There was abreakfast, elegant enough in its way--for the Holborough confectioner hadbeen put upon his mettle by Mrs. Oliver--served prettily in the cottageparlour. The sun shone brightly upon Mr. Granger's espousals. The villagechildren lined the churchyard walk, and strewed spring flowers upon thepath of bride and bridegroom--tender vernal blossoms which scarcelyharmonised with Daniel Granger's stalwart presence and fifty years. Clarissa, very pale and still, with a strange fixed look on her face, cameout of the little church upon her husband's arm; and it seemed to her inthat hour as if all the life before her was like an unknown country, hiddenby a great cloud. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXVI. 

COMING HOME. 

The leaves were yellowing in the park and woods round Arden Court, andthe long avenue began to wear a somewhat dreary look, before Mr. Grangerbrought his young wife home. It was October again, and the weather bleakerand colder than one had a right to expect in October. Mr. Lovel was at Spa, recruiting his health in the soft breezes that blow across the pine-cladhills, and leading a pleasant elderly-bachelor existence at one of the besthotels in the bright little inland watering-place. The shutters were closedat Mill Cottage, and the pretty rustic dwelling was left in the care of thehonest housekeeper and her handmaiden, the rosy-faced parlour-maid, whodusted master's books and hung linen draperies before master's bookcaseswith a pious awe. 

Miss Granger had spent some part of her father's honeymoon in paying visitsto those friends who were eager to have her, and who took this opportunityof showing special attention to the fallen heiress. The sense of her lostprestige was always upon her, however, and she was scarcely as gratefulas she might have been for the courtesy she received. People seemed neverweary of talking about her father's wife, whose sweetness, and beauty, andother interesting qualities, Miss Granger found herself called upon todiscuss continually. She did not bow the knee to the popular idol, however, but confessed with a charming candour that there was no great sympathybetween her stepmother and herself. 

"Her education has been so different from mine, " she said, "that it isscarcely strange if all our tastes are different. But, of course, I shalldo my duty towards her, and I hope and pray that she may make my fatherhappy. "

But Miss Granger did not waste all the summer months in visiting. She wasmore in her element at the Court. The model children in the new Ardenpoor-schools had rather a hard time of it during Mr. Granger's honeymoon, and were driven through Kings and Chronicles at a more severe pace thanusual. The hardest and driest facts in geography and grammar were peltedlike summer hail upon their weak young brains, and a sterner demand wasmade every day upon their juvenile powers of calculation. This Miss Grangercalled giving them a solid foundation; but as the edifice destined to beerected upon this educational basis was generally of the humblest--a careerof carpentering, or blacksmithing, or housemaiding, or plain-cooking, for the most part--it is doubtful whether that accurate knowledge of theobjective case or the longitude of the Sandwich Islands which Miss Grangerso resolutely insisted upon, was ever of any great service to the grown-upscholar. 

In these philanthropic labours she had always an ardent assistant in theperson of Mr. Tillott, whose somewhat sandy head and florid complexion usedto appear at the open door of the schoolroom very often when Sophia wasteaching. He did really admire her, with all sincerity and singleness ofheart; describing her, in long confidential letters to his mother, as awoman possessed of every gift calculated to promote a man's advancement inthis world and the next. He knew that her father's second marriage mustneeds make a considerable change in her position. There would be an heir, in all probability, and Sophia would no longer be the great heiress she hadbeen. But she would be richly dowered doubtless, come what might; and shewas brought nearer to the aspirations of a curate by this reduction of herfortune. 

Miss Granger accepted the young priest's services, and patronised him witha sublime unconsciousness of his aspirations. She had heard it whisperedthat his father had been a grocer, and that he had an elder brother whostill carried on a prosperous colonial trade in the City. For anything likeretail trade Miss Granger had a profound contempt. She had all the pride ofa parvenu, and all the narrowness of mind common to a woman who lives in aworld of her own creation. So while Mr. Tillott flattered himself that hewas making no slight impression upon her heart, Miss Granger regarded himas just a little above the head gardener and the certificated schoolmaster. 

October came, and the day appointed for the return of the master of ArdenCourt; rather a gloomy day, and one in a succession of wet and dismal days, with a dull gray sky that narrowed the prospect, and frequent showers ofdrizzling rain. Miss Granger had received numerous letters from her fatherduring his travels, letters which were affectionate if brief; and longerepistles from Clarissa, describing their route and adventures. They haddone Switzerland thoroughly, and had spent the last month in Rome. 

The interior of the old house looked all the brighter, perhaps, becauseof that dull sky and, and those sodden woods without. Fires were blazingmerrily in all the rooms; for, whatever Miss Granger's secret feelingsmight be, the servants were bent on showing allegiance to the new power, and on giving the house a gala aspect in honour of their master's return. The chief gardener, with a temporary indifference to his own interests, hadstripped his hothouses for the decoration of the rooms, and great vases ofexotics made the atmosphere odorous, and contrasted pleasantly with thewintry fires. 

Miss Granger sat in the principal drawing-room, with her embroidery-framebefore her, determined not to be flurried or disturbed by the bride'sreturn. She sat at a respectful distance from the blazing logs, with ascreen interposed carefully between her complexion and the fire, the veryimage of stiffness and propriety; not one of her dull-brown hairs ruffled, not a fold of her dark green-silk dress disarranged. 

The carriage was to meet the London express at Holborough station athalf-past four, and at a little before five Miss Granger heard the sound ofwheels in the avenue. She did not even rise from her embroidery-frame towatch the approach of the carriage, but went on steadily stitch by stitchat the ear of a Blenheim spaniel. In a few minutes more she heard the clangof doors thrown open, then the wheels upon the gravel in the quadrangle, and then her father's voice, sonorous as of old. Even then she did notfly to welcome him, though her heart beat a little faster, and the colourdeepened in her cheeks. 

"I am nothing to him now, " she thought. 

She began to lay aside her wools, however, and rose as the drawing-roomdoor opened, to offer the travellers a stately welcome. 

Clarissa was looking her loveliest, in violet silk, with a good deal of furabout her, and with an air of style and fashion which was new to her, MissGranger thought. The two young women kissed each other in a formal way, andthen Mr. Granger embraced his daughter with some show of affection. 

"How lovely the dear old place looks!" cried Clarissa, as the one triumphand glory of her marriage came home to her mind: she was mistress of ArdenCourt. "Everything is so warm and bright and cheerful, such an improvementupon foreign houses. What a feast of fires and flowers you have prepared towelcome us, Sophia!"

She wished to say something cordial to her step-daughter, and she didreally believe that the festive aspect of the house was Miss Granger'swork. 

"I have not interfered with the servants' arrangements, " that young ladyreplied primly; "I hope you don't find so many exotics oppressive in thesehot rooms? _I_ do. "

"O dear, no; they are so lovely, " answered Clarissa, bending over a pyramidof stephanotis, "one can scarcely have too many of them. Not if the perfumemakes your head ache, however; in that case they had better be sent away atonce. "

But Miss Granger protested against this with an air of meek endurance, andthe flowers were left undisturbed. 

"Well, Sophy, what have you been doing with yourself all this time?" Mr. Granger asked in a cheerful voice; "gadding about finely, according to yourletters. "

"I spent a week with the Stapletons, and ten days with the Trevors, andI went to Scarborough with the Chesneys, as you expressed a wish that Ishould accept their invitation, papa, " Miss Granger replied dutifully; "butI really think I am happier at home. "

"I'm very glad to hear it, my dear, and I hope you'll find your homepleasanter than ever now. --So you like the look of the old place, do you, Clary?" he went on, turning to his wife; "and you don't think we've quitespoilt it by our renovation?"

"O no, indeed. There can be no doubt as to your improvements. And yet, doyou know, I was so fond of the place, that I am almost sorry to miss itsold shabbiness--the faded, curtains, and the queer Indian furniture whichmy great-uncle Colonel Radnor, brought home from Bombay. I wonder whatbecame of those curious old cabinets?"

"I daresay they are still extant in some lumber-room in the roof, my dear. Your father took very little of the old furniture away with him, and therewas nothing sold. We'll explore the garrets some day, and look for yourIndian cabinets. --Will you take Clarissa to her rooms, Sophy, and see whatshe thinks of our arrangements?"

Miss Granger would gladly have delegated this office to a servant; but herfather's word was law; so she led the way to a suite of apartments whichDaniel Granger had ordered to be prepared for his young wife, and whichClarissa had not yet been allowed to see. They had been kept as a pleasantsurprise for her coming home. 

Had she been a princess of the blood royal, she could not have had finerrooms, or a more perfect taste in the arrangement of them. Money can do somuch, when the man who dispenses it has the art of intrusting the carryingout of his desires to the best workmen. 

Clarissa was delighted with everything, and really grateful for thegenerous affection which had done so much to gratify her. 

"It is all a great deal too handsome, " she said. 

"I am glad you like the style in which they have carried out papa's ideas, "replied Miss Granger; "for my own part, I like plainer furniture, and moreroom for one's work; but it is all a matter of taste. "

They were in the boudoir, a perfect gem of a room, with satin-woodfurniture and pale green-silk hangings; its only ornaments a setof priceless Wedgwood vases in cream colour and white, and a fewwater-coloured sketches by Turner, and Creswick, and Stanfield. Thedressing-room opened out of this and was furnished in the same style, witha dressing-table that was a marvel of art and splendour, the looking-glassin a frame of oxydised silver, between two monster jewel-cases of ebony andmalachite with oxydised silver mouldings. One entire side of this room wasoccupied by an inlaid maple wardrobe, with seven doors, and Clarissa'smonogram on all of them--a receptacle that might have contained themultifarious costumes of a Princess Metternich. 

It would have been difficult for Clarissa not to be pleased with suchtribute, ungracious not to have expressed her pleasure; so when DanielGranger came presently to ask how she liked the rooms, she was not slow togive utterance to her admiration. 

"You give me so much more than I deserve, Mr. Granger, " she said, afterhaving admired everything; "I feel almost humiliated by your generosity. "

"Clarissa, " exclaimed her husband, putting his two hands upon hershoulders, and looking gravely down at her, "when will you remember thatI have a Christian name? When am I to be something more to you than Mr. Granger?"

"You are all that is good to me, much too good, " she faltered. "I will callyou Daniel, if you like. It is only a habit. "

"It has such a cold sound, Clary. I know Daniel isn't a pretty name; butthe elder sons of Grangers have been Daniels for the last two centuries. Wewere stanch Puritans, you know, in the days of old Oliver, and scripturalnames became a fashion with us. Well, my dear, I'll leave you to dressfor dinner. I'm very glad you like the rooms. Here are the keys of yourjewel-cases; we must contrive to fill them by and by. You see I have nofamily diamonds to reset for you. "

"You have given me more than enough jewelry already, " said Clarissa. Andindeed Mr. Granger had showered gifts upon her with a lavish hand duringhis brief courtship. 

"Pshaw, child! only a few trinkets bought at random. I mean to fill thosecases with something better. I'll go and change my coat. We dine half anhour earlier than usual to-day, Sophia tells me. "

Mr. Granger retired to his dressing-room on the other side of the spaciousbed-chamber, perhaps the very plainest apartment in the house, for he wasas simple in his habits as the great Duke of Wellington; a room with amonster bath on one side, and a battered oak office-desk on the other--adesk that had done duty for fifty years or so in an office at Leeds--inone corner a well-filled gunstand, in another a rack of formidable-lookingboots--boots that only a strong-minded man could wear. 

When she was quite alone, Clarissa sat down in one of the windows of herboudoir, and looked out at the park. How well she remembered the prospect!how often she had looked at it on just such darksome autumnal evenings longago, when she was little more than a child! This very room had been hermother's dressing-room. She remembered it deserted and tenantless, thefaded finery of the furniture growing dimmer and duller year by year. Shehad come here in an exploring mood sometimes when she was quite a child, but she never remembered the room having been put to any use; and as shehad grown older it had come to have a haunted air, and she had touched theinanimate things with a sense of awe, wondering what her mother's life hadbeen like in that room--trying to conjure up the living image of a lovelyface, which was familiar to her from more than one picture in her father'spossession. 

She knew more about her mother's life now; knew that there had been ablight upon it, of which a bad unscrupulous man had been the cause. Andthat man was the father of George Fairfax. 

"Papa had reason to fear the son, having suffered so bitterly from theinfluence of the father, " she said to herself; and then the face that shehad first seen in the railway carriage shone before her once more, and herthoughts drifted away from Arden Court. 

She remembered that promise which George Fairfax had made her--the promisethat he would try and find out something about her brother Austin. 

He had talked of hunting up a man who had been a close friend of the absentwanderer's; but it seemed as if he had made no effort to keep his word. After that angry farewell in the orchard, Clarissa could, of course, expectno favour from him; but he might have done something before that. Shelonged so ardently to know her brother's fate, to find some means ofcommunication with him, now that she was rich, and able to help him inhis exile. He was starving, perhaps, in a strange land, while she wassurrounded by all this splendour, and had five hundred a year forpocket-money. 

Her maid came in to light the candles, and remind her of the dinner-hour, while she was still looking out at the darkening woods. The maid was anhonest country-bred young woman, selected for the office by Mrs. Oliver. She had accompanied her mistress on the honeymoon tour, and had been dazedand not a little terrified by the wonders of Swiss landscape and thegrandeurs of fallen Rome. 

"I've been listening for your bell ever so long, ma'am, " said the girl;"you'll scarcely have time to dress. "

There was time, however, for Mrs. Granger's toilet, which was not anelaborate one; and she was seated by the drawing-room fire talking to herhusband when the second dinner-bell rang. 

They were not a very lively party that evening. The old adage about threenot being company went near to be verified in this particular case. Thepresence of any one so thoroughly unsympathetic as Sophia Granger was initself sufficient to freeze any small circle. But although they did nottalk much, Clarissa and her husband seemed to be on excellent terms. Sophia, who watched them closely during that initiatory evening, perceivedthis, and told herself that her father had not yet discovered the mistakewhich he had made. That he would make such a discovery sooner or later washer profound conviction. It was only a question of time. 

Thus it was that Clarissa's new life began. She knew herself beloved byher husband with a quiet unobtrusive affection, the depth and wide measurewhereof had come home to her very often since her marriage with a senseof obligation that was almost a burden. She knew this, and, knew that shecould give but little in return for so much--the merest, coldest show ofduty and obedience in recompense for all the love of this honest heart. Iflove had been a lesson to be learnt, she would have learned it, for she wasnot ungrateful, not unmindful of her obligations, or the vow that shehad spoken in Arden Church; but as this flower called love must springspontaneous in the human breast, and is not commonly responsive to theefforts of the most zealous cultivator, Clarissa was fain to confess toherself after five months of wedded life that her heart was still barren, and that her husband was little more to her than he had been at the veryfirst, when for the redemption Of her father's fortunes she had consentedto become his wife. 

So the time went on, with much gaiety in the way of feasting and company atArden Court, and a palpable dulness when there were no visitors. Mr. And Mrs. Granger went out a good deal, sometimes accompanied by Sophia, sometimes without her; and Clarissa was elected by the popular voice themost beautiful woman in that part of the country. The people who knew hertalked of her so much, that other people who had not met her were eager tosee her, and made quite a favour of being introduced to her. If she knew ofthis herself, it gave her no concern; but it was a matter of no small prideto Daniel Granger that his young wife should be so much admired. 

Was he quite happy, having won for himself the woman he loved, seeingher obedient, submissive, always ready to attend his pleasure, to be hiscompanion when he wanted her company, with no inclination of her ownwhich she was not willing to sacrifice at a moment's notice for hisgratification? Was he quite happy in the triumph of his hopes? Well, notquite. He knew that his wife did not love him. It might come some dayperhaps, that affection for which he still dared to hope, but it had notcome yet. He watched her face sometimes as she sat by his hearth on thosequiet evenings when they were alone, and he knew that a light should haveshone upon it that was not there. He would sigh sometimes as he read hisnewspaper by that domestic hearth, and his wife would wonder if he weretroubled by any business cares--whether he were disturbed by any abnormalcommotion among those stocks or consols or other mysterious elements of thefinancial world in which all rich men seemed more or less concerned. Shedid not ever venture to question him as to those occasional sighs; but shewould bring the draught-board and place it at his elbow, and sit meeklydown to be beaten at a game she hated, but for which Mr. Granger had apeculiar affection. 

It will be seen, therefore, that Clarissa was at least a dutiful wife, anxious to give her husband every tribute that gratitude and a deep senseof obligation could suggest. Even Sophia Granger, always on the watchfor some sign of weariness or shortcoming, could discover no cause forcomplaint in her stepmother's conduct. 

Mr. Lovel came back to Mill Cottage in December, much improved andrenovated by the Belgian waters or the gaieties of the bright littlepleasure place. The sense of having made an end of his difficulties, andbeing moored in a safe harbour for the rest of his life, may have done muchtowards giving him a new lease of existence. Whatever the cause may havebeen, he was certainly an altered man, and his daughter rejoiced in thechange. To her his manner was at once affectionate and deferential, asif there had been lurking in his breast some consciousness that she hadsacrificed herself for his welfare. She felt this, and felt that hermarriage had given her something more than Arden Court, if it had won forher her father's love. He spent some time at the Court, in deference to herwishes, during those dark winter months; and they fell hack on their oldreadings, and the evenings seemed gayer and happier for the introductionof this intellectual element, which was not allowed to prevail to such anextant as to overpower the practical Daniel Granger. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXVII. 

IN THE SEASON. 

In the spring Mr. Granger took his wife and daughter to London, where theyspent a couple of months in Clarges-street, and saw a good deal of societyin what may he called the upper range of middle-class life--rich merchantsand successful professional men living in fine houses at the West-end, enlivened with a sprinkling from the ranks of the baronetage and lessernobility. In this circle Mr. Granger occupied rather a lofty standing, asthe owner of one of the finest estates in Yorkshire, and of a fortune whichthe common love of the marvellous exalted into something fabulous. He foundhimself more popular than ever since his marriage, as the husband of one ofthe prettiest women who had appeared that season. So, during the two monthsof their London life, there was an almost unbroken succession of gaieties, and Mr. Granger found himself yearning for the repose of Arden Courtsometimes, as he waited in a crowded ball-room while his wife and daughterdanced their last quadrille. It pleased him that Clarissa should taste thisparticular pleasure-cup--that she should have every delight she had a rightto expect as his wife; but it pleased him not the less when she franklyconfessed to him one day that this brilliant round of parties andparty-giving had very few charms for her, and that she would be glad to goback to Arden. 

In London Clarissa met Lady Laura Armstrong; for the first time sincethat September afternoon in which she had promised that no arts of GeorgeFairfax's should move her to listen to him. Lord Calderwood had been dead ayear and a half, and my lady was resplendent once more, and giving weeklyreceptions in Mr. Armstrong's great house in Portland-place--a cornerhouse, with about a quarter of a mile of drawing-rooms, stretching backinto one of the lateral streets. For Mr. And Mrs. Granger she gave aspecial dinner, with an evening party afterwards; and she took up a gooddeal of Clarissa's time by friendly morning calls, and affectionateinsistance upon Mrs. Granger's company in her afternoon drives, and at herdaily kettle-drums--drives and kettle-drums from which Miss Granger feltherself more or less excluded. 

It was during one of these airings, when they had left the crowd andsplendour of the Park, and were driving to Roehampton, that Clarissa heardthe name of George Fairfax once more. Until this afternoon, by some strangeaccident as it seemed, Lady Laura had never mentioned her sister's lover. 

"I suppose you heard that it was all broken off?" she said, ratherabruptly, and apropos to nothing particular. 

"Broken off, Lady Laura?"

"I mean Geraldine's engagement. People are so fond of talking about thosethings; you must have heard, surely, Clary. "

"No, indeed, I have heard nothing. 

"That's very curious. It has been broken off ever so long--soon after poorpapa's death, in fact. But you know what Geraldine is--so reserved--almostimpenetrable, as one may say. I knew nothing of what had happened myselftill one day--months after the breach had occurred, it seems--when I madesome allusion to Geraldine's marriage, she stopped me, in her cold, proudway, saying, 'It's just as well I should tell you that that affair is alloff, Laura. Mr. Fairfax and I have wished each other good-bye for ever. 'That's what I call a crushing blow for a sister, Clarissa. You know how Ihad set my heart upon that marriage. "

"I am very sorry, " faltered Clarissa. "They had quarrelled, I suppose. "

"Quarrelled! O, dear no; she had not seen him since she left Hale withFrederick and me, and they parted with every appearance of affection. No;there had been some letters between them, that was all. I have never beenable to discover the actual cause of their parting. Geraldine refused toanswer any questions, in a most arbitrary manner. It is a hard thing, Clarissa; for I know that she loved him. "

"And where is Lady Geraldine now?"

"At Hale, with my children. She has no regular home of her own now, yousee, poor girl, and she did not care about another season in London--shehas had enough of that kind of thing--so she begged me to let her stay atthe Castle, and superintend the governesses, and amuse herself in her ownway. Life is full of trouble, Clary!" and here the mistress of Hale Castle, and of some seventy thousand per annum, gave a despondent sigh. 

"Have you seen Mr. Fairfax since you came from Germany?" asked Clarissa. 

"Yes, I have met him once--some months ago. You may be sure that I wastolerably cool to him. He has been very little in society lately, and hasbeen leading rather a wild life in Paris, I hear. A prudent marriage wouldhave been his redemption; but I daresay it will end in his throwing himselfaway upon some worthless person. "

It was a relief to Clarissa to hear that George Fairfax was in Paris, though that was very near. But in her ignorance of his whereabouts shehad fancied him still nearer, and in all her London festivities had beentormented by a perpetual dread of meeting him. Many times even she hadimagined that she saw his face across the crowd, and had been relieved tofind it was only a face that bore some faint resemblance to his. 

He had kept his word, then, so far as the breaking of his engagementto Geraldine Challoner. He had been more in earnest than Clarissa hadbelieved. She thought that she was sorry for this; but it is doubtfulwhether the regretful feeling in her heart was really sorrow forLady Geraldine. She thought of George Fairfax a good deal after thisconversation with Lady Laura--alas, when had she ceased to think ofhim!--and all the splendours and pleasures of her married life seemed toher more than ever worthless. What a hopeless entanglement, what a dismalmistake, her existence was! Had she sold herself for these things--forArden Court and a town house, and unlimited millinery? No; again and againshe told herself she had married Daniel Granger for her father's sake, andperhaps a little from a desire to keep faith with Lady Laura. 

This marriage had seemed to her the only perfect fulfilment of her promisethat nothing should induce her to marry George Fairfax. But the sacrificehad been useless, since he had broken his engagement to GeraldineChalloner. 

Sophia Granger's lynx eyes perceived a change in her step mother about thistime. Clarissa had never appeared especially enraptured by the gaietiesof fashionable London; but then had come upon her of late a languor andweariness of spirit which she tried in vain to disguise by an assumed airof enjoyment. That simulated gaiety deluded her husband, but it could notdeceive Miss Granger. 

"She's getting tired of her life already, even here where we have aperpetual round of amusements, " Sophia said to herself. "What will she bewhen we go back to Yorkshire?"

The time was close at hand for the return to Arden, when the thing whichClarissa had feared came to pass, and the hazard of London life brought herface to face with George Fairfax. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MR. WOOSTER. 

The season was at its height, and the Grangers found every available hourof their existence engaged in visiting and receiving visitors. There wereso many people whom Lady Laura insisted upon introducing to her dearClarissa--there was so much in the way of party-giving that Lady Laurawanted her sweet Mrs. Granger to do. Now it was a morning concert of mylady's planning, at which weird and wonderful-looking denizens of theNorseland--Poles, Hungarians, Danes, and Swedes--with unkempt hair andfierce flashing eyes, performed upon every variety of native instrument, orsang wild national songs in some strange language--concerts to which LadyLaura brought herds of more or less fashionable people, all of whom werelanguishing to know "that sweet Mrs. Granger. " My lady had taken pains toadvertise her share in the manufacturer's marriage. Every one belonging toher set knew that the match was her contriving, and that Clarissa had tothank the mistress of Hale Castle for her millionaire husband. She wasreally proud of her protégée's success, and was never tired of praising herand "that admirable Granger. "

That admirable Granger endured the accession of party-giving with a verygood grace. It pleased him to see his wife admired; it pleased him stillmore to see her happy; and he was single-minded enough to believe herincreased volatility a symptom of increased happiness. Whatever undefinedregrets and dim forebodings there might be lurking in his own mind, he hadno doubt of his wife's integrity--no fear of hidden perils in this ordealof fashionable life. 

She would come to love him in time, he said to himself, trusting as blindlyin the power of time to work this wonder for him as Clarissa herself hadtrusted when she set herself to win her father's affection. He believedthis not so much because the thing was probable or feasible, as because hedesired it with an intensity of feeling that blinded him to the forceof hard facts. He--the man who had never made a false reckoning in themathematics of business-life--whose whole career was unmarred by amistake--whose greatest successes had been the result of unrivalledcoolness of brain and unerring foresight--he, the hard-headed, far-seeingman of the world--was simple as a child in this matter, which involved thegreater hazard of his heart. 

But while Clarissa's husband trusted her with such boundless confidence, Clarissa's stepdaughter watched her with the vigilant eyes of prejudice, not to say hatred. That a young lady so well brought up as Miss Granger--sothoroughly grounded in Kings and Chronicles--should entertain the vulgarpassion of hate, seemed quite out of the question; but so far as aladylike aversion may go, Miss Granger certainly went in relation to herstep-mother. In this she was sustained by that model damsel Hannah Warman, who, not having made much progress in Mrs. Granger's liking, had discoveredthat she could not "take to" that lady, and was always ready to dilate uponher shortcomings, whenever her mistress permitted. Sophia was capricious inthis, sometimes listening eagerly, at other times suppressing Miss Warmanwith a high hand. 

So Clarissa had, unawares, an enemy within her gates, and could turnneither to the right nor to the left without her motives for so turningbecoming the subject of a close and profound scrutiny. It is hard to saywhat shape Miss Granger's doubts assumed. If put into the witness-box andsubjected to the cross-examination of a popular queen's-counsel, shewould have found it very difficult to give a substance or a form to hersuspicions. She could only have argued in a general way, that Mrs. Grangerwas frivolous, and that any kind of wrong-doing might be expected from solight-minded a person. 

It was the beginning of June, and West-end London was glorious with thebrief brilliancy of the early summer. All the Mayfair balconies were brightwith, flowers, and the Mayfair knockers resounded perpetually under thehand of the archetypal Jeames. The weather was unusually warm; the mostperfect weather for garden-parties, every one declared, and there wereseveral of these _al fresco_ assemblies inscribed in Mrs. Granger'svisiting-book: one at Wimbledon; another as far afield as Henley-on-Thames, at a villa whose grounds sloped down to the river. 

This Henley party was an affair in which Lady Laura Armstrong wasparticularly interested. It was given by a bachelor friend of herhusband's, a fabulously rich stockbroker; and it was Lady Laura who hadbrought the proprietor of the villa to Clarges-street, and who had beeninstrumental in the getting-up of the fête. 

"You must really give us some kind of a party at your Henley place thisyear, Mr. Wooster, " she said. "There is the regatta now; I have positivelynot seen the Henley regatta for three years. The Putney business is allvery well--supremely delightful, in short, while it lasts--but such a merelightning flash of excitement. I like a long day's racing, such as one getsat Henley. "

"Lady Laura ought to be aware that my house is at her disposal all the yearround, and that she has only to signify her pleasure to her most devotedslave. "

"O, that's all very well. " replied my lady. "Of course, I know that ifFrederick and I were to come down, you would give us luncheon or dinner, and let us roam about the gardens as long as we liked. But that's not whatI want. I want you to give a party on one of the race days, and invite allthe nice people in London. "

"Are there any nasty people on this side of Temple-bar, Lady Laura, beforethe closing of Parliament? I thought, in the season everybody was nice. "

"You know what I mean, sir. I want the really pleasant people. Half-a-dozenpainters or so, and some of the nicest literary men--not the men who writethe best books, but the men who talk cleverly; and, of course, a heap ofmusical people--they are always nice, except to one another. You must havemarquees on the lawn for the luncheon--your house is too small for anythingmore than tea and coffee; and for once let there be no such thing ascroquet--that alone will give your party an air of originality. Isuppose you had better put yourself entirely into Gunter's hands for thecommissariat, and be sure you tell him you want novelty--no hackneyedideas; sparkle and originality in everything, from the eggs to the apples. I should ask you to give us a dance in the evening, with coloured lamps, if that were practicable, but there is the coming back to town; and if wecarried the business on to a breakfast next morning, some of the peoplemight begin to be tired, and the women would look faded and limp. So Ithink we had better confine ourselves to a mere garden-party and luncheon, without any dancing, " Lady Laura concluded with a faint sigh. 

"Will you send out the invitations, Lady Laura?"

"O, no; I leave all that to you. You really know everybody--or everybody weneed care about. "

In this manner Mr. Wooster's party had been arranged, and to this party theGrangers were bidden. Even the serious Sophia was going; indeed, it is tobe observed that this young lady joined in all mundane gaieties, underprotest as it were. 

"I go out, my dear, but I never enjoy myself, " she would say to a seriousfriend, as if that were a kind of merit. "Papa wishes me to go, and I haveno desire to withdraw myself in any way from Mrs. Granger's amusements, however little sympathy there may be between us. I endeavour to do _my_duty, whatever the result may be. "

Mr. Wooster did know a great many people. His abnormal wealth, and acertain amount of cleverness, had been his sole passports to society. AmongBurke's _Landed Gentry_ there was no trace of the Wooster family, norhad Mr. Wooster ever been heard to allude to a grandfather. He had begunstockjobbing in the smallest way, but had at a very early stage of hiscareer developed a remarkable genius for this kind of traffic. Those ofhis own set who had watched his steady ascent declared him to be a veryremarkable man; and the denizens of the West-end world, who knew nothing ofstockjobbing or stockbroking, were quite ready to receive him when he cameto them laden with the gold of Ophir, and with a reputation, of beingsomething distinguished upon 'Change. 

Time had begun to thin Mr. Wooster's flowing locks before he landedhimself safely upon the shores of fashionable life, and Mr. Wooster'scarefully-trained moustache and whiskers had a purplish tinge thatlooked more like art than nature. He was short and stout, with a floridcomplexion, sharp black eyes, and a large aquiline nose, and consideredhimself eminently handsome. He dressed with elaborate splendour--"dressedfor two, " as some of his less gorgeous friends were wont to say--and wasreputed to spend a small fortune annually in exotics for his buttonhole, and in dress boots. 

His chief merits in the estimation of the polite world lay in thepossession of a perfectly-appointed town house, the villa at Henley, another villa at Cowes, and a couple of magnificent yachts. He was aperpetual giver of dinners, and spent his existence between the StockExchange and the dinner-table, devoting whatever mental force remainedto him after his daily traffic to the study of menus, and the graveconsideration of wine-lists. 

To dine with Wooster was one of the right things to do once or twice in thecourse of a season; and Wooster's steam yacht was a pleasant place of restand haven of safety for any juvenile member of the peerage who had beenplunging heavily, and went in fear of the Bankruptcy-court. 

So, on a brilliant June morning, the Grangers left the Great Westernstation by special train, and sped through the summer landscape to Henley. This garden-party at Mr. Wooster's villa was almost their last engagement. They were to return to Arden in two days; and Clarissa was very glad thatit was so. That weariness of spirit which had seemed to her so strange insome of the young ladies at Hale Castle had come upon herself. She longedfor Arden Court and perfect rest; and then she remembered, with somethinglike a shudder, that there were people invited for the autumn, and thatLady Laura Armstrong had promised to spend a week with her dearestClarissa. 

"I want to put you into the way of managing that great house, Clary, " saidmy lady, brimming over with good-nature and officiousness. "As to leavingthe housekeeping in Miss Granger's hands, that's not to be dreamt of. Itmight do very well for the first six months--just to let her down gently, as it were--but from henceforth you must hold the reins yourself, Clary, and I'll teach you how to drive. "

"But, dear Lady Laura, I don't want the trouble and responsibility ofhousekeeping. I would much rather leave all that in Sophy's hands, "protested Clarissa. "You have no idea how clever she is. And I have my ownrooms, and my painting. "

"Yes, " exclaimed Lady Laura, "and you will mope yourself to death in yourown rooms, with your painting, whenever you have no company in the house. You are not going to become a cipher, surely, Clarissa! What with MissGranger's schools, and Miss Granger's clothing-club, and Miss Granger'spremiums and prizes for this, that, and the other, you stand a fair chanceof sinking into the veriest nobody, or you would, if it were not for yourpretty face. And then you really must have employment for your mind, Clary. Look at me; see the work I get through. "

"But you are a wonder, dear Lady Laura, and I have neither your energy noryour industry. "

Laura Armstrong would not admit this, and held to the idea of puttingClarissa in the right away. 

"Wait till I come to you in the autumn, " she said. And in that depressionof spirit which had grown upon her of late, Mrs. Granger found it a hardthing to say that she should be rejoiced when that time came. 

She wanted to get back to Arden Court, and was proud to think of herself asthe mistress of the place she loved so dearly; but it seemed to her thatan existence weighed down at once by the wisdom of Sophia Granger and theexuberant gaiety of Lady Laura would be barely endurable. She sighed forArden Court as she remembered it in her childhood--the dreamy quiet of thedull old house, brightened only by her brother's presence; the perfectfreedom of her own life, so different from the life whose every hour wassubject to the claims of others. 

She had changed very much since that visit to Hale Castle. Then all thepleasures of life were new to her--to-day they seemed all alike flat, stale, and unprofitable. She had been surfeited with splendours andpleasures since her marriage. The wealth which Daniel Granger so freelylavished upon her had rendered these things common all at once. She lookedback and wondered whether she had really ever longed for a new dress, andbeen gladdened by the possession of a five-pound note. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXIX. 

"IF I SHOULD MEET THEE--"

Mr. Wooster's villa was almost perfection in its way; but there wassomething of that ostentatious simplicity whereby the parvenu endeavourssometimes to escape from the vulgar glitter of his wealth. The chairs andtables were of unpolished oak, and of a rustic fashion. There were nopictures, but the walls of the dining-room were covered with majolicapanels of a pale gray ground, whereon sported groups of shepherds andshepherdesses after Boucher, painted on the earthenware with the airiestbrush in delicate rose-colour; the drawing-room and breakfast-room werelined with fluted chintz, in which the same delicate grays and rose-colourswere the prevailing hues. The floors were of inlaid woods, covered only bya small Persian carpet here and there. There was no buhl or marquetery, nota scrap of gilding or a yard of silk or satin, in the house; but therewas an all-pervading coolness, and in every room the perfume offreshly-gathered flowers. 

Mr. Wooster told his fashionable acquaintance that in winter the villa wasa howling wilderness by reason of damp and rats; but there were those ofhis Bohemian friends who could have told of jovial parties assembled therein November, and saturnalias celebrated there in January; for Mr. Woosterwas a bachelor of very liberal opinions, and had two sets of visitors. 

To-day the villa was looking its best and brightest. The hothouses had beenalmost emptied of their choicest treasures in order to fill jardinières andvases for all the rooms. Mr. Wooster had obeyed Lady Laura, and there wasnothing but tea, coffee, and ices to be had in the house; nor were thetea and coffee dispensed in the usual business-like manner, which reducesprivate hospitality to the level of a counter at a railway station. Insteadof this, there were about fifty little tables dotted about the rooms, eachprovided with a gem of a teapot and egg-shell cups and saucers for threeor four, so that Mr. Wooster's feminine visitors might themselves have thedelight of dispensing that most feminine of all beverages. This contrivancegave scope for flirtation, and was loudly praised by Mr. Wooster's guests. 

The gardens of the villa were large--indeed, the stockbroker had pulleddown a fine old family mansion to get a site for his dainty littledwelling. There was a good stretch of river-frontage, from which the crowdcould watch the boats flash by; now the striped shirts shooting far aheadto the cry of "Bravo, Brazenose!" anon the glitter of a line of light-bluecaps, as the Etonian crew answered to the call of their coxswain, andmade a gallant attempt to catch their powerful opponents; while Radley, overmatched and outweighted, though by no means a bad crew, ploddedhopelessly but pluckily in the rear. Here Clarissa strolled for some time, leaning on her husband's arm, and taking a very faint interest in theboats. It was a pretty sight, of course; but she had seen so many prettysights lately, and the brightness of them had lost all power to charm her. She looked on, like a person in a picture-gallery, whose eyes and brainare dazed by looking at too many pictures. Mr. Granger noticed herlistlessness, and was quick to take alarm. She was paler than usual, hethought. 

"I'm afraid you've been overdoing it with so many parties, Clary, " he said;"you are looking quite tired to-day. "

"I am rather tired. I shall be glad to go back to Arden. "

"And I too, my dear. The fact is, there's nothing in the world I care lessfor than this sort of thing: but I wanted you to have all the enjoyment tobe got out of a London season. It is only right that you should have anypleasure I can give you. "

"You are too good to me, " Clarissa answered with a faint sigh. 

Her husband did not notice the sigh; but he did remark the phrase, whichwas one she had used very often--one that wounded him a little whenever heheard it. 

"It is not a question of goodness, my dear, " he said. "I love you, and Iwant to make you happy. "

Later in the afternoon, when the racing was at its height, and almost allMr. Wooster's visitors had crowded to the terrace by the river, Clarissastrolled into one of the shrubbery walks, quite alone. It was afterluncheon; and the rattle of plates and glasses, and the confusion oftongues that had obtained during the banquet, had increased the nervousheadache with which she had begun the day. This grove of shining laureland arbutus was remote from the river, and as solitary just now as if Mr. Wooster's hundred or so of guests had been miles away. There were rusticbenches here and there: and Clarissa seated herself upon one of them, whichwas agreeably placed in a recess amongst the greenery. She was more thanusually depressed to-day, and no longer able to maintain that artificialvivacity by which she had contrived to conceal her depression. Her sin hadfound her out. The loveless union, entered upon so lightly, was beginningto weigh her down, as if the impalpable tie that bound her to her husbandhad been the iron chain that links a galley-slave to his companion. 

"I have been very wicked, " she said to herself; "and he is so good to me!If I could only teach myself to love him. "

She knew now that the weakness which had made her so plastic a creature inher father's hands had been an injustice to her husband; that it was notherself only she had been bound to consider in this matter. It was onething to fling away her own chances of happiness; but it was another thingto jeopardise the peace of the man she married. 

She was meditating on these things with a hopeless sense of confusion--asense that her married life was like some dreadful labyrinth, into whichshe had strayed unawares, and from which there was no hope of escape--whenshe was startled by an approaching footstep, and, looking up suddenly, saw George Fairfax coming slowly towards her, just as she had seen him inMarley Wood that summer day. How far away from her that day seemed now!

They had not met since that night in the orchard, nearly two years ago. She felt her face changing from pale to burning red, and then growing paleagain. But by a great effort she was able to answer him in a steady voicepresently when he spoke to her. 

"What a happiness to see you again, my dear Mrs. Granger!" he said in hislightest tone, dropping quietly down into the seat by her side. "I was toldyou were to be here to-day, or I should not have come; I am so heartilysick of all this kind of thing. But I really wanted to see you. "

"You were not at the luncheon, were you?" asked Clarissa, feeling that shemust say something, and not knowing what to say. 

"No; I have only been here half-an-hour or so. I hunted for you amongstthat gaping crowd by the river, and then began a circuit of the grounds. Ihave been lucky enough to find you without going very far. I have some newsfor you, Mrs. Granger. "

"News for me?"

"Yes; about your brother--about Mr. Austin Lovel. "

That name banished every other thought. She turned to the speaker eagerly. 

"News of him--of my dear Austin? O, thank you a thousand times, Mr. Fairfax! Have you heard where he is, and what he is doing? Pray, pray tellme quickly!" she said, tremulous with excitement. 

"I have done more than that: I have seen him. "

"In England--in London?" cried Clarissa, making a little movement as if shewould have gone that moment to find him. 

"No, not in England. Pray take things quietly, my dear Mrs. Granger. I havea good deal to tell you, if you will only listen calmly. "

"Tell me first that my brother is well--and happy, and then I will listenpatiently to everything. "

"I think I may venture to say that he is tolerably well; but his happinessis a fact I cannot vouch for. If he does find himself in a condition sounusual to mankind, he is a very lucky fellow. I never met a man yet whoowned to being happy; and my own experience of life has afforded me onlysome few brief hours of perfect happiness. "

He looked at her with a smile that said as plainly as the plainest words, "And those were when I was with you, Clarissa. "

She noticed neither the look nor the words that went before it. She wasthinking of her brother, and of him only. 

"But you have seen him, " she said. "If he is not in England, he must bevery near--in Paris perhaps. I heard you were in Paris. "

"Yes; it was in Paris that I saw him. "

"So near! O, thank God, I shall see my brother again! Tell me everythingabout him, Mr. Fairfax--everything. "

"I will. It is best you should have a plain unvarnished account. Youremember the promise I made you at Hale? Well, I tried my utmost to keepthat promise. I hunted up the man I spoke of--a man who had beenan associate of your brother's; but unluckily, there had been nocorrespondence between them after Mr. Lovel went abroad; in short, he couldtell me nothing--not even where your brother went. He had only a vagueidea that it was somewhere in Australia. So, you see, I was quite at astandstill here. I made several attempts in other directions, but all withthe same result; and at last I gave up all hope of ever being of any use toyou in this business. "

"You were very kind to take so much trouble. "

"I felt quite ashamed of my failure; I feel almost as much ashamed ofmy success; for it was perfectly accidental. I was looking at somewater-coloured sketches in a friend's rooms in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré--sketches of military life, caricatures full of dash and humour, ina style that was quite out of the common way, and which yet seemed in somemanner familiar to me. My friend saw that I admired the things. 'They aremy latest acquisitions in the way of art, ' he said; they are done by a poorfellow who lives in a shabby third-floor near the Luxembourg--an Englishmancalled Austin. If you admire them so much, you might as well order a setof them. It would be almost an act of charity. ' The name struck me atonce--your brother's Christian name; and then I remembered thatI had been shown some caricature portraits which he had done of hisbrother-officers--things exactly in the style of the sketches I had beenlooking at. I asked for this Mr. Austin's address, and drove off at onceto find him, with a few lines of introduction from my friend. 'The man isproud, ' he said, 'though he carries his poverty lightly enough. '"

"Poor Austin!" sighed Clarissa. 

"I need not weary you with minute details. I found this Mr. Austin, and atonce recognized your brother; though he is much altered--very much altered. He did not know me until afterwards, when I told him my name, and recalledour acquaintance. There was every sign of poverty: he looked worn andhaggard; his clothes were shabby; his painting-room was the commonsitting-room; his wife was seated by the open window patching a child'sfrock; his two children were playing about the room. "

"He is married, then? I did net even know that. "

"Yes, he is married; and I could see at a glance that an unequalmarriage has been one among the causes of his ruin. The woman is wellenough--pretty, with a kind of vulgar prettiness, and evidently fond ofhim. But such a marriage is moral death to any man. I contrived to get alittle talk with him alone--told him of my acquaintance with you and ofthe promise that I had made to you. His manner had been all gaiety andlightness until then; but at the mention of your name he fairly broke down. 'Tell her that I have never ceased to love her, ' he said; 'tell her thereare times when I dare not think of her. '"

"He has not forgotten me, then. But pray go on; tell me everything. "

"There is not much more to tell. He gave me a brief sketch of hisadventures since he sold out. Fortune had gone against him. He went toMelbourne, soon after his marriage, which he confessed was the chiefcause of his quarrel with his father; but in Melbourne, as in every otherAustralian city to which he pushed his way, he found art at a discount. It was the old story: the employers of labour wanted skilled mechanics orstalwart navigators; there was no field for a gentleman or a genius. Yourbrother and his wife just escaped starvation in the new world, and justcontrived to pay their way back to the old world. There were reasons why heshould not show himself in England, so he shipped himself and his family ina French vessel bound for Havre, and came straight on to Paris, where hetold me he found it tolerably easy to get employment for his pencil. 'Igive a few lessons, ' he said, 'and work for a dealer; and by that means wejust contrive to live. We dine every day, and I have a decent coat, thoughyou don't happen to find me in it. I can only afford to wear it when I goto my pupils. It is from-hand-to-mouth work; and if any illness shouldstrike me down, the wife and little ones must starve. '"

"Poor fellow! poor fellow! Did you tell him that I was rich, that I couldhelp him?"

"Yes, " answered Mr. Fairfax, with an unmistakable bitterness in his tone;"I told him that you had married the rich Mr. Granger. "

"How can I best assist him?" asked Clarissa eagerly. "Every penny I have inthe world is at his disposal. I can give him three or four hundred a year. I have five hundred quite in my own control, and need not spend more thanone. I have been rather extravagant since my marriage, and have not muchmoney by me just now, but I shall economise from henceforward; and I do notmind asking Mr. Granger to help my brother. "

"If you will condescend to take my advice, you will do nothing of thatkind. Even my small knowledge of your brother's character is sufficient tomake me very certain that an appeal to Mr. Granger is just the very lastthing to be attempted in this case. "

"But why so? my husband is one of the most generous men in the world, Ithink. "

"To you, perhaps, that is very natural. To a man of Mr. Granger's wealth afew thousands more or less are not worth consideration; but where there isa principle or a prejudice at stake, that kind of man is apt to tighten hispurse-strings with a merciless hand. You would not like to run the risk ofa refusal?"

"I do not think there is any fear of that. "

"Possibly not; but there is your brother to be considered in this matter. Do you think it would be pleasant for him to know that his necessities wereexposed to such a--to a brother-in-law whom he had never seen?"

"I do not know, " said Clarissa thoughtfully; "I fancied that he would beglad of any helping hand that would extricate him from his difficulties. Ishould be so glad to see him restored to his proper position in the world. "

"My dear Mrs. Granger, it is better not to think of that. There is a kindof morass from which no man can be extricated. I believe your brother hassunk into that lower world of Bohemianism from which a man rarely cares toemerge. The denizens of that nethermost circle lose their liking for theupper air, can scarcely breathe it, in fact. No, upon my word, I wouldnot try to rehabilitate him; least of all through the generosity of Mr. Granger. "

"If I could only see him, " said Clarissa despondingly. 

"I doubt whether he would come to England, even for the happiness of seeingyou. If you were in Paris, now, I daresay it might be managed. We couldbring about a meeting. But I feel quite sure that your brother would notcare to make himself known to Mr. Granger, or to meet your father. There isa deadly feud between those two; and I should think it likely Mr. Lovel hasprejudiced your husband against his son. "

Clarissa was fain to admit that it was so. More than once she had venturedto speak of her brother to Daniel Granger, and on each occasion had quicklyperceived that her husband had some fixed opinion about Austin, and wasinclined to regard her love for him as an amiable weakness that should beas far as possible discouraged. 

"Your father has told me the story of his disagreement with his son, mydear Clarissa, " Daniel Granger had said in his gravest tone, "and afterwhat I have heard, I can but think it would be infinitely wise in you toforget that you had ever had a brother. "

This was hard; and Clarissa felt her husband's want of sympathy in thismatter as keenly as she could have felt any overt act of unkindness. 

"Will you give me Austin's address" she asked, after a thoughtful pause. "Ican write to him, at least, and send him some money, without consulting anyone. I have about thirty pounds left of my last quarter's money, and eventhat may be of use to him. "

"Most decidedly. The poor fellow told me he had been glad to get tennapoleons for half-a-dozen sketches: more than a fortnight's hard work. Would it not be better, by the way, for you to send your letter to me, andallow me to forward it to your brother? and if you would like to send himfifty pounds, or a hundred, I shall be only too proud to be your banker. "

Clarissa blushed crimson, remembering that scene in the orchard, and herbaffled lover's menaces. Had he forgiven her altogether, and was this kindinterest in her affairs an unconscious heaping of coals of fire on herhead? Had he forgiven her so easily? Again she argued with herself, as shehad so often argued before, that his love had never been more than a truantfancy, a transient folly, the merest vagabondage of an idle brain. 

"You are very good, " she said, with a tinge of hauteur, "but I could notthink of borrowing money, even to help my brother. If you will kindly tellme the best method of remitting money to Paris. "

Here, Mr. Fairfax said, there was a difficulty; it ought to be remittedthrough a banker, and Mrs. Granger might find this troublesome to arrange, unless she had an account of her own. Clarissa said she had no account, butmet the objection by suggesting bank notes; and Mr. Fairfax was compelledto own that notes upon the Bank of England could be converted into Frenchcoin at any Parisian money-changer's. 

He gave Clarissa the address, 13, Rue du Chevalier Bayard, near theLuxembourg. 

"I will write to him to-night, " she said, and then rose from the rusticbench among the laurels. "I think I must go and look for my husband now. Ileft him some time ago on account of a headache. I wanted to get away fromthe noise and confusion on the river-bank. "

"Is it wise to return to the noise and confusion so soon?" asked Mr. Fairfax, who had no idea of bringing this interview to so sudden a close. 

He had been waiting for such a meeting for a long time; waiting with a kindof sullen patience, knowing that it must some sooner or later, withoutany special effort of his; waiting with a strange mixture of feelings andsentiments--disappointed passion, wounded pride, mortified vanity, an angrysense of wrong that had been done to him by Clarissa's marriage, an eagerdesire to see her again, which was half a lover's yearning, half an enemy'slust of vengeance. 

He was not a good man. Such a life as he had led is a life that no man canlead with impunity. To say that he might still be capable of a generousaction or unselfish impulse, would be to say much for him, given the storyof his manhood. A great preacher of to-day has declared, that he couldnever believe the man who said he had never been tempted. For GeorgeFairfax life had been crowded with temptations; and he had not made eventhe feeblest stand against the tempter. He had been an eminently fortunateman in all the trifles which make up the sum of a frivolous existence; andthough his successes had been for the most part small social triumphs, theyhad not been the less agreeable. He had never felt the sting of failureuntil he stood in the Yorkshire orchard that chill October evening, andpleaded in vain to Clarissa Lovel. She was little more than a schoolgirl, and she rejected him. It was us if Lauzun, after having playedfast-and-loose with that eldest daughter of France who was afterwards hiswife, had been flouted by some milliner's apprentice, or made light of byan obscure little soubrette in Molière's troop of comedians. He had neitherforgotten nor forgiven this slight; and mingled with that blind unreasoningpassion, which he had striven in vain to conquer, there was an ever-presentsense of anger and wrong. 

When Clarissa rose from the bench, he rose too, and laid his hand lightlyon her arm with a detaining gesture. 

"If you knew how long; I have been wishing for this meeting, you would notbe so anxious to bring it to a close, " he said earnestly. 

"It was very good of you to wish to tell me about poor Austin, " she said, pretending to misunderstand him, "and I am really grateful. But I must notstay any longer away from my party. "

"Clarissa--a thousand pardons--Mrs. Granger"--there is no describing theexpression he gave to the utterance of that last name--a veiled contemptand aversion that just stopped short of actual insolence, because it seemedinvoluntary--"why are you so hard upon me? You have confessed that youwanted to escape the noise yonder, and yet to avoid me you would go back tothat. Am I so utterly obnoxious to you?"

"You are not at all obnoxious to me; but I am really anxious to rejoin myparty. My husband will begin to wonder what has become of me. Ah, there ismy stepdaughter coming to look for me. "

Yes, there was Miss Granger, slowing advancing towards them. She had beenquite in time to see George Fairfax's entreating gestures, his pleadingair. She approached them with a countenance that would have been quite asappropriate to a genteel funeral--where any outward demonstration of griefwould be in bad taste--as it was to Mr. Wooster's fête, a countenanceexpressive of a kind of dismal resignation to the burden of existence in aworld that way unworthy of her. 

"I was just coming back to the river, Sophia, " Mrs. Granger said, notwithout some faint indications of embarrassment. "I'm afraid Mr. --I'mafraid Daniel must have been looking for me. "

"Papa _has_ been looking for you, " Miss Granger replied, with unrelentingstiffness. --"How do you do, Mr. Fairfax?" shaking hands with him in afrigid manner. --"He quite lost the last race. When I saw that he wasgrowing really anxious, I suggested that he should go one way, and I theother, in search of you. That is what brought me here. "

It was as much as to say, Pray understand that I have no personal interestin your movements. 

"And yet I have not been so very long away, " Clarissa said, with adeprecating smile. 

"You may not have been conscious of the lapse of time You have been long. You said you would go and rest for a quarter of an hour or so; and you havebeen resting more than an hour. "

"I don't remember saying that; but you are always so correct, Sophia. "

"I make a point of being exact in small things. We had better go round thegarden to look for papa. --Good-afternoon, Mr. Fairfax. "

"Good-afternoon, Miss Granger. "

George Fairfax shook hands with Clarissa. 

"Good-bye, Mrs. Granger. "

That was all, but the words were accompanied by a look and a pressure ofthe hand that brought the warm blood into Clarissa's cheeks. She had madefor herself that worst enemy a woman can have--a disappointed lover. 

While they were shaking hands, Mr. Granger came in sight at the otherend of the walk; so it was only natural that Mr. Fairfax, who had beentolerably intimate with him at Hale Castle, should advance to meet him. There were the usual salutations between the two men, exchanged with thatstereotyped air of heartiness which seems common to Englishmen. 

"I think we had better get home by the next train, Clarissa, " said Mr. Granger; "5. 50. I told them to have the brougham ready for us at Paddingtonfrom half-past six. "

"I am quite ready to go, " Clarissa said. 

"Your headache is better, I hope. "

"Yes; I had almost forgotten it. "

Miss Granger gave an audible sniff, which did not escape George Fairfax. 

"What! suspicious already?" he said to himself. 

"You may as well come and dine with us, Mr. Fairfax, if you have nothingbetter to do, " said Mr. Granger, with his lofty air, as much as to say, "Isuppose I ought to be civil to this young man. "

"It is quite impossible that I could have anything better to do, " repliedMr. Fairfax. 

"In that case, if you will kindly give your arm to my daughter, we'll moveoff at once. I have wished Mr. Wooster good-afternoon on your part, Clary. I suppose we may as well walk to the station. "

"If you please. "

And in this manner they departed, Miss Granger just touching GeorgeFairfax's coat-sleeve with the tips of her carefully-gloved fingers;Clarissa and her husband walking before them, arm in arm. Mr. Fairfax didhis utmost to make himself agreeable during that short walk to the station;so much so that Sophia unbent considerably, and was good enough to informhim of her distaste for these frivolous pleasures, and of her wonder thatother people could go on from year to year with an appearance of enjoyment. 

"I really don't see what else one can do with one's life, Miss Granger, "her companion answered lightly. "Of course, if a man had the genius of aBeethoven, or a Goethe, or a Michael Angelo--or if he were 'a heaven-borngeneral, ' like Clive, it would be different; he would have some purpose andmotive in his existence. But for the ruck of humanity, what can they do butenjoy life, after their lights?"

If all the most noxious opinions of Voltaire, and the rest of theEncyclopedists, had been expressed in one sentence, Miss Granger could nothave looked more horrified than she did on hearing this careless remark ofMr. Fairfax's. 

She gave a little involuntary shudder, and wished that George Fairfax hadbeen one of the model children, so that she might have set him to learn thefirst five chapters in the first book of Chronicles, and thus poured thelight of what she called Biblical knowledge upon his benighted mind. 

"I do not consider the destiny of a Michael Angelo or a Goethe to beenvied, " she said solemnly. "Our lives are given us for something betterthan painting pictures or writing poems. "

"Perhaps; and yet I have read somewhere that St. Luke was a painter, "returned George Fairfax. 

"Read somewhere, " was too vague a phrase for Miss Granger's approval. 

"I am not one of those who set much value on tradition, " she said withincreased severity. "It has been the favourite armour of our adversaries. "

"Our adversaries?"

"Yes, Mr. Fairfax. Of ROME!"

Happily for George Fairfax, they were by this time very near the station. Mr. And Mrs. Granger had walked before them, and Mr. Fairfax had beenwatching the tall slender figure by the manufacturer's side, notill-pleased to perceive that those two found very little to say to eachother during the walk. In the railway-carriage, presently, he had the seatopposite Clarissa, and was able to talk to her as much as he liked; forMr. Granger, tired with staring after swift-flashing boats in the opensunshine, leaned his head back against the cushions and calmly slumbered. The situation reminded Mr. Fairfax of his first meeting with Clarissa. Butshe was altered since then: that charming air of girlish candour, which hehad found so fascinating, had now given place to a womanly self-possessionthat puzzled him not a little. He could make no headway against that calmreserve, which was yet not ungracious. He felt that from first to last inthis business he had been a fool. He had shown his cards in his anger, andClarissa had taken alarm. 

He was something less than a deliberate villain: but he loved her; he lovedher, and until now fate had always given him the thing that he cared for. Honest Daniel Granger, sleeping the sleep of innocence, seemed to himnothing more than a gigantic stumbling-block in his way. He was utterlyreckless of consequences--of harm done to others, above all--just as hisfather had been before him. Clarissa's rejection had aroused the worstattributes of his nature--an obstinate will, a boundless contempt for anyhuman creature not exactly of his own stamp--for that prosperous trader, Daniel Granger, for instance--and a pride that verged upon the diabolic. 

So, during that brief express journey, he sat talking gaily enough toClarissa about the Parisian opera-houses, the last new plays at the Gymnaseand the Odéon, the May races at Chantilly, and so on; yet hatching hisgrand scheme all the while. It had taken no definite shape as yet, but itfilled his mind none the less. "

"Strange that this fellow Granger should have been civil, " he said tohimself. "But that kind of man generally contrives to aid and abet his owndestruction. "

And then he glanced at this fellow Granger, sleeping peacefully with hishead in an angle of the carriage, and made a contemptuous comparisonbetween himself and the millionaire. Mr. Granger had been all very well inthe abstract, before he became an obstacle in the path of George Fairfax. But things were altered now, and Mr. Fairfax scrutinized him with the eyesof an enemy. 

The dinner in Clarges-street was a very quiet affair. George Fairfax wasthe only visitor, and the Grangers were "due" at an evening party. Helearned with considerable annoyance that they were to leave London atthe end of that week, whereby he could have little opportunity of seeingClarissa. He might have followed her down to Yorkshire, certainly; but sucha course would have been open to remark, nor would it be good taste forhim to show himself in the neighbourhood of Hale Castle while GeraldineChalloner was there. He had an opportunity of talking confidentially toClarissa once after dinner, when Mr. Granger, who had not fairly finishedhis nap in the railway-carriage, had retired to a dusky corner of thedrawing-room and sunk anew into slumber, and when Miss Granger seemedclosely occupied in the manufacture of an embroidered pincushion for afancy fair. Absorbing as the manipulation of chenille and beads might be, however, her work did not prevent her keeping a tolerably sharp watch uponthose two figures by the open piano: Clarissa with one hand wandering idlyover the keys, playing some random passage, _pianissimo_, now and then;George Fairfax standing by the angle of the piano, bending down to talk toher with an extreme earnestness. 

He had his opportunity, and he knew how to improve it. He was talking ofher brother. That subject made a link between them that nothing else couldhave made. She forgot her distrust of George Fairfax when he spoke withfriendly interest of Austin. 

"Is the wife _very_ vulgar?" Clarissa asked, when they had been talkingsome time. 

"Not so especially vulgar. That sort of thing would be naturally toned downby her association with your brother. But she has an unmistakable air ofBohemianism; looks like a third-rate actress, or dancer, in short; orperhaps an artist's model. I should not wonder if that were her position, by the way, when your brother fell in love with her. She is handsome still, though a little faded and worn by her troubles, poor soul and seems fond ofhim. "

"I am glad of that. How I should like to see him, and the poor wife, andthe children--my brother's children! I have never had any children fond ofme. "

She thought of Austin in his natural position, as the heir of Arden Court, with his children playing in the old rooms--not as they were now, inthe restored splendour of the Middle Ages, but as they had been in herchildhood, sombre and faded, with here and there a remnant of formergrandeur. 

Mr. Granger woke presently, and George Fairfax wished him good-night. 

"I hope we shall see you at the Court some day, " Clarissa's husband said, with a kind of stately cordiality. "We cannot offer you the numerousattractions of Hale Castle, but we have good shooting, and we generallyhave a houseful in September and October. "

"I shall be most happy to make one of the houseful, " Mr. Fairfax said, witha smile--that winning smile which had helped him to make so many friends, and which meant so little. He went away in a thoughtful spirit. 

"Is she happy?" he asked himself. "She does not seem unhappy; but thenwomen have such a marvellous power of repression, or dissimulation, one cannever be sure of anything about them. At Hale I could have sworn that sheloved me. Could a girl of that age be absolutely mercenary, and be caughtat once by the prospect of bringing down such big game as Daniel Granger?Has she sold herself for a fine house and a great fortune, and is shesatisfied with the price? Surely no. She is not the sort of woman to bemade happy by splendid furniture and fine dresses; no, nor by the commonround of fashionable pleasures. There was sadness in her face when I cameupon her unawares to-day. Yes, I am sure of that. But she has schooledherself to hide her feelings. "

"I wonder you asked Mr. Fairfax to Arden, papa, " said Miss Granger, whenthe visitor had departed. 

"Why, my dear? He is a very pleasant young man; and I know he likes ourpart of the country. Besides, I suppose he will be a good deal at Hale thisyear, and that his marriage will come off before long. Lord Calderwood musthave been dead year. "

"Lord Calderwood has been dead nearly two years, " replied Miss Granger. "Ifancy that engagement between Mr. Fairfax and Lady Geraldine must have beenbroken off. If it were not so, they would surely have been married beforenow. And I observed that Mr. Fairfax was not with Lady Laura to-day. I donot know how long he may have been in the gardens, " Miss Granger added, with a suspicious glance at her stepmother, "but he certainly was not withLady Laura during any part of the time. "

Clarissa blushed when Lady Geraldine's engagement was spoken of. She feltas if she had been in some manner guilty in not having communicated theintelligence Lady Laura had given her. It seemed awkward to have to speakof it now. 

"Yes, " she said, with a very poor attempt at carelessness, "the engagementis broken off. Lady Laura told me so some time ago. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Sophia. "How odd that you should not mention it!"

Daniel Granger looked first at his daughter, and then at his wife. Therewas something in this talk, a sort of semi-significance, that displeasedhim. What was George Fairfax, that either his wife or his daughter shouldbe interested in him?

"Clarissa may not have thought the fact worth mentioning, my dear, " he saidstiffly. "It is quite unimportant to us. "

He waived the subject away, as he might have done if it had been some smalloperation in commerce altogether unworthy of his notice; but in his secretheart he kept the memory of his wife's embarrassed manner. He had notforgotten the portfolio of drawings among which the likeness of GeorgeFairfax figured go prominently. It had seemed a small thing at thetime--the merest accident; one head was as good to draw as another, and soon--he had told himself; but he knew now that his wife did not love him, and he wanted to know if she had ever loved any one else. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE HEIR OF ARDEN. 

Clarissa wrote to her brother--a long letter full of warmth and tenderness, with loving messages for his children, and even for the wife who was somuch beneath him. She enclosed three ten-pound notes, all that remainedto her of a quarter's pin-money; and O, how bitterly she regretted thefrivolous extravagances that had reduced her exchequer to so low acondition! Toward the close of her letter she came to a standstill. She hadbegged Austin to write to her, to tell her all he could about himself, his hopes, his plans for the future; but when it came to the question ofreceiving a letter from him she was puzzled. From the first day of hermarried life she had made a point of showing all her letters to herhusband, as a duty, just as she had shown them to her father; who had veryrarely taken the trouble to read them, by the way. But Daniel Granger didread his wife's letters, and expected that they should be submitted to him. It would be impossible to reserve from him any correspondence that came toher in the common way. So Clarissa, though not given to secrecy, was onthis occasion fain to be secret. After considerable deliberation, she toldher brother to write to her under cover to her maid, Jane Target, at ArdenCourt. The girl seemed a good honest girl, and Mrs. Granger believed thatshe could trust her. 

They went back to Arden a day or two afterwards; and Miss Granger returnedwith rapture to her duties as commander-in-chief of the model villagers. Nomartinet ever struck more terror into the breasts of rank and file thandid this young lady cause in the simple minds of her prize cottagers, conscience-stricken by the knowledge that stray cobwebs had flourishedand dust-bins run to seed during her absence. There was not much room forcomplaint, however, when she did arrive. The note of warning had beensounded by the servants of the Court, and there had been a generalscrubbing and cleansing in the habitations of New Arden--that particularArden which Mr. Granger had built for himself, and the very bricks whereofought to have been stamped with his name and titles, as in the case ofNebuchadnezzar, son of Nabopolassar, king of Babylon. For a week beforeMiss Granger's coming there had been heard the splashing of innumerablepails of water, and the scrubbing of perpetual scrubbing-brushes; windowshad been polished to the highest degree of transparency; tin tea-kettleshad been sandpapered until they became as silver; there had been quite arun upon the village chandler for mottled soap and hearthstone. 

So, after a rigorous inspection, Miss Granger was obliged to express herapproval--not an unqualified approval, by any means. Too much praise wouldhave demoralized the Ardenites, and lowered the standard of perfection. 

"I like to be able to say that my papa's village is the cleanest village inEngland, " she said; "not one of the cleanest, but _the_ cleanest. Why haveyou turned the back of that tea-kettle to the wall, Mrs. Binks? I'm afraidit's smoky. Now there never need be a smoky kettle. Your place looks verynice, Mrs. Binks; but from the strong smell of soap, I fancy it must havebeen cleaned _very lately_. I hope you have not been neglecting thingswhile I've been away. That sort of thing would militate against yourobtaining my prize for domestic cleanliness next Christmas. "

Mrs. Binks did not know what "militate" meant, unless it might be somethingin connection with the church militant, of which she had heard a greatdeal; but she was not a mild-tempered woman, and she grew very red in theface at this reproof. "

"Well, miss, if to toil and scrub early and late, with a husband and fivechildren to do for, and to keep the place pretty much as you see it now, though I don't say as it ain't a little extry perhaps, in honour of yourcoming back--if that ain't hard work and cleanliness, and don't deservea prize of two pound at the year's end, I don't know what do. It'shard-earned money, Miss Granger, when all's said and done. "

Sophia turned the eyes of reproof upon Mrs. Binks. 

"I did not think it was the money you cared for, " she said; "I thought itwas the honour you valued most. "

She pointed to a card framed and glazed over the mantelpiece--a card uponwhich, with many nourishes and fat initial letters in red ink, the modelschoolmaster had recorded the fact, that Mrs. Binks, at the precedingChristmas distributions, had obtained Miss Granger's annual reward fordomestic cleanliness. 

"Well, of course, miss, I set store by the card. It's nice to see one'sname wrote out like that, and any strangers as chance to come in the summertime, they takes notice; but to a hard-working man's wife two pound is aconsideration. I'm sure I beg your parding humbly, miss, if I spoke a bitshort just now; but it is trying, when one has worked hard, to have one'swork found fault with. "

"I am not aware that I found fault with your work, Mrs. Sinks, " Sophiareplied with supreme dignity; "I merely remarked that it appeared to havebeen done hastily. I don't approve of spasmodic industry. "

And with this last crushing remark, Miss Granger sailed out of the cottage, leaving the luckless Mrs. Binks to repent her presumption at leisure, andto feel that she had hazarded her hopes of Christmas bounties, and enhancedthe chances of her detested rival of three doors off, Mrs. Trotter, asanctimonious widow, with three superhuman children, who never had so muchas a spot on their pinafores, and were far in advance of the young Binksesin Kings and Chronicles; indeed the youngest Trotter had been familiar withall the works of Hezekiah before the eldest Binks had grasped the abstractidea of Saul. 

For Clarissa the change to Arden Court was a pleasant one. That incessantsuccession of London gaieties had wearied her beyond measure. Here, for alittle time before her visitors began to arrive, she lived her own life, dreaming away a morning over a sketch-book, or reading some newly-publishedvolume in a favourite thicket in the park. There was a good deal of time, of course, that she was obliged to devote to her husband, walking ordriving or riding with him, in rather a ceremonial manner, almost as shemight have done had she belonged to that charmed circle whose smallest walkor drive is recorded by obsequious chroniclers in every journal in theunited kingdom. Then came six brilliant weeks in August and September, when Arden Court was filled with visitors, and Clarissa began to feel howonerous are the duties of a châtelaine. She had not Lady Laura Armstrong'sdelight in managing a great house. She was sincerely anxious that herguests might be pleased, but somewhat over-burdened by the responsibilityof pleasing them. It was only after some experience that she found therewas very little to be done, after all. With a skilful combination ofelements, the result was sure to be agreeable. Morning after morning thecheerful faces gathered round the breakfast-table; and morning aftermorning vast supplies of dried salmon, fresh trout, grilled fowl, andraised pie--to say nothing of lighter provender, in the way of omelets, new-laid eggs, hot buttered cakes of various descriptions, huge wedges ofhoneycomb, and jars of that Scotch marmalade, so dear to the hearts ofboating-men--vanished like smoke before a whirlwind. Whatever troublesthese nomads may have had were hidden in their hearts for the time being. A wise custom prevailed in Mr. Granger's establishment with regard to themorning letters, which were dealt out to each guest with his or her earlycup of tea, and not kept back for public distribution, to the confusion ofsome luckless recipient, who feels it difficult to maintain an agreeablesmirk upon his countenance while he reads, that unless such or such anaccount is settled immediately, proceedings will be taken without delay. 

Lady Laura came, as she had promised, and gave her dearest Clarissa lessonsin the art of presiding over a large establishment, and did her utmostto oust Miss Granger from her position of authority in the giving out ofstores and the ordering of grocery. This, however, was impossible. Sophiaclung to her grocer's book as some unpopular monarch tottering on hisinsecure throne might cling to his sceptre. If she could not sit in thepost of honour at her father's dinner-table, as she had sat so long, itwas something to reign supreme in the store-room; if she found herself asecondary person in the drawing-room, and that unpunctilious callers wereapt to forget the particular card due to her, she could at least hold onby the keys of those closets in which the superfine china services for Mr. Granger's great dinners were stored away, with chamois leather between allthe plates and dishes. She had still the whip-hand of the housekeeper, andcould ordain how many French plums and how many muscatel raisins were tobe consumed in a given period. She could bring her powers of arithmetic tobear upon wax-candles, and torment the souls of hapless underlings by theprecision of her calculations. She had an eye to the preserves; and ifawakened suddenly in the dead of the night could have told, to a jar, howmany pots of strawberry, and raspberry, and currant, and greengage wereranged on the capacious shelves of that stronghold of her power, thestore-room. 

Even Lady Laura's diplomacy failed here. The genius of a Talleyrand wouldnot have dislodged Miss Granger. 

"I like to feel that I am of _some_ use to papa, " she remarked very often, with the air of a household Antigone. "He has new outlets for his moneynow, and it is more than ever my duty as a daughter to protect him from thewastefulness of servants. With all my care, there are some things in Mrs. Plumptree's management which I do not understand. I'm sure what becomes ofall the preserved-ginger and crystallized apricots that I give out, is amystery that no one could fathom. Who ever eats preserved-ginger? I havetaken particular notice, and could never see any one doing it. The thingsare not eaten; _they disappear_. "

Lady Laura suggested that, with such a fortune as Mr. Granger's, a littlewaste more or less was hardly worth thinking of. 

"I cannot admit that, " Miss Granger replied solemnly. "It is the abstractsinfulness of waste which I think of. An under-butler who begins by wastingpreserved-ginger may end by stealing his master's plate. "

The summer went by. Picnics and boating parties, archery meetings andflower-shows, and all the familiar round of country pleasures repeatedthemselves just as they had done at Hale Castle two years ago; and Clarissawondered at the difference in her own mind which made these things sodifferent. It was not that all capacity for enjoyment was dead in her. Youth is too bright a thing to be killed so easily. She could still delightin a lovely landscape, in exquisite flowers, in that art which she hadloved from her childhood--she could still enjoy good music and pleasantsociety; but that keen sense of happiness which she had felt at Hale, thatardent appreciation of small pleasures, that eager looking forward to thefuture--these were gone. She lived in the present. To look back to the pastwas to recall the image of George Fairfax, who seemed somehow interwovenwith her girlhood; to look forward to the future was to set her facetowards a land hidden in clouds and darkness. She had positively nothing tohope for. 

Mr. Granger took life very calmly. He knew that his wife did not love him;and he was too proud a man to lay himself out to win her love, even if hehad known how to set about a task so incongruous with the experience of hislife. He was angry with himself for having ever been weak enough to thinkthat this girlish creature--between whom and himself there stretched a gulfof thirty years--could by any possibility be beguiled into loving him. Ofcourse, she had married him for his money. There was not one among hisguests who would not have thought him a fool for supposing that it could beotherwise, or for expecting more from her than a graceful fulfilment of theduties of her position. 

He had little ground for complaint. She was gentle and obedient, deferential in her manner to him before society, amiable always; he onlyknew that she did not love him--that was all. But Daniel Granger was aproud man, and this knowledge was a bitter thing to him. There were hoursin his life when he sat alone in his own room--that plainly-furnishedchamber which was half study, half dressing-room--withdrawing himself fromhis guests under pretence of having business-letters to write to his peopleat Bradford and Leeds; sat with his open desk before him, and made noattempt to write; sat brooding over thoughts of his young wife, andregretting the folly of his marriage. 

Was it true that she had never cared for any one else? He had her father'sword for that; but he know that Marmaduke Lovel was a selfish man, whowould be likely enough to say anything that would conduce to his ownadvantage. Had her heart been really true and pure when he won her for hiswife? He remembered those sketches of George Fairfax in the portfolio, andone day when he was waiting for Clarissa in her morning-room he took thetrouble to look over her drawings. There were many that he recollectedhaving seen that day at Mill Cottage, but the portraits of Mr. Fairfax wereall gone. He looked through the portfolio very carefully, but found none ofthose careless yet life-like sketches which had attracted the attention ofSophia Granger. 

"She has destroyed them, I suppose, " he said to himself; and the notion ofher having done so annoyed him a little. He did not care to question herabout them. There would have been an absurdity in that, he thought: asif it could matter to him whose face she chose for her unstudiedsketches--mere vagabondage of the pencil. 

Upon rare occasions Marmaduke Lovel consented to take a languid share inthe festivities at Arden. But although he was very well pleased that hisdaughter should be mistress of the house that he had lost, he did notrelish a secondary position in the halls of his forefathers; nor had thegaieties of the place any charm for him. He was glad to slip away quietlyat the beginning of September, and to go back to Spa, where the watersagreed with his rheumatism--that convenient rheumatism which was an excusefor anything he might choose to do. 

As for his daughter, he washed his hands of all responsibility inconnection with her. He felt as if he had provided for her in a mostmeritorious manner by the diplomacy which had brought about her marriage. Whether she was happy in her new life, was a question which he had neverasked himself; but if any one else had propounded such a question, he wouldhave replied unhesitatingly in the affirmative. Of course Clarissa washappy. Had she not secured for herself all the things that women mostvalue? could she not run riot in the pleasures for which women will imperiltheir souls? He remembered his own wife's extravagance, and he argued withhimself, that if she could have had a perennial supply of fine dresses, anda perpetual round of amusement, she would speedily have forgotten ColonelFairfax. It was the dulness of her life, and the dismal atmosphere ofpoverty, that had made her false. 

So he went back to Spa, secure in the thought that he could make his homeat Arden whenever he pleased. Perhaps at some remote period of old age, when his senses were growing dim, he might like to inhabit the familiarrooms, and feel no sting in the thought that he was a guest, and not themaster. It would be rather pleasant to be carried to his grave from ArdenCourt, if anything about a man's burial could be pleasant. He went back toSpa and led his own life, and in a considerable measure forgot that he hadever had a son and a daughter. 

With September and October there came guests for the shooting, but GeorgeFairfax was not among them. Mr. Granger had not renewed that carelessinvitation of his in Clarges-street. After supervising Clarissa's existencefor two or three weeks, Lady Laura had returned to Hale, there to reign inall her glory. Mr. And Mrs. Granger dined at the castle twice in the courseof the autumn, and Clarissa saw Lady Geraldine for the first time sincethat fatal wedding-day. 

There was very little alteration in the fair placid face. GeraldineChalloner was not a woman to wear the willow in any obvious manner. Shewas still coldly brilliant, with just a shade more bitterness, perhaps, inthose little flashes of irony and cynicism which passed for wit. She talkedrather more than of old, Clarissa thought; she was dressed more elaboratelythan in the days of her engagement to George Fairfax, and had altogetherthe air of a woman who means to shine in society. To Mrs. Granger she waspolite, but as cold as was consistent with civility. 

After a fortnight's slaughter of the pheasants, there was a lull in thedissipations of Arden Court. Visitors departed, leaving Mr. Granger'sgamekeepers with a plethora of sovereigns and half-sovereigns in theircorduroy pockets, and serious thoughts of the Holborough Savings Bank, andMr. Granger's chief butler with views that soared as high as Consols. All the twitter and cheerful confusion of many voices in the rooms andcorridors of the grand old house dwindled and died away, until Mr. Grangerwas left alone with his wife and daughter. He was not sorry to see hisvisitors depart, though he was a man who, after his own fashion, was fondof society. But before the winter was over, an event was to happen at Ardenwhich rendered quiet indispensable. 

Late in December, while the villagers were eating Mr. Granger's beef, andwarming themselves before Mr. Granger's coals, and reaping the fruit oflaborious days in the shape of Miss Granger's various premiums for humblevirtue--while the park and woodland were wrapped in snow, and the Christmasbells were still ringing in the clear crisp air, God gave Clarissa ason--the first thing she had ever held in her arms which she could andmight love with all her heart. 

It was like some strange dream to her, this holy mystery of motherhood. Shehad not looked forward to the child's coming with any supreme pleasure, orsupposed that her life would be altered by his advent. But from the momentshe held him in her arms, a helpless morsel of humanity, hardly visible tothe uninitiated amidst his voluminous draperies, she felt herself on thethreshold of a new existence. With him was born her future--it was a mostcomplete realization of those sweet wise words of the poet, --

 "a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts. "

Mr. Granger was enraptured. For him, too, even more than for his wife, thisbaby represented the future. Often and often, after some brilliant strokeof business which swelled the figures upon the left side of his bank-bookto an abnormal amount, he had felt a dismal sense of the extinction thatmust befall his glory by-and-by. There was no one but Sophia. She wouldinherit a fortune thrice as large as any woman need desire, and wouldin all likelihood marry, and give her wealth to fill the coffers of astranger, whose name should wipe out the name of Granger--or preserve itin a half-and-half way in some inane compound, such, as Granger-Smith, or Jones-Granger, extended afterwards into Jones-Granger-Jones, orGranger-Smith-Granger. 

Perhaps those wintry days that began the new year were the purest, happiestof Daniel Granger's life. He forgot that his wife did not love him. Sheseemed so much more his wife, seated opposite to him beside that quiethearth, with her baby in her arms. She made such a lovely picture, bendingover the child in her unconscious beauty. To sit and watch the two was anall-sufficient delight for him--sometimes withdrawing his mind from thepresent, to weave the web of his boy's future. 

"I shall send him to Westminster, Clary, " he said--it was a long time, bythe way, since he had called his wife Clary, though she herself was hardlyaware of the fact. "I shall certainly send him to Westminster. A provincialpublic school is all very well--my father sent me to one--but it's not_quite_ up to the mark. I should like him to be a good classical scholar, which I never was, though I was a decent mathematician. I used to do myVirgil with a crib--a translation, you know--and I never could get on withGreek. I managed to struggle through the New Testament, but stuck in thefirst book of Thucydides. What dreary work it was! I was glad when it wasall over, and my father let me come into his office. But with this fellowit will be different. He will have no occasion to soil his hands withtrade. He will be a country gentleman, and may distinguish himself in theHouse of Commons. Yes, Clary, there may be the material for a great man inhim, " Mr. Granger concluded, with an almost triumphant air, as he touchedthe soft little cheek, and peered curiously into the bright blue eyes. Theywere something like his own eyes, he thought; Clarissa's were hazel. 

The mother drew the soft mass of muslin a little nearer to her heart. Shedid not care to think of her baby as a man, addressing a noisy constituencyin Holborough market-place, nor even, as a Westminster boy, intent uponVirgil and cricket, Euclid and football. She liked to think of him as hewas now, and as he would be for the next few years--something soft and warmand loving, that she could hold in her arms; beside whose bed she couldwatch and pray at night. Her future was bounded by the years of her son'schildhood. She thought already, with a vague pang, of the time when heshould go out into the world, and she be no longer necessary to him. 

The day came when she looked back to that interval of perfect quiet--thedimly-lighted rooms, the low wood fire, and her husband's figure seated bythe hearth--with a bitter sense of regret. Daniel Granger was so good toher in those days--so entirely devoted, in a quiet unobtrusive way--and shewas so selfishly absorbed by the baby as to be almost unconscious of hisgoodness at the time. She was inclined to forget that the child belonged toany one but herself; indeed, had the question been brought home to her, shewould have hardly liked to admit his father's claim upon him. He was herown--her treasure beyond all price--given to her by heaven for her comfortand consolation. 

Not the least among the tranquil pleasures of that period ofretirement--which Clarissa spun out until the spring flowers were bloomingin the meadows about Arden--was a comparative immunity from the society ofMiss Granger. That young lady made a dutiful call upon her stepmotherevery morning, and offered a chilling forefinger--rather a strong-mindedforefinger, with a considerable development of bone--to the infant. On thechild not receiving this advance with rapture, Miss Granger was wont toobserve that he was not so forward in taking notice as some of her modelchildren; at which the young mother flamed up in defence of her darling, declaring that he did take notice, and that it was a shame to compare himto "nasty village children. "

"The 'nasty village children' have immortal souls, " Sophia repliedseverely. 

"So they may; but they don't take notice sooner than my baby. I would neverbelieve that. He knows me, the precious darling;" and the little soft warmthing in voluminous muslin was kissed and squeezed about to extinction. 

Miss Granger was great upon the management of infancy, and was never tiredof expounding her ideas to Clarissa. They were of a Spartan character, notcalculated to make the period of babyhood a pleasant time to experience orto look back upon. Cold water and nauseous medicines formed a conspicuouspart of the system, and where an ordinary nurse would have approachedinfancy with a sponge, Miss Granger suggested a flesh-brush. The hardest, most impracticable biscuits, the huskiest rusks, constituted Miss Granger'snotion of infant food. She would have excluded milk, as bilious, and wouldhave forbidden sugar, as a creator of acidity; and then, when the littlevictim was about one and a half, she would have seated it before the mostdry-as-dust edition of the alphabet, and driven it triumphantly upon thefirst stage on the high-road to Kings and Chronicles. 

Among the model villagers Miss Granger had ample opportunity of offeringadvice of this kind, and fondly believed that her counsel was acted upon. Obsequious matrons, with an eye to Christmas benefactions, pretended toprofit by her wisdom; but it is doubtful whether the model infants wereallowed to suffer from a practical exposition of her Spartan theories. 

Clarissa had her own ideas about the heir of the Grangers. Not a crumpledrose-leaf--had rose-leaves been flying about just then--must roughen herdarling's bed. The softest lawn, the downiest, most delicate woollens, werehardly good enough to wrap her treasure. She had solemn interviews with aregiment of nurses before she could discover a woman who seemed worthy tobe guardian of this infant demigod. And Mr. Granger showed himself scarcelyless weak. It almost seemed as if this boy was his first child. He hadbeen a busy man when Sophia was born--too entirely occupied by the graveconsiderations of commerce to enter into the details of the nursery--andthe sex of the child had been something of a disappointment to him. Hewas rich enough even then to desire an heir to his wealth. During the fewremaining years of his first wife's life, he had hoped for the coming of ason; but no son had been given to him. It was now, in his sober middle age, that the thing he had longed for was granted to him, and it seemed all themore precious because of the delay. So Daniel Granger was wont to sit andstare at the infant as if it had been something above the common clay ofwhich infancy is made. He would gaze at it for an hour together, in a dumbrapture, fully believing it to be the most perfect object in creation; andabout this child there sprung up between his wife and himself a sympathythat had never been before. Only deep in Clarissa's heart there was a vaguejealousy. She would have liked her baby to be hers alone. The thought ofhis father's claim frightened her. In the time to come her child might growto love his father better than her. 

Finding her counsel rejected, Miss Granger would ask in a meek voice if shemight be permitted to kiss the baby, and having chilled his young blood bythe cool and healthy condition of her complexion, would depart with an airof long-suffering; and this morning visit being over, Clarissa was free ofher for the rest of the day. Miss Granger had her "duties. " She devoted hermornings to the regulation of the household, her afternoons to the drillingof the model villagers. In the evening she presided at her father's dinner, which seemed rather a chilling repast to Mr. Granger, in the absence ofthat one beloved face. He would have liked to dine off a boiled fowl inhis wife's room, or to have gone dinnerless and shared Clarissa'stea-and-toast, and heard the latest wonders performed by the baby, but hewas ashamed to betray so much weakness. 

So he dined in state with Sophia, and found it hard work to keep up alittle commonplace conversation with her during the solemn meal--his heartbeing elsewhere all the time. 

That phase of gloom and despondency, through which, his mind had passedduring the summer that was gone, had given place to brighter thoughts. Anew dawn of hope had come for him with the birth of his child. 

He told himself again, as he had so often told himself in the past, thathis wife would grow to love him--that time would bring him the fruitionof his desires. In the meanwhile he was almost entirely happy in thepossession of this new blessing. All his life was coloured by the existenceof this infant. He had a new zest in the driest details of his positionas the master of a great estate. He had bought some two thousand acres ofneighbouring land at different times since his purchase of Arden Court; andthe estate, swollen by these large additions, was fast becoming one of thefinest in the county. 

There was not a tree he planted in the beginning of this new year whichhe did not consider with reference to his boy; and he made extensiveplantations on purpose that he might be able to point to them by-and-byand say, "These trees were planted the year my son was born. " When he wentround his stables, he made a special survey of one particularly commodiousloose-box, which would do for his boy's pony. He fancied the little fellowtrotting by his side across farms and moorlands, or deep into the woods tosee the newly-felled timber, or to plan a fresh clearing. 

It was a pleasant day dream. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE NEAREST WAY TO CARLSRUHE. 

A great event befell George Fairfax in the spring of the new year. Hereceived a summons to Lyvedon, and arrived there only in time to attendhis uncle's death bed. The old man died, and was buried in the tomb of hisforefathers--a spacious vaulted chamber beneath Lyvedon church--and GeorgeFairfax reigned in his stead. Since his brother's death he had known thatthis was to be, and had accepted the fact as a matter of course. Hissuccession caused him very little elation. He was glad to have unlimitedready-money, but, in the altered aspect of his life, Le did not care muchfor the estate. With Geraldine Challoner for his wife, the possession ofsuch a place as Lyvedon would have been very agreeable to him. He couldhave almost resigned himself to the ordinary country gentleman's life: tobe a magnate in the county; to attend at petty sessions, and keep himselfwell posted in parochial questions; to make himself a terror to the soul ofpoachers, and to feel that his youth was over. But now it was different. Hehad no wife, nor any prospect of a wife. He had no definite plans for hisfuture. For a long time he had been going altogether the wrong way; leadinga roving, desultory kind of existence; living amongst men whose habits andprinciples were worse than his own. 

He sent for his mother, and installed her as mistress of Lyvedon. The placeand the position suited her to admiration. He spent a month in dawdlingabout the neighbourhood, taking stock of his new possessions, now and thensuggesting some alteration or improvement, but always too lazy to carryit out; strolling in the park with a couple of dogs and a cigar, or goingfly-fishing along the bank of a little winding river; driving in an opencarriage with his mother; yawning over a book or a newspaper all theevening, and then sitting up till late into the night, writing letterswhich might just as easily have been written in the day. His manner madehis mother anxious. Once, with a sigh, she ventured to say how much sheregretted the breaking-off his engagement to Lady Geraldine. 

"You were so admirably adapted for each other, " she said. 

"Yes, mother, admirably adapted, no doubt; but you see we did not love eachother. " He felt a little pang of remorse as he said this, for it misgavehim that Geraldine _had_ loved him. "It would have been like those chestnutponies you drive; they go very well together, and look superb, but they arealways snapping at each other's heads. I don't mean to say that Geraldineand I would have quarrelled--one might as well try to quarrel with arock--but we shouldn't have got on. In short, I have a prejudice in favourof marrying a woman I could love. "

"And yet I thought you were so much attached to her. "

"I was--in the way of friendship. Her society had become a kind of habitwith me. I do really like her, and shall always consider her one of thehandsomest and cleverest women I know; but it was a mistake to ask her tomarry me, and might have been a fatal one. You will say, of course, that aman ought not to make that kind of mistake. I quite agree with you there;but I made it, and I think it infinitely better to pull up even at anawkward point than to make two lives miserable. "

Mrs. Fairfax sighed, and shook her head doubtfully. 

"O, George, George, I'm afraid there was some newer fancy--some secretreason for your conduct to poor Geraldine, " she said in a reproachful tone. 

"My dear mother, I have a dozen fancies in a month, and rarely know myown mind for a week at a stretch; but I do know that I never really lovedGeraldine Challoner, and that it is better for me to be free from anill-advised engagement. "

Mrs. Fairfax did not venture to press the question any farther. She had hersuspicions, and her suspicions pointed to Clarissa. But Clarissa now beingmarried and fairly out of the way, she had some faint hope that her sonwould return to his old allegiance, and that she might even yet haveGeraldine Challoner for her daughter. In the meantime she was fain to bepatient, and to refrain from any irritating persistence upon a subject thatwas very near to her heart. 

So far as her own interests were concerned, it would have been a pleasantthing for Mrs. Fairfax that her son should remain a bachelor. Thesovereignty of Lyvedon was a pure and perfect delight to her. The place wasthe home of her childhood; and there was not a thicket in the park, or aflower-bed in the garden, that was not familiar and dear to her. Everycorner of the sombre old rooms--in which the furniture had been unchangedfor a century--had its tender associations. All the hopes and dreams of herlong-vanished youth came back to her, faint and pale, like faded flowersshut in the leaves of a book. And in the event of her son's marriage, shemust of course resign all this--must make a new home for herself outsidethe walls of Lyvedon; for she was not a woman to accept a secondary placein any household. Considering the question merely from a selfish pointof view, she had every reason to be satisfied with the existing state ofthings; but it was not of herself she thought. She saw her son restless andunsettled, and had a secret conviction that he was unhappy. There had beenmuch in the history of his past life that had troubled her; and for hisfuture her chief hope had been in the security of a judicious marriage. Shewas a woman of strong religious feeling, and had shed many bitter tears andprayed many prayers on account of this beloved son. 

The beloved son in the meanwhile dawdled away life in a very unsatisfactorymanner. He found the roads and lanes about Lyvedon remarkable for nothingbut their dust. There were wild flowers, of course--possibly nightingalesand that sort of thing; but he preferred such imported bouquets, grown onthe flowery slopes of the Mediterranean, as he could procure to order atCovent Garden; and the song of nightingales in the dusky after dinner-timemade him melancholy. The place was a fine old place and it was undoubtedlya good thing to possess it; but George Fairfax had lived too wild a lifeto find happiness in the simple pleasures of a Kentish squire. So, afterenduring the placid monotony of Lyvedon for a couple of months, he grewinsufferably weary all at once, and told his mother that he was going tothe Black Forest. 

"It's too early to shoot capercailzies, " he said; "but I daresay I shallfind something to do. I am nothing but a bore to you here, mother; and youcan amuse yourself, while I'm gone, in carrying out any of the improvementswe've discussed. "

Mrs. Fairfax assured her son that his presence was always a delight to her, but that, of course, there was nothing in the world she desired so much ashis happiness, and that it had been a pain to her to see him otherwise thanhappy. 

"I had hoped that the possession of this place would have given you so muchoccupation, " she said, "that you would have gone into parliament and made aposition for yourself. "

"My dear mother, I never had any affection for politics; and unless a mancould be a modern Pitt, I don't see the use of that kind of thing. Everyyoung Englishman turns his face towards the House of Commons, as thesunflower turns to the sun-god; and see what a charming level of mediocritywe enjoy in consequence thereof. "

"Anything that would occupy your mind, George, " remonstrated Mrs. Fairfax. 

"The question is, whether I have any mind to be occupied, mother, " repliedthe young man with a laugh. "I think the average modern intellect, when itknows its own capacity, rarely soars above billiards. That is a science;and what can a man be more than scientific?"

"It is so easy to laugh the subject down in that way, George, " returned themother with a sigh. "But a man has duties to perform. "

"Surely not a man with an estate like this, mother! I can never understandthat talk about the duties of a rich man, except to pay his income-taxproperly. A fellow with a wife and children, and no income to speak of, hasduties, of course--imprimis, the duty of working for his belongings;but what are the privileges of wealth, if one may not take life as onepleases?"

"Oh, George, George, I used to hope such great things of you!"

"The fond delusion common to maternity, my dearest mother. A brat learnshis A B C a shade quicker than other children, or construes _Qui fitMaecenas_ with tolerable correctness; and straightway the doting motherthinks her lad is an embryo Canning. You should never have hoped anythingof me, except that I would love you dearly all my life. You have made thatvery easy to me. "

Mr. Fairfax took his portmanteau and departed, leaving his servant to carrythe rest of his luggage straight to Paris, and await his master's arrivalat one of the hotels in the Rue de Rivoli. The master himself took asomewhat circuitous route, and began his journey to the Black Forest bygoing down to Holborough. 

"I can take a steamer from Hull to Hamburg, " he said to himself, "and pushon from there to Carlsruhe. "

He wanted to see Clarissa again. He knew that she was at Arden Court, andthat Lady Laura Armstrong was not at Hale Castle. He wanted to see her; hisulterior views were of the vaguest; but that passionate yearning to seeher, to hear the sweet winning voice, to look into the soft hazel eyes, wasstrong upon him. It was a year since the day he dined in Clarges-street;and in all that year he had done his uttermost to forget her, had hatedhimself for the weakness which made her still dearer to him than any otherwoman; and then, alike angry with her and with himself, had cried, withWilmot Earl of Rochester, --

 "Such charms by nature you possess, 'Twere madness not to love you. "

He went up to London early one morning, and straight from London toHolborough, where he arrived late in the evening. He slept at the chiefinn of the place; and in the golden summer noontide set out for ArdenCourt--not to make a formal visit, but rather to look about him in asomewhat furtive way. He did not care to make his advent known to DanielGranger just yet; perhaps, indeed, he might find it expedient to avoid anyrevelation of himself to that gentleman. He wanted to find out all he couldof Clarissa's habits, so that he might contrive an interview with her. Hehad seen the announcement of the baby's birth, and oh, what a bitter pangthe commonplace paragraph had given him! Never before had the fact thatshe was another man's wife come home to him so keenly. He tried to put thesubject out of his thoughts, to forget that there had been a son born tothe house of Granger; but often in the dreary spring twilight, walkingamong the oaks of Lyvedon, he had said to himself, "_Her_ child ought tohave been heir to this place. "

He went in at the lodge gate, and strolled idly into the park, not being atall clear as to how he was to bring about what he wanted. The weather waslovely--weather in which few people, untrammelled by necessity, would havecared to remain indoors. There was just the chance that Mrs. Granger mightbe strolling in the park herself, and the still more remote contingencythat she might be alone. He was quite prepared for the possibility ofmeeting her accompanied by the lynx-eyed Miss Granger; and was not a man tobe thrown off his guard, or taken at a disadvantage, come what might. 

The place wore its fairest aspect: avenues of elms, that had begun togrow when England was young; gigantic oaks dotted here and there uponthe undulating open ground, reputed a thousand years old; bright youngplantations of rare fir and pine, that had a pert crisp newness about them, like the air of a modern dandy; everywhere the appearance of that perfectcare and culture which is the most conclusive evidence of unlimited wealth. 

George Fairfax looked round him with a sigh. The scene he looked upon wasvery fair. It was not difficult to understand how dear association mighthave made so beautiful a spot to such a girl as Clarissa. She had toldhim she would give the world to win back her lost home; and she hadgiven--something less than the world--only herself. "Paris is worth amass, " said the great Henry; and Clarissa's perjury was only one more ofthe many lies which men and women have told to compass their desires. 

He kept away from the carriage-roads, loitering in the remoter regions ofthe park, and considering what he should do. He did not want to presenthimself at the Court as a formal visitor. In the first place, it wouldhave been rather difficult to give any adequate reason for his presencein Holborough; and in the second, he had an unspeakable repugnance to anysocial intercourse with Clarissa's husband. 

How he was ever to see her in the future without that hideous hypocrisy offriendliness towards Daniel Granger, he knew not; but he knew that it wouldcost him dearly to take the hand of the man who had supplanted him. 

He wandered on till he came to a dell where the ground was broken a gooddeal, and where the fern seemed to grow more luxuriantly than in any otherpart of the park. There was a glimpse of blue water at the bottom of theslope--a narrow strip of a streamlet running between swampy banks, wherethe forget-me-nots and pale water-plants ran riot. This verdant valleywas sheltered by some of the oldest hawthorns George Fairfax had everseen--very Methuselahs of trees, whose grim old trunks and crooked branchestime had twisted into the queerest shapes, and whose massive bolesand strange excrescences of limb were covered with the moss of pastgenerations. It was such a valley as Gustave Doré would love to draw; aglimpse of wilderness in the midst of cultivation. 

There were not wanted figures to brighten the landscape. A woman dressedin white sat under one of the hawthorns, with a baby on her lap; and anursemaid, in gayer raiment, stood by, looking down at the child. 

How well George Fairfax remembered the slight girlish figure, and the daywhen he had come upon it unawares in Marley Wood! He stood a few paces off, and listened to the soft sweet voice. 

Clarissa was talking to her baby in the unintelligible mother-languageinspired by the occasion. A baby just able to smile at her, and coo andcrow and chuckle in that peculiarly unctious manner common to babies ofamiable character; a fair blue-eyed baby, big and bonny, with soft rings offlaxen hair upon his pink young head, and tender little arms that seemedmeant for nothing so much as to be kissed. 

After a good deal of that sweet baby-talk, there was a little discussionbetween the mistress and maid; and then the child was wrapped up ascarefully as if destruction were in the breath of the softest June zephyr. Mr. Fairfax was afraid the mother was going away with the child, and thathis chance would be lost; but it was not so. The maid tripped off withthe infant, after it had been brought back two or three times to be halfsmothered with kisses--kisses which it seemed to relish in its own peculiarway, opening its mouth to receive them, as if they had been somethingedible. The baby was carried away at last, and Clarissa took up a book andbegan to read. 

George Fairfax waited till the maid had been gone about ten minutes, andthen came slowly down the hollow to the spot where Clarissa was seated. Therustle of the fern startled her; she looked up, and saw him standing by herside. It was just a year since he had surprised her in Mr. Wooster's gardenat Henley. She had thought of him very much in that time, but less sincethe birth of her boy. She turned very pale at sight of him; and when shetried to speak, the words would not come: her lips only moved tremulously. 

"I hope I did not alarm you very much, " he said, "by the suddenness ofmy appearance. I thought I heard your voice just now, speaking to someone"--he had not the heart to mention her baby--"and came down here to lookfor you. What a charming spot it is!"

She had recovered her self-possession by this time, and was able to answerhim quite calmly. "Yes, it is very pretty. It was a favourite spot ofAustin's. I have at least a dozen sketches of it done by him. But I did notknow you were in Yorkshire, Mr. Fairfax. "

She wondered whether he was staying at Hale; and then it flashed upon herthat there had been a reconciliation between him and Lady Geraldine. 

"I have not been long in Yorkshire. I am merely here _en passant_, inshort. My only excuse for approaching you lies in the fact that I have cometo talk to you about your brother. "

"About Austin!" exclaimed Clarissa, with a look of alarm. "There is nothingwrong--he is well, I hope?"

"Pray don't alarm yourself. Yes, he is tolerably well, I believe; and thereis nothing wrong--nothing that need cause you any immediate concern atleast. I am going to Paris, and I thought you might be glad to send somemessage. "

"You are very kind to think of that; yes, I shall be glad to send to him. He is not a good correspondent, and I get very anxious about him sometimes. What you said just now seemed to imply that there was something wrong. Praybe candid with me, Mr. Fairfax. "

He did not answer her immediately; in fact, for the moment he scarcely wasconscious of her words. He was looking at the beautiful face--looking at itwith a repressed passion that was deeper and more real than any he had everfelt in his life. His thoughts wandered away from Austin Level. He wasthinking what he would have given, what peril he would have dared, to callthis woman his own. All this lower world seemed nothing to him when weighedagainst her; and in such a moment a man of his stamp rarely remembers anyother world. 

"There is something wrong, " repeated Clarissa with increasing anxiety. "Ientreat you to tell me the truth!"

"Yes, there is something wrong, " he answered vaguely; and then, wrenchinghis mind away from those wild speculations as to what he would or would notdo to win Daniel Granger's wife, he went on in another tone: "The truth is, my dear Mrs. Granger, I was in Paris last winter, and saw something of yourbrother's mode of life; and I cannot say that I consider it a satisfactoryone. You have sent him a good deal of money since I saw you last, Idaresay? Pray understand that there is nothing intrusive or impertinent inmy question. I only wish to be some use to you, if I can. "

"I am sure of that. Yes; I have sent him what I could--about four hundredpounds--since last June; and he has been very grateful, poor fellow! Heought to know that he is welcome to every shilling I have. I could send himmuch more, of course, if I cared to ask my husband for money. "

"It is wiser to trust to your own resources. And I doubt if the command ofmuch money would be a positive benefit to your brother. You have asked meto be candid; and I shall obey you, even at the hazard of giving you pain. There is a kind of constitutional weakness in your brother's nature. Heis a man open to every influence, and not always governed by the bestinfluences. I saw a good deal of him when I was last in Paris, and I sawhim most in the fastest society, amongst people who petted him for thesake of his genius and vivacity, but who would turn their backs upon himto-morrow if he were no longer able to amuse them; the set into which anartist is so apt to fall when his home influences are not strong enough tokeep him steady, and when he has that lurking disposition to Bohemianismwhich has been the bane of your brother's life. I speak entirely withoutreserve, you see. "

"I am grateful to you for doing so. Poor Austin! if he had only chosen morewisely! But his wife is fond of him, you say?"

"Too fond of him, perhaps; for she is very much given to torment himwith jealous outbreaks; and he is not a man to take that sort of thingpleasantly. She does not go into society with him: indeed, I doubt ifhalf-a-dozen out of the people whom he lives amongst know that he has awife. I found his social position considerably improved; thanks to yourremittances, no doubt. He was still in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard--as, ofcourse, you know--but had moved a stage lower down, and had furnished apainting-room in the stereotyped style--Flemish carved buffets, dingytapestry from a passage behind the Rue Richelieu, and a sprinkling ofbric-a-brac from the Quai Voltaire. The poor little woman and her childrenwere banished; and he had a room full of visitors chattering round himwhile he painted. You know his wonderful facility. The atmosphere wascloudy with tobacco-smoke; and the men were drinking that abominableconcoction of worm-wood with which young France cultivates madness andearly doom. "

"It is not a pleasant picture, " said Clarissa with a profound sigh. 

"No, my dear Mrs. Granger; but it is a faithful one. Mr. Lovel had won acertain reputation for his airy style of art, and was beginning to getbetter prices for his pictures; but I fancy he has a capacity for spendingmoney, and an inability to save it, which would bring him always to thesame level of comparative insolvency. I have known so many men like that;and a man who begins in that way so rarely ends in any other way. "

"What am I to do!" exclaimed Clarissa piteously; "what can I do to helphim?"

"I am almost at a loss to suggest anything. Perhaps if you were on thespot, your influence might do something. I know he loves you, and is moremoved by the mention of your name than by any sermon one could preach tohim. But I suppose there is no chance of your being in Paris. "

"I don't know. Mr. Granger talked some time ago of spending the autumnabroad, and asked me if I should like to see a New-Year's day in Paris. Ithink, if I were to express a wish about it, he would take me there; and itwould be such happiness to me to see Austin!" And then Mrs. Grangerthought of her baby, and wondered whether the atmosphere of Paris would befavourable to that rare and beauteous blossom; whether the tops-and-bottomsof the French capital would agree with his tender digestive machinery, and if the cowkeepers of the Faubourg St. Honoré were an honest andunadulterating race. The very notion of taking the treasure away from hisown nurseries, his own cow, his own goat-chaise, was enough to make hershudder. 

"It would be the best chance for his redemption. A little womanly kindnessand counsel from you to the wife might bring about a happier state ofthings in his home; and a man who can be happy at home is in a measuresaved. It is hardly possible for your brother to mix much with the peopleamongst whom I saw him without injury to himself. They are people to whomdissipation is the very salt of life; people who breakfast at the MoulinRouge at three o'clock in the afternoon, and eat ices at midnight to themusic of the cascade in the Bois; people to be seen at every race-meeting;men who borrow money at seventy-five per cent to pay for opera-boxes anddinners at the Café Riche, and who manage the rest of their existence oncredit. "

"But what could my influence do against such friends as these?" askedClarissa in a hopeless tone. 

"Who can say? It might do wonders. I know your brother has a heart, andthat you have power to touch it. Take my advice, Mrs. Granger, and try tobe in Paris as soon as you can. "

"I will, " she answered fervently. "I would do anything to save him. " Shelooked at her watch, and rose from the seat under the hawthorn. "It isnearly two o'clock, " she said, "and I must go back to the house. You willcome to luncheon, of course?"

"Thanks--no. I have an engagement that will take me back to the townimmediately. "

"But Mr. Granger will be surprised to hear that you have been here withoutcalling upon him. "

"Need Mr. Granger hear of my coming?" George Fairfax asked in a low tone. 

Clarissa flushed scarlet. 

"I have no secrets from my husband, Mr. Fairfax, " she said, "even abouttrifles. "

"Ten thousand pardons! I scarcely want to make my presence here a secret;but, in short, I came solely to speak to you about a subject in which Iknew you were deeply interested, and I had not contemplated calling uponMr. Granger. "

They were walking slowly up the grassy slope as they talked; and after thisthere came a silence, during which Clarissa quickened her pace a little, George Fairfax keeping still by her side. Her heart beat faster than itswont; and she had a vague sense of danger in this man's presence--a senseof a net being woven round her, a lurking suspicion that this apparentinterest in her brother veiled some deeper feeling. 

They came out of the hollow, side by side, into a short arcade of floweringlimes, at the end of which there was a broad sweep of open grass. A manon a deep-chested strong-limbed gray horse was riding slowly towards themacross the grass--Daniel Granger. 

That picture of his wife walking in the little avenue of limes, with GeorgeFairfax by her side, haunted Mr. Granger with a strange distinctness indays to come, --the slight white-robed figure against the background ofsunlit greenery; the young man's handsome head, uncovered, and stooping alittle as he spoke to his companion. 

The master of Arden Court dismounted, and led his horse by the bridle ashe came forward to meet Mr. Fairfax. The two men shook hands; but not verywarmly. The encounter mystified Daniel Granger a little. It was strange tofind a man he had supposed to be at the other end of England strolling inthe park with his wife, and that man the one about whom he had had manya dreary half-hour of brooding. He waited for an explanation, however, without any outward show of surprise. The business was simple and naturalenough, no doubt, he told himself. 

"Have you been to the house?" he asked; "I have been out all the morning. "

"No; I was on my way there, when I came upon Mrs. Granger in the mostromantic spot yonder. I felt that I was rather early for a morning-calleven in the depths of the country, and had strolled out of the beaten pathto get rid of an hour or so. "

"I did not know you were in Yorkshire, " said Mr. Granger, not in the mostcordial tone. "You are staying at Hale, I suppose?"

"No; Lady Laura is away, you know. "

"Ah--to be sure; I had forgotten. "

"I am spending a few days with a bachelor friend in Holborough. I am off toGermany before the week is out. "

Mr. Granger was not sorry to hear this. He was not jealous of GeorgeFairfax. If anybody had suggested the possibility of his entertaining sucha sentiment, that person would have experienced the full force of DanielGranger's resentment; but this was just the one man whom he fancied hiswife might have cared for a little before her marriage. He was not a mangiven to petty jealousies; and of late, since the birth of his son, there had been growing up in his mind a sense of security in his wife'sfidelity--her affection even. The union between them had seemed veryperfect after the advent of the child; and the master of Arden Court feltalmost as if there were nothing upon this earth left for him to desire. Buthe was a little puzzled by the presence of George Fairfax, nevertheless. 

Holborough was a small place; and he began to speculate immediately uponthe identity of this bachelor friend of Mr. Fairfax's. It was not agarrison town. The young men of the place were for the most part smallprofessional men--half-a-dozen lawyers and doctors, two or three curates, acouple of bankers' sons, an auctioneer or two, ranking vaguely between thetrading and professional classes, and the sons of tradesmen. Among them allMr. Granger could remember no one likely to be a friend of George Fairfax. It might possibly be one of the curates; but it seemed scarcely probablethat Mr. Fairfax would come two hundred and fifty miles to abide three dayswith a curate. Nor was it the season of partridges. There was no shootingto attract Mr. Fairfax to the neighbourhood of Holborough. There was trout, certainly, to be found in abundance in brooks, and a river within a walk ofthe town; and Mr. Fairfax might be passionately fond of fly-fishing. 

"You will come in and have some luncheon, of course, " Mr. Granger said, when they came to the gateway, where George Fairfax pulled up, and began towish them good-bye. Not to ask the man to eat and drink would have seemedto him the most unnatural thing in the world. 

"Thanks. I think I had better deny myself that pleasure, " Mr. Fairfax saiddoubtfully. "The day is getting on, and--and I have an engagement for theafternoon. " ("Trout, no doubt, " thought Mr. Granger. ) "I have seen you, that is the grand point. I could not leave Yorkshire without paying myrespects to you and Mrs. Granger. "

"Do you leave so soon?"

"To-morrow, I think. "

"A hurried journey for trout, " thought Mr. Granger. 

He insisted upon the visitor coming in to luncheon. George Fairfax was notvery obdurate. It was so sweet to be near the woman he loved, and he hadnot the habit of refusing himself the things that were sweet to him. Theywent into the small dining-room. The luncheon bell had rung a quarter ofan hour ago, and Miss Granger was waiting for her parents, with an air ofplacid self-abnegation, by an open window. 

There was a good deal of talk during luncheon, but the chief talker wasGeorge Fairfax. Clarissa was grave and somewhat absent. She was thinking ofher brother Austin, and the gloomy account of him which she had just heard. It was hardly a surprise to her. His letters had been few and far between, and they had not been hopeful, or, at the best, brightened by only a flashof hopefulness, which was more like bravado, now and then. His necessityfor money, too, had seemed without limit. She was planning her campaign. Come what might, she must contrive some means of being in Paris beforelong. Mr. Fairfax was going on to Carlsruhe, that was an advantage; forsomething in his manner to-day had told her that he must always be more orless than her friend. She had a vague sense that his eagerness to establisha confidence between her and himself was a menace of danger to her. 

"If I can only go to Austin myself, " she thought, "there need be nointermediary. "

Luncheon was over, and still Mr. Fairfax lingered--strangely indifferentto the waning of an afternoon which seemed peculiarly advantageous forfly-fishing, Mr. Granger thought. They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Fairfax dawdled an hour away talking of Lyvedon, and giving a serio-comicdescription of himself in the novel character of a country gentleman. It was not till Mr. Granger had looked at his watch once or twice in asurreptitious manner, thinking of an engagement to meet his architect forthe inspection of some dilapidated cottages on the newest part of hisestate, that the visitor rose to depart. Daniel Granger had quite warmed tohim by this time. His manner was so natural in its pleasant airiness: itwas not easy to think there could be any lurking evil beneath such a showof candour. 

"Can't you stay and dine with us?" asked Mr. Granger; "or will you go backto Holborough and fetch your friend? We shall be very glad to know him, ifwe don't know him already. "

If a blush had been possible to George Fairfax, this friendly speech wouldhave raised it; but the capacity had departed from him before he left Eton. He did feel ashamed of himself, nevertheless. 

"You are more than good, " he said, "but my friend seldom goes anywhere. Good-bye. "

He made his adieux with an agreeable abruptness, not caring to prolong thedinner question. Such men as he tell lies without stint upon occasion; butthe men are few to whom it is actually congenial to lie. He was glad to getaway even from the woman he loved, and the sense of shame was strong uponhim as he departed. 

If his mother, who was anxiously awaiting a letter from Paris or Carlsruhe, could have known of his presence here in this place, to which his fatherhad come years ago to betray her! If she who loved him so fondly, and wasso full of prayers and hopes for his future, could have seen him so utterlyon the wrong road, what bitter shame and lamenting there would have been inthe halls of Lyvedon that day--those deserted halls in which the lady satalone among the sombre old-world grandeurs of oak and tapestry, and sighedfor her absent son!

 * * * * *

Instead of going straight back to the Holborough high-road, Mr. Fairfaxstruck across the woods by that path which led to the mill-stream and theorchard, where he had parted from Clarissa on that cheerless October nightnearly three years ago. He knew that Mr. Lovel was away, and the cottageonly tenanted by servants, and he had a fancy for looking at the placewhere he had been so angry and so miserable--the scene of that onerejection which had stung him to the very quick, the single humiliation ofhis successful career. It was only the morbid fancy of an idle man, who hadan afternoon to dispose of somehow. 

Half-way between the Court and the cottage, he heard the jingling ofbells, and presently, flashing and gleaming among the trees, he saw agaily-painted carriage drawn by a pair of goats, with plated harness thatshone in the sun. Mixed with the joyous jingle of the bells, there camethe sound of an infant's laughter. It was the baby taking his after-dinnerairing, attended by a couple of nurses. A turn in the path brought GeorgeFairfax and the heir of Arden face to face. 

A sudden impulse seized him--a sudden impulse of tenderness for _her_child. He took the little bundle of rosy babyhood and lace and muslin inhis arms, and kissed the soft little face as gently as a woman, and lookedinto the innocent blue eyes, dilated to an almost impossible extent in awondering stare, with unspeakable love and melancholy in his own. GreatHeaven! if Clarissa had been his wife, this child his son, what a happyman he might have been, what a new charm there would have been in thepossession of a fine estate, what a new zest in life, the savour of whichseemed to have departed altogether of late!

He put the little one back into his cushioned seat in the goat-chaise withsupreme care and gentleness, not ruffling so much as a plume in his daintywhite satin hat. 

"A fine boy, Mrs. Nurse, " he said, feeling in his waistcoat-pocket forbacsheesh; to which proposition the portly head-nurse, who had staredat him, aghast with horror, while had handled the infant, assented withenthusiasm. 

"I never nursed a finer, sir; and I was head-nurse to Lady Fitz-Lubin, which my lady had five boys, and not a girl between them; and Mrs. Grangerdoes dote on him so. I never see a ma that rapt up in her child. "

Mr. Fairfax gave her half-a-sovereign, stooped down to kiss the babyagain--it is doubtful if he had ever kissed a baby before--and then walkedon, wondering at the new sensation. Such a little soft thing, that openedits mouth to be kissed, like a petted bird! And yet he could contemplate afuture in which he should come between Clarissa and this child; he coulddream of a possibility which should make its mother's name a shame to thislittle one. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Granger kept his appointment with the architect, and came to thenatural conclusion of a rich roan upon the subject of dilapidatedbuildings. After inspecting the lop-sided old cottages, with their deeproomy chimneys, in which the farm labourer loved to sit of a night, roasting his ponderous boots, and smoking the pipe of meditation, and theirimpossible staircases, which seemed to have been designed with a deliberateview to the breaking of legs and endangerment of spines, Mr. Granger made awry face, and ordered that rubbish to be swept away. 

"You can build me half-a-dozen upon the new Arden design, " he said; "redbrick, with stone dressings; and be sure you put a tablet with the date infront of each. "

He was thinking of his son, anxious that there should be some notableimprovement, some new building every year, to mark the progress of hisboy's existence. 

The farm-labourers and their wives did not look so delighted as they mighthave been by this edict. These benighted souls liked the old cottages, lop-sided as they were--liked the crooked staircase squeezed into a cornerof the living room below, the stuffy little dens above, with casementwindows which only opened on one side, letting in the smallest modicum ofair, and were not often opened at all. Cottages on the Now Arden modelmeant stone floors below and open rafters above, thorough draughtseverywhere, and, worst of all, they meant weekly inspection by MissGranger. The free sons and daughters of Hickly-on-the-Hill--this littlecluster of houses which formed a part of Mr. Granger's new estate--hadrejoiced that they were not as the Ardenites; that they could revel inwarmth and dirt, and eat liver-and-bacon for supper on a Saturday night, without any fear of being lectured for their extravagance by the omniscientSophia on the following Monday, convicted of their guilt by the evidence ofthe grease in an unwashed frying-pan; that their children could sport onthe hillside in garments that were guiltless of strings; that, in short, they were outside the circle of Miss Granger's sympathies and could livetheir own lives. But that sweet liberty was all over now: with the redbrick and stone dressings would come the Draconian laws of New Arden; nomore corners for the comfortable accumulation of dirt, no more deliciouslittle cupboards for the stowing away of rubbish. Everything was to besquare and solid and stony. They heard Mr. Granger giving orders that thechimney was to be flush with the wall, and so on; the stove, an "Oxfordfront, " warranted to hold not more than a pound and a half of coal; norecesses in which old age could sit and croon, no cosy nook for the cradleof infancy. 

After this interview with the architect, Mr. Granger rode home throughHolborough. His way took him past that very hotel where George Fairfax wasstaying--the chief inn of the town, a fine old red-brick building thatfilled nearly one side of the market-place. 

It happened that just as Mr. Granger rode along the High-street, wherethere were some half-a-dozen stragglers visible upon a wide expanse ofpavement, and one carriage waiting at the draper's, Mr. Fairfax walked upthe broad steps of the hotel and entered--entered with the air of a man wholived there, Daniel Granger thought. And he had said that he was stayingwith a bachelor friend. Mr. Granger rode slowly past the principal part ofthe hotel to an archway at the end--an archway leading to livery stables, where the ostler was lounging. He stopped opposite this archway, andbeckoned the man over to him. 

"There was a gentleman went into the hotel just now, " he said; "did you seehim?"

"Yes, sir, I seed him. Mr. Fairfax; him as was to have married Lady LauraArmstrong's sister. "

"Is he staying in the house, do you know?"

"Yes, sir; came last night, down from London. Shall I take him your card, sir?"

"No, thank you, Giles; I won't call upon him this afternoon, I only wantedto be sure. Good-day. "

He rode on. What was the meaning of this lie which George Fairfax had toldhim? Had it any meaning which it behoved him to fathom? It was strange, atthe least--strange enough to make Mr. Granger very uncomfortable as he rodeslowly back to the Court. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXII. 

AUSTIN. 

Late in the autumn of that year, Mr. Granger and his household took uptheir abode in Paris. Clarissa had expressed a wish to winter in thatbrilliant city, and Daniel Granger had no greater desire than to pleaseher. But, in making any concession of this kind, he did it in such a quietunobtrusive way, that his wife was scarcely aware how entirely her wisheshad been studied. He was too proud a man to parade his affection for her;he kept a check upon himself rather, and in a manner regulated his ownconduct by the standard of hers. There was never any show of devotion onhis part. The world might have taken them for a couple brought together byconvenience, and making the best of their loveless union. 

So, with regard to the gratification of her wishes, it seemed always thatthe thing which Clarissa desired, happened to suit his own humour, ratherthan that he sacrificed all personal feeling for her pleasure. In thisParisian arrangement it had been so, and his wife had no idea that it wasentirely on her account that Daniel Granger set up his tent in the FaubourgSt. Honoré. 

The fair Sophia had, however, a very shrewd suspicion of the fact, andfor some weeks prior to the departure from Arden, existed in a state ofsuppressed indignation, which was not good for the model villagers; herpowers of observation were, if possible, sharpened in the matter ofcobwebs; her sense of smell intensified in relation to cabbage-water. Nor did she refrain from making herself eminently disagreeable to herstepmother. 

"I should not have supposed you would so soon be tired of Arden Court, " sheremarked pleasantly, during that dreary quarter of an hour after dinnerwhich Mr. Granger and his wife and daughter were wont to pass in thecontemplation of crystallized apricots and hothouse grapes, and theexchange of the baldest commonplaces in the way of conversation; Perhapsif Clarissa and her husband had been alone on such occasions that air ofceremony might have vanished. The young wife might have drawn her chair alittle nearer her husband's, and there might have been some pleasant talkabout that inexhaustible source of wonder and delight, the baby. But withMiss Granger always at hand, the dessert was as ceremonious as if there hadbeen a party of eighteen, and infinitely more dreary, lacking the cheeryclatter and buzz of company. She ate five hothouse grapes, and sippedhalf a glass of claret, with as solemn an air as if she had been making alibation to the gods. 

Mr. Granger looked up from his plate when his daughter made this remarkabout Arden, and glanced inquiringly at his wife, with a shadow ofdispleasure in his face. Yielding and indulgent as he had been to her, there was in his composition something of the stuff that makes a tyrant. His wife must love the things that he loved. It would have been intolerableto him to suppose that Mrs. Granger could grow weary of the house that hehad beautified. 

"I am not tired of the Court, " Clarissa answered with a sad smile. "Thereare too many recollections to make it dear to me. "

Daniel Granger's face flushed ever so slightly at this speech. 

It was the past, then, and not the present, that rendered the place dear toher. 

"I could never grow tired of Arden, " she went on; "but I think it will bevery nice to spend a winter in Paris. "

"Lady Laura Armstrong has put that notion into your head, no doubt, " saidMiss Granger, with the faintest suspicion of a sneer. She was not verywarmly attached to the lady of Hale Castle nowadays, regarding her as thechief promoter of Mr. Granger's marriage. 

"Lady Laura has said that they enjoyed themselves very much in Paris thewinter before last, " Clarissa answered frankly; "and has promised me plentyof introductions. She even promises that she and Mrs. Armstrong will comeover for a week or two, while we are there. "

"And poor Lady Geraldine Challoner?"

Miss Granger always exhibited a profound pity for Lady Geraldine, and neverlost any opportunity of dwelling upon Mr. Fairfax's bad conduct. 

"No; I don't suppose Lady Geraldine would go with them, " Clarissa answered, colouring a little. The name of Geraldine Challoner was always painful toher. "She doesn't care about going anywhere. "

"Perhaps she would not care to run the risk of meeting Mr. Fairfax, "suggested Sophia. 

Mr. Granger looked up again, with that shadow of displeasure upon hiscountenance. 

"She would not be more likely to meet him in Paris than at Hale, " repliedClarissa. "He has gone to Germany. "

"Yes, for the autumn, he said. Depend upon it, he will spend the winterin Paris. I have always observed that those dissipated kind of men preferParis to London. "

"I don't think you have any right to call Mr. Fairfax dissipated, Sophia, "said her father, with an offended air; "and I don't think that hismovements can be of the smallest consequence to you, nor those of the HaleCastle people either? Clarissa and I have determined to spend two or threemonths in Paris, and we are not in the slightest degree dependent uponour English friends for our enjoyment there. If you are disinclined toaccompany us, and would rather remain at Arden----"

"O, papa, papa!" cried Sophia, with an injured look, "don't say that; don'tallow me to think I have grown quite indifferent to you. "

"You have not grown indifferent to me; but I don't want to take you awayfrom home against your wish. "

"My wish is to be anywhere with you, papa; _anywhere_--even though you mayfeel me an incumbrance. I could endure the humiliation of feeling that, solong as I was allowed to remain with you. "

Mr. Granger gave a sigh that was almost a groan, and, for perhaps the firsttime in his life, it occurred to him that it would be a pleasant thingif his only daughter were to fall in love with some fortunate youth, anddesire to marry him. A curate even. There was Tillott. Why shouldn't shemarry Tillott? He, Daniel Granger, would give his child a handsome portion, and they could go through life inspecting model cottages, and teachingvillage children the works and ways of all those wicked kings of Israel, who made groves and set up the idols of their heathen neighbours; a pureand virtuous and useful life, without question, if tempered with comeconsideration for the feelings of the model cottagers, and some mercy forthe brains of the humble scholars. 

In the interval between this little after-dinner scene and the departurefrom Arden, Mr. Granger invited Mr. Tillott to dinner two or three times, and watched him with the eyes of anxiety as he conversed with Sophia. Butalthough the curate was evidently eager to find favour in the sight of thedamsel, the damsel herself showed no sign of weakness. Mr. Granger sighed, and told himself that the lamp of hope burned dimly in this quarter. 

"She really ought to marry, " he said to himself. "A girl of her energeticindefatigable nature would be a treasure to some man, and she is onlywasting herself here. Perhaps in Paris we shall meet some one;" and thenthere arose before Mr. Granger the vision of some foreign adventurer, seeking to entangle the wealthy English "meess" in his meshes. Paris mightbe a dangerous place; but with such, a girl as Sophia, there could be nofear; she was a young woman who might be trusted to walk with unfalteringsteps through the most tortuous pathways of this life, always directingherself aright, and coming in at the finish just at that very point atwhich a well brought-up young person should arrive. 

Mr. Granger made his Parisian arrangements on the large scale which becamehim as a landed gentleman of unlimited wealth. A first floor of some tenspacious rooms was selected in one of the bran-new stone mansions in abran-new street in the fashionable Faubourg; a house that seemed to havebeen built for the habitation of giants; a house made splendid by externaldecoration in carved stonework, garlands of stone-fruit and flowers, projecting lion-heads, caryatides, and so on: no gloomy _porte-cochère_, but a street-door, through which a loaded drag might have been drivenwithout damage to the hats of the outside passengers. A house glorifiedwithin by egg-and-dart mouldings, white enamelled woodwork and muchgilding; but a house in which the winter wind howled as in a primevalforest, and which required to be supplied with supplementary paddedcrimson-velvet doors before the spacious chambers could be madecomfortable. Here Mr. Granger took up his abode, with ten of his ArdenCourt servants quartered on a floor above. The baby had a nursery loosinginto the broad bare street, where some newly-planted sticks of the sycamorespecies shivered in the north-east wind; and the baby took his matutinalairings in the Tuileries Gardens, and his afternoon drives in the Bois, while every movement of his infant existence was watched or directed by thetenderest of mothers. The chief nurse, who had lived with more fashionablemistresses, for whom the duties of the nursery were subordinate to thebusiness of society, pronounced Mrs. Granger "fidgety"; a very sweet lady, but too fond of interfering about trifles, and not reposing boundlessconfidence in the experience of her nurse. 

There were a good many English people in Paris this year whom the Grangersknew, and Lady Laura had insisted upon giving Clarissa introductions tosome of her dearest friends among the old French nobility--people who hadknown Lord Calderwood in their days of exile--and more than one dearestfriend among the newer lights of the Napoleonic firmament. Then there werea Russian princess and a Polish countess or so, whom Lady Laura had broughtto Mrs. Granger's receptions in Clarges-street: so that Clarissa and herhusband found themselves at once in the centre of a circle, from theelegant dissipations whereof there was no escape. The pretty Mrs. Grangerand the rich Mr. Granger were in request everywhere; nor was the statelySophia neglected, although she took her share in all festivities with thefamiliar Sunday-school primness, and seemed to vivacious Gaul the veryarchetype of that representative young English lady who is alwaysexclaiming "Shocking!" Even after her arrival in Paris, when she feltherself so very near him, after so many years of severance, Clarissa didnot find it the easiest thing in the world to see her brother. Mr. And Mrs. Granger had only spent a couple of days in Paris during their honeymoon, and Daniel Granger planned a round of sight-seeing, in the way of churches, picture-galleries, and cemeteries, which fully occupied the first four orfive days after their arrival. Clarissa was obliged to be deeply interestedin all the details of Gothic architecture--to appreciate Ingres, to giveher mind to Gérome--when her heart was yearning for that meeting which hehad waited so long to compass. Mr. Granger, as an idle man, with noestate to manage--no new barns being built within his morning's ride--nodilapidated cottages to be swept away--was not easily to be got rid of. He devoted his days to showing his wife the glories of the splendid city, which he knew by heart himself, and admired sufficiently in a soberbusiness-like way. The evenings were mortgaged to society. Clarissa hadbeen more than a week in Paris before she had a morning to herself; andeven then there was Miss Granger to be disposed of, and Miss Granger'scuriosity to be satisfied. 

Mr. Granger had gone to breakfast at the Maison Dorée with a mercantilemagnate from his own country--a solemn commercial breakfast, whereat allthe airy trifles and dainty compositions of fish, flesh, and fowl withwhich the butterfly youth of France are nourished, were to be set beforeunappreciative Britons. At ten o'clock Clarissa ordered her carriage. It was best to go in her own carriage, she thought, even at the risk ofexciting the curiosity of servants. To send for a hired vehicle would havecaused greater wonder; to walk alone was impossible; to walk with her nurseand child might have been considered eccentric. 

She could not even take an airing, however, without some discussion withMiss Granger. That young lady was established in the drawing-room--the vastforeign chamber, which never looked like a home--illuminating a new setof Gothic texts for the adornment of her school. She sorely missed theoccupation and importance afforded her by the model village. In Paris therewas no one afraid of her; no humble matrons to quail as her severe eyessurveyed wall and ceiling, floor and surbase. And being of a temperamentwhich required perpetual employment, she was fain to fall back uponillumination, Berlin-wool work, and early morning practice of pianofortemusic of the most strictly mathematical character. It was her boast thatshe had been thoroughly "grounded" in the science of harmony; but althoughshe could have given a reason for every interval in a sonata, her playingnever sparkled into brilliancy or melted into tenderness, and never had herprim cold fingers found their way to a human soul. 

"Are you going out so early?" this wise damsel asked wonderingly, asClarissa came into the drawing-room in her bonnet and shawl. 

"Yes, it is such a fine morning, and I think baby will enjoy it. I have nothad a drive with him since we have been here. "

"No, " replied Sophia, "you have only had papa. I shouldn't think he wouldbe very much flattered if he heard you preferred baby. "

"I did not say that I preferred baby, Sophia. What a habit you have ofmisrepresenting me!"

The nurse appeared at this moment, carrying the heir of the Grangers, gloriously arrayed in blue velvet, and looking fully conscious of hismagnificence. 

"But I do like to have a drive with my pet-lamb, don't I, darling?" saidthe mother, stooping to kiss the plump rosy cheek. And then there followedsome low confidential talk, in the fond baby language peculiar to youngmothers. 

"I should have thought you would have been glad to get a morning alone, foronce in a way, " remarked Sophia, coming over to the baby, and giving hima stately kiss. She liked him tolerably well in her own way, and was notangry with him for having come into the world to oust her from her proudposition as sole heiress to her father's wealth. The position had been verypleasant to her, and she had not seen it slip away from her without many apang; but, however she might dislike Clarissa, she was not base enough tohate her father's child. If she could have had the sole care and managementof him, physicked and dieted him after her own method, and developed thebudding powers of his infant mind by her favourite forcing system--made amodel villager of him, in short--she might have grown even to love him. Butthese privileges being forbidden to her--her wisdom being set at naught, and her counsel rejected--she could not help regarding Lovel Granger asmore or less an injury. 

"I should have thought you would have been glad of a morning at home, Clarissa, " she repeated. 

"Not such a fine morning as this, Sophy. It would be such a pity for babyto lose the sunshine; and I have really nothing to do. "

"If I had known a little sooner that you were going, I would have gone withyou, " said Miss Granger. 

Clarissa's countenance fell. She could not help that little troubled look, which told Miss Granger that her society would not have been welcome. 

"You would have had no objection to my coming with you, I suppose?" thefair Sophia said sharply. "Baby is not quite a monopoly. "

"Of course not. If you'll put on your things now, Sophia, I'll wait foryou. "

It was a hard thing for Clarissa to make the offer, when she had beenwaiting so anxiously for this opportunity of seeing her brother. To bein the same city with him, and not see him, was more painful than to bedivided from him by half the earth, as she had been. It was harder still tohave to plot and plan and stoop to falsehood in order to compass a meeting. But she remembered the stern cold look in her husband's face when she hadspoken of Austin, and she could not bring herself to degrade her brotherby entreating Daniel Granger's indulgence for his past misdeeds, or DanielGranger's interest in his future fortunes. 

Happily Sophia had made elaborate preparations for the Gothic texts, andwas not inclined to waste so much trouble. 

"I have got my colours all ready, " she said, "and have put everything out, you see. No, I don't think I'll go to-day. But another time, if you'll beso kind as to let me know _beforehand_, I shall be pleased to go with mybrother. I suppose you know there's an east wind to-day, by-the-bye. "

The quarter whence the wind came, was a subject about which Clarissa hadnever concerned herself. The sun was shining, and the sky was blue. 

"We have plenty of wraps, " she said, "and we can have the carriage closedif we are cold. "

"It is not a day upon which _I_ should take an infant out, " Miss Grangermurmured, dipping her brush in some Prussian-blue; "but of course you knowbest. "

"O, we shall take care of baby, depend upon it. Good-bye, Sophy. "

And Clarissa departed, anxious to avoid farther remonstrance on the partof her step-daughter. She told the coachman to drive to the LuxembourgGardens, intending to leave the nurse and baby to promenade that favouriteresort, while she made her way on foot to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. Sheremembered that George Fairfax had described her brother's lodging as nearthe Luxembourg. 

They drove through the gay Parisian streets, past the pillar in the PlaceVendôme, and along the Rue de la Paix, all shining with jewellers' ware, and the Rue de Rivoli, where the chestnut-trees in the gardens of theTuileries were shedding their last leaves upon the pavement, past the airytower of St. Jacques, and across the bridge into that unknown world onthe other side of the Seine. The nurse, who had seen very little of thatquarter of the town, wondered what obscure region she was traversing, andwondered still more when they alighted at the somewhat shabby-lookinggardens. 

"These are the Luxembourg Gardens, " said Clarissa. "As you have been to theTuileries every day, I thought it would be a change for you to come here. "

"Thank you, ma'am, " replied Mrs. Brobson, the chief nurse; "but I don'tthink as these gardings is anyways equal to the Tooleries--nor to Regent'sPark even. When I were in Paris with Lady Fitz-Lubin we took the childrento the Tooleries or the Bore de Boulong every day--but, law me! the Bore deBoulong were a poor place in those days to what it is now. "

Clarissa took a couple of turns along one of the walks with Mrs. Brobson, and then, as they were going back towards the gate, she said, as carelesslyas she could manage to say: "There is a person living somewhere near herewhom I want to see, Mrs. Brobson. I'll leave you and baby in the gardensfor half an hour or so, while I go and pay my visit. "

Mrs. Brobson stared. It was not an hour in the day when any lady she hadever served was wont to pay visits; and that Mrs. Granger of Arden Courtshould traverse a neighbourhood of narrow streets and tall houses, on footand alone, to call upon her acquaintance at eleven o'clock in the morning, seemed to her altogether inexplicable. 

"You'll take the carriage, won't you, ma'am?" she said, with undisguisedastonishment. 

"No, I shall not want the carriage; it's very near. Be sure you keep babywarm, Mrs. Brobson. "

Clarissa hurried out into the street. The landau, with its pair ofYorkshire-bred horses, was moving slowly up and down, to the admiration ofjuvenile Paris, which looked upon Mr. Granger's deep-chested, strong-limbedbays almost as a new order in the animal creation. Mrs. Granger felt thatthe eyes of coachman and footman were upon her as she turned the firstcorner, thinking of nothing for the moment, but how to escape thewatchfulness of her own servants. She walked a little way down the street, and then asked a sleepy-looking waiter, who was sweeping the threshold of avery dingy restaurant, to direct her to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. It was_tous près_, the man said; only a turn to the right, at that corner yonder, and the next turning was the street she wanted. She thanked him, andhurried on, with her heart beating faster at every step. Austin might beout, she thought, and her trouble wasted; and there was no knowing when shemight have another opportunity. Even if he were at home, their interviewmust needs be brief: there was the nurse waiting and wondering; the babyexposed to possible peril from east winds. 

The Rue du Chevalier Bayard was a street of tall gaunt houses that had seenbetter days--houses with _porte-cochères_, exaggerated iron knockers, andqueer old lamps; dreary balconies on the first floor, with here and there aplaster vase containing some withered member of the palm tribe, or a fadedorange-tree; everywhere and in everything an air of dilapidation and decay;faded curtains, that had once been fine, flapping in the open windows;Venetian shutters going to ruin; and the only glimpse of brightness ordomestic comfort confined to the humble parlour of the portress, who keptwatch and ward over one of the dismal mansions, and who had a birdcagehanging in her window, an Angora cat sunning itself on the stone sill, anda row of scarlet geraniums in the little iron balcony. 

But this model portress did not preside over the house inhabited by AustinLovel. There Clarissa found only a little deaf old man, who grinned andshook his head helplessly when she questioned him, and shrugged hisshoulders and pointed to the staircase--a cavernous stone staircase, withan odour as of newly opened graves. She went up to the first-floor, pastthe _entresol_, where the earthy odour was subjugated by a powerful smellof cooking, in which garlic was the prevailing feature. One tall dooron the first-floor was painted a pale pink, and had still some dingyindications of former gilding upon its mouldings. On this pink door wasinscribed the name of Mr. Austin, Painter. 

Clarissa rang a bell, and a tawdry-looking French servant, with bigearrings and a dirty muslin cap, came to answer her summons. Mr. Austinwas at home; would madame please to enter. Madame, having replied inthe affirmative, was shown into a small sitting-room, furnished with aheterogeneous collection of cabinets, tables, and sofas, every one of whichbore the stamp of the broker's shop--things which had been graceful andpretty in their day, but from which the ormolu-moulding had been knockedoff here, and the inlaid-wood chipped away there, and the tortoiseshellcracked in another place, until they seemed the very emblems of decay. Itwas as if they had been set up as perpetual monitors--monuments of man'sfragility. "This is what life comes to, " they said in their silent fashion. This faded rubbish in buhl and marqueterie was useful enough to Mr. Lovel, however; and on his canvas the faded furniture glowed and sparkled with allits original brightness, fresh as the still-life of Meissonier. There werea child's toys scattered on the floor; and Clarissa heard a woman's voicetalking to a child in an adjoining room, on the other side of a pairof tall pink folding-doors. Then she heard her brother's voice sayingsomething to the servant; and at the sound she felt as if she must havefallen to the ground. Then one of the doors was opened, and a woman camein; a pretty, faded-looking woman, dressed in a light-blue morning wrapperthat might very well have been cleaner; a woman with a great deal of dyedhair in an untidy mass at the back of her head; a woman whom Clarissa feltit must be a difficult thing to like. 

This was her brother's wife, of course. There was a boy of four or fiveyears old clinging to his mother's gown, and Clarissa's heart yearnedto the child. He had Austin's face. It would be easy to love _him_, shethought. 

"Mr. Austin is in his paintin'-room, madame, " said the wife, putting on akind of company manner. "Did you wish to see him about a picture? Je parletrès poo de Français, mais si----"

"I am English, " Clarissa answered, smiling; "if you will kindly tell Mr. Austin a lady from England wishes to see him. What a, dear little boy! MayI shake hands with him?"

"Give the lady your hand, Henery, " said the mother. "Not that one, " as theboy, after the invariable custom of childhood, offered his left--"the righthand. "

Clarissa took the sticky little paw tenderly in her pearl-gray glove. Tothink that her brother Austin Lovel should have married a woman who couldcall her son "Henery, " and who had such an unmistakable air of commonness!

The wife went back to the painting-room; and returned the next minute tobeg the visitor to "step this way, if you please, ma'am. " She opened one ofthe folding-doors wide as she spoke, and Clarissa went into a large room, at the other end of which there stood a tall slim young man, in a shortvelvet coat, before a small easel. 

It was her brother Austin; pale and a trifle haggard, too old in looks forhis years, but very handsome--a masculine edition of Clarissa herself, infact: the same delicate clearly-cut features, the same dark hazel eyes, shaded by long brown lashes tinged with gold. This was what Mrs. Grangersaw in the broad noonday sunshine; while the painter, looking up from hiseasel, beheld a radiant creature approaching him, a woman in pale-graysilk, that it would have been rapture to paint; a woman with one of theloveliest faces he had ever seen, crowned with a broad plait of dark-brownhair, and some delicate structure of point-lace and pink roses, called bycourtesy a bonnet. 

He laid down his mahl-stick, and came to meet her, with a puzzled look onhis face. Her beauty seemed familiar to him somehow, and yet he had norecollection of ever having seen her before. He saw the faded counterpartof that bright face every morning in his looking-glass. 

She held out both her hands. 

"Austin, don't you know me?"

He gave a cry of pleased surprise, and caught her in his arms. 

"Clarissa!" he exclaimed; "why, my darling, how lovely you have grown! Mydear little Clary! How well I remember the sweet young face, and the tears, and kisses, and the slender little figure in its childish dress, thatday your father carried you off to school! My own little Clary, what ahappiness to see you! But you never told me you were coming to Paris. "

"No, dear, I kept that for a surprise. And are you really glad to see me, Austin?"

"Really glad! Is there any one in the world could make me gladder?"

"I am so happy to hear that. I was almost afraid you had half forgotten me. Your letters were so few, and so short. "

"Letters!" cried Austin Lovel, with a laugh; "I never was much of a hand atletter-writing; and then I hadn't anything particularly pleasant to writeabout. You mustn't gauge my affection by the length of my letters, Clary. And then I have to work deucedly hard when I am at home, and have verylittle time for scribbling. "

Clarissa glanced round the room while he was speaking. Every detail inher brother's surroundings had an interest for her. Here, as in thedrawing-room, there was an untidy air about everything--a want of harmonyin all the arrangements. There were Flemish carved-oak cabinets, and bigJapan vases; a mantelpiece draped with dusty crimson velvet, a brokenVenetian glass above it, and a group of rusty-looking arms on each side;long limp amber curtains to the three tall windows, with festooned valancesin an advanced state of disarrangement and dilapidation. There were somelogs burning on the hearth, a pot of chocolate simmering among the ashes, and breakfast laid for one person upon a little table by the fire--theremnant of a perigord pie, flanked by a stone bottle of curaçoa. 

She looked at her brother with anxious scrutinising eyes. No, GeorgeFairfax had not deceived her. He had the look of a man who was going thewrong way. There were premature lines across the forehead, and about thedark brilliant eyes; a nervous expression in the contracted lips. It wasthe face of a man who burns the candle of life at both ends. Late hours, anxiety, dissipation of all kinds, had set their fatal seal upon hiscountenance. 

"Dear Austin, you are as handsome as ever; but I don't think you arelooking well, " she said tenderly. 

"Don't look so alarmed, my dear girl, " he answered lightly; "I am wellenough; that is to say, I am never ill, never knock under, or strike work. There are men who go through life like that--never ill, and never exactlywell. I rarely get up in the morning without a headache; but I generallybrighten considerably as the sun goes down. We move with a contrary motion, Helios and I. "

"I am afraid you work too hard, and sit up too late. "

"As to working hard, my dear, that is a necessity; and going out everynight is another necessity. I get my commissions in society. "

"But you must have a reputation by this time, Austin; and commissions wouldcome to you, I should think, without your courting them. "

"No, child; I have only a reputation _de salon_, I am only known in acertain set. And a man must live, you see. To a man himself that is theprimary necessity. Your _generosity_ set me on my legs last year, andtempted me to take this floor, and make a slight advance movementaltogether. I thought better rooms would bring me better work--sitters fora new style of cabinet-portraits, and so on. But so far the rooms have beencomparatively a useless extravagance. However, I go out a good deal, andmeet a great many influential people; so I can scarcely miss a success inthe end. "

"But if you sacrifice your health in the meantime, Austin. "

"Sacrifice my health! That's just like a woman. If a man looks a triflepale, and dark under the eyes, she begins to fancy he's dying. My poorlittle wife takes just the same notions into her head, and would like me tostop at home every evening to watch her darn the children's stockings. "

"I think your wife is quite right to be anxious, Austin; and it would bemuch better for you to stay at home, even to see stockings darned. It mustbe very dull for her too when you are out, poor soul. "

Mr. Lovel shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating air. 

"_C'est son metier, _" he said. "I suppose she does find it rather dismal attimes; but there are the children, you see--it is a woman's duty to findall-sufficient society in her children. And now, Clary, tell me aboutyourself. You have made a brilliant match, and are mistress of Arden Court. A strange stroke of fortune that. And you are happy, I hope, my dear?"

"I ought to be very happy, " Clarissa answered, with a faint sigh, thinkingperhaps that, bright as her life might be, it was not quite the fulfilmentof her vague girlish dreams--not quite the life she had fancied lyingbefore her when the future was all unknown; "I ought to be very happy andvery grateful to Providence; and, O Austin, my boy is the sweetest darlingis the world!"

Austin Lovel looked doubtful for a moment, half inclined to think "my boy"might stand for Daniel Granger. 

"You must see him, Austin, " continued his sister; "he is nearly ten monthsold now, and such a beauty!"

"O, the baby!" said Austin, rather coolly. "I daresay he's a nice littlechap, and I should like to see him very much, if it were practicable. Buthow about Granger himself? He is a good sort of fellow, I hope. "

"He is all goodness to me, " Clarissa answered gravely, casting down hereyes as she spoke; and Austin Lovel knew that the marriage which had givenhis sister Arden Court had been no love-match. 

They talked for some time; talked of the old days when they had beentogether at Arden; but of the years that made the story of his life, AustinLovel spoke very little. 

"I have always been an unlucky beggar, " he said, in his careless way. "There's very little use in going over old ground. Some men never getfairly on the high-road of life. They spend their existence wading acrossswamps, and scrambling through bushes, and never reach any particular pointat the end. My career has been that sort of thing. "

"But you are so young, Austin, " pleaded Clarissa, "and may do so much yet. "

He shook his head with an air of hopelessness that was half indifference. 

"My dear child, I am neither a Raffaelle nor a Dore, " he said, "and I needbe one or the other to redeem my past But so long as I can pick up enoughto keep the little woman yonder and the bairns, and get a decent cigar andan honest bottle of Bordeaux, I'm content. Ambition departed from me tenyears ago. "

"O Austin, I can't bear to hear you say that! With your genius you ought todo so much. I wish you would be friends with my husband, and that he couldbe of use to you. "

"My dear Clarissa, put that idea out of your mind at once and for ever. There can be no such thing as friendship between Mr. Granger and me. Doyou remember what Samuel Johnson said about some one's distaste for cleanlinen--'And I, sir, have no passion for it!' I confess to having no passionfor respectable people. I am very glad to hear Mr. Granger is a goodhusband; but he's much too respectable a citizen for my acquaintance. "

Clarissa sighed; there was a prejudice here, even if Daniel Granger couldhave been induced to think kindly of his brother-in-law. 

"Depend upon it, the Prodigal Son had a hard time of it after the fattedcalf had been eaten, Clary, and wished himself back among the swine. Do youthink, however lenient his father might be, that his brother and thefriends of the family spared him? His past was thrown in his face, you maybe sure. I daresay he went back to his evil ways after a year or so. Goodpeople maintain their monopoly of virtue by making the repentant sinner'slife a burden to him. "

Clarissa spoke of his wife presently. 

"You must introduce me to her, Austin. She took me for a stranger just now, and I did not undeceive her. "

"Yes I'll introduce you. There's not much in common between you; but she'llbe very proud of your acquaintance. She looks upon my relations as anexalted race of beings, and myself as a kind of fallen angel. You mustn'tbe too hard upon her, Clary, if she seems not quite the sort of woman youwould have chosen for your sister-in-law. She has been a good wife to me, and she was a good daughter to her drunken old father--one of the greatestscamps in London, who used to get his bread--or rather his gin--by standingfor Count Ugolino and Cardinal Wolsey, or anything grim and gray andaquiline-nosed in the way of patriarchs. The girl Bessie was a model too inher time; and it was in Jack Redgrave's painting-room--the pre-Raphaelitefellow who paints fearfully and wonderfully made women with red hair andangular arms--I first met her. Jack and I were great chums at that time--itwas just after I sold out--and I used to paint at his rooms. I was going infor painting just then with a great spurt, having nothing but my brush tolive upon. You can guess the rest. As Bessie was a very pretty girl, andneither she nor I had a sixpence wherewith to bless ourselves, of coursewe fell in love with each other. Poor little thing, how pretty she usedto look in those days, standing on Jack's movable platform, with her hairfalling loose about her face, and a heap of primroses held up in herpetticoat!--such a patient plaintive look in the sweet little mouth, asmuch as to say, 'I'm very tired of standing here; but I'm only a model, tobe hired for eighteenpence an hour; go on smoking your cigars, and talkingyour slangy talk about the turf and the theatres, gentlemen. I count fornothing. ' Poor little patient soul! she was so helpless and so friendless, Clary. I think my love for her was something like the compassion one feelsfor some young feeble bird that has fallen out of its nest. So we weremarried one morning; and for some time lived in lodgings at Putney, whereI used to suffer considerable affliction from Count Ugolino and two bonyboys, Bessie's brothers, who looked as if the Count had been acting upto his character with too great a fidelity. Ugolino himself would comeprowling out of a Saturday afternoon to borrow the wherewithal to pay hisweek's lodging, lest he should be cast out into the streets at nightfall;and it was a common thing for one of the bony boys to appear atbreakfast-time with a duplicate of his father's coat, pledged over-nightfor drink, and without the means of redeeming which he could not pursue hishonourable vocation. In short, I think it was as much the affliction of theUgolino family as my own entanglements that drove me to seek my fortunes onthe other side of the world. "

Austin Lovel opened one of the doors, and called his wife "Come here, Bessie; I've a pleasant surprise for you. "

Mrs. Lovel appeared quickly in answer to this summons. She had changed hermorning dress for a purple silk, which was smartly trimmed, but by no meansfresh, and she had dressed her hair, and refreshed her complexion by aliberal application of violet powder. She had a look which can only bedescribed as "flashy"--a look that struck Clarissa unpleasantly, in spiteof herself. 

Her expressions of surprise did not sound quite so natural as they mighthave done--for she had been listening at the folding-doors during aconsiderable part of the interview; but she seemed really delighted by Mrs. Granger's condescension, and she kissed that lady with much affection. 

"I'm sure I do feel proud to know any relation of Austin's, " she said, "andyou most of all, who have been so kind to him. Heaven knows what would havebecome of us last winter, if it hadn't been for your generosity. "

Clarissa laid her hand upon Bessie Lovel's lips. 

"You mustn't talk of generosity between my brother and me, " she said; "allI have in the world is at his service. And now let me see my nephews, please; and then I must run away. "

The nephews were produced; the boy Clarissa had seen, and another ofsmaller growth--pale-faced, bright-eyed little fellows; They too had beensubjected to the infliction of soap-and-water and hair-brushes, cleanpinafores, and so on, since Mrs. Granger's arrival. 

She knelt down and kissed them both, with real motherly tenderness, thinking of her own darling, and the difference between his fortunes andtheirs; and then, after a warm caress, she slipped a napoleon into eachlittle warm hand, "to buy toys, " and rose to depart. 

"I must hurry away now, Austin, " she said; "but I shall come again verysoon, if I may. Good-bye, dear, and God bless you. "

The embrace that followed was a very fervent one. It had been sweet to meetagain after so many years, and it was hard to leave him so soon--to leavehim with the conviction that his life was a wreck. But Clarissa had notime to linger. The thought of the baby in the Luxembourg Gardens had beendistracting her for ever so long. These stolen meetings must needs beshort. 

She looked at her watch when she got back to the street, and found, to herhorror, that she had been very nearly an hour away from the nurse and hercharge. The carriage was waiting at the gate, and she had to encounter thefull fire of her servants' gaze as she crossed the road and went into thegardens. Yes, there was the baby's blue-velvet pelisse resplendent at theend of an avenue, Clarissa walked quickly to meet him. 

"My darling!" she cried. "Has he been waiting for his mamma? I hope he hasnot been tired of the gardens, nurse?"

"Yes, ma'am, he have been tired, " replied Mrs. Brobson, with an outragedair. "There ain't much in these gardens to keep a baby of his age amusedfor an hour at a stretch; and in a east wind too! It's right down cuttingat that corner. "

"Why didn't you take him home in the carriage, nurse? It would have beenbetter than running any risk of his catching cold. "

"What, and leave you without a conveyance, ma'am? I couldn't have donethat!"

"I was detained longer than I expected to stay. O, by the bye, you need notmention to Miss Granger that I have been making a call. The people I havebeen to see are--are in humble circumstances; and I don't want her to knowanything about it. "

"I hope I know my duty, ma'am, " replied Mrs. Brobson stiffly. That hour'sparading in the gardens, without any relief from her subordinate, hadsoured her temper, and inclined her to look with unfavourable eyes upon theconduct of her mistress. Clarissa felt that she had excited the suspicionof her servant, and that all her future meetings with her brother wouldinvolve as much plotting and planning as would serve for the ripening of apolitical conspiracy. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

ONLY A PORTRAIT-PAINTER. 

While Clarissa was pondering on that perplexing question, how she was tosee her brother frequently without Mr. Granger's knowledge, fortune hadfavoured her in a manner she had never anticipated. After what Mr. Fairfaxhad said to her about Austin Lovel's "set, " the last thing she expectedwas to meet her brother in society--that fast Bohemian world in which shesupposed him to exist, seemed utterly remote from the faultless circleof Daniel Granger's acquaintance. It happened, however, that one of thedearest friends to whom Lady Laura Armstrong had introduced her sweetClarissa was a lady of the Leo-Hunter genus--a certain Madame Caballero, _née_ Bondichori, a little elderly Frenchwoman, with sparkling black eyesand inexhaustible vivacity; the widow of a Portuguese wine-merchant; a ladywhose fortune enabled her to occupy a first floor in one of the freestonepalaces of the Champs Elysées, to wear black velvet and diamonds inperpetuity, and to receive a herd of small lions and a flock of admiringnobodies twice a-week. The little widow prided herself on her worshipof genius. All members of the lion tribe came alike to her: painters, sculptors, singers; actors, and performers upon every variety of knownand unknown musical instruments; budding barristers, who had won forensiclaurels by the eloquent defence of some notorious criminal; homoeopathicdoctors, lady doctresses, or lawyeresses, or deaconesses, from America; andpretty women who had won a kind of renown by something special in the wayof eyebrows, or arms, or shoulders. 

To these crowded saloons Mr. Granger brought his wife and daughter oneevening. They found a great many people assembled in three lofty rooms, hung with amber satin, in the remotest and smallest of which apartmentsMadame Caballero made tea _à l'anglaise_, for her intimates; while, in thelargest, some fearful and wonderful instrumental music was going on, withthe very smallest possible amount of attention from the audience. There wasa perpetual buzz of conversation; and there was a considerable sprinklingof curious-looking people; weird men with long unkempt hair, strong-mindedwomen, who counterbalanced these in a manner by wearing their hairpreternaturally short. Altogether, the assembly was an usual one; butMadame Caballero's guests seemed to enjoy themselves very much. Their goodspirits may have been partly due to the fact that they had the pleasinganticipation of an excellent supper, furnished with all the choicestdainties that Chevet can provide; for Madame Caballero's receptions wereof a substantial order, and she owed a good deal of her popularity to theprofusion that distinguished the commissariat department. 

Mr. And Mrs. Granger made their way to the inner room by and by. It was theprettiest room of the three, with a great semi-circular window overlookingnothing particular in the daytime, but making a handsome amber-hung recessat night. Here there was a sea-coal fire _à l'anglaise_, and only a subduedglimmering of wax candles, instead of the broad glare in the largersaloons. Here, too were to be found the choicest of Madame Caballero'sguests; a cabinet minister, an ambassador, a poet of some standing, and oneof the most distinguished soprano's of the season, a fair-haired Germangirl, with great pathetic blue eyes. 

Even in this society Madame Caballero was rejoiced to see her sweet Mrs. Granger and her charming Miss Granger, who was looking unutterably stiff, in mauve silk and white lace. The lady and her friends had been talking ofsome one as the Grangers entered, talking rapturously. 

"_J'en raffole!_" exclaimed Madame; "such a charming young man, gifted withtalents of the most original order. "

The ambassador was looking at a portrait--the likeness of Madame Caballeroherself--a mere sketch in oils, with a mark of the brush upon it, butremarkable for the _chic_ and daring of the painter's style, and for thatidealised resemblance which is always so agreeable to the subject. 

Clarissa's heart gave a little throb. The picture was like one she had seenon the easel in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. 

"_Mais c'est charmant!_" exclaimed the ambassador; and the adjective wasechoed in every key by the rest of the little coterie. 

"I expect him here this evening, " said Madame; "and I shall be very muchgratified if you will permit me to present him to your excellency. "

The ambassador bowed. "Any _protégée_ of Madame's, " he said, and so on. 

Mr. Granger, who was really a judge of art, fastened on to the pictureimmediately. 

"There's something fresh in the style, Clary, " he said. "I should like thisman to paint your portrait. What's the signature? Austin! That's hardly aFrench name, I should think--eh, Madame Caballero?"

"No, " replied Madame; "Mr. Austin is an Englishman. I shall be charmed ifyou will allow him to paint Mrs. Granger; and I'm sure he will be delightedto have such a subject. "

There was a good deal of talk about Mr. Austin's painting, and art ingeneral. There were some half dozen pictures of the modern French schoolin this inner room, which helped to sustain the conversation. Mr. Grangertalked very fair French, of a soundly grammatical order; and Clarissa'stongue ran almost as gaily as in her schoolgirl days at Belforêt. She wasgoing to see her brother--to see him shining in good society, and not inthe pernicious "set" of which George Fairfax had spoken. The thought wasrapture to her. They might have a few minutes' talk to themselves, perhaps, before the evening was over. That interview in the Rue du Chevalier Bayardhad been so sadly brief, and her heart too full for many words. 

Austin Lovel came in presently, looking his handsomest, in his carefulevening-dress, with a brilliant light in his eyes, and that appearance offalse brightness which is apt to distinguish the man who is burning thecandle of life at both ends. Only by just the faintest elevation of hiseyebrows did he betray his surprise as he looked at his sister; and hisair, on being presented to her a few moments afterwards, was perfect in itsserene unconsciousness. 

Mr. Granger talked to him of his picture pleasantly enough, but very muchas he would have talked to his architect, or to one of his clerks in thegreat Bradford establishment. There was a marked difference betweenthe tone of the rich English trader and the German ambassador, when heexpressed himself on the subject of Mr. Austin's talent; but then theEnglishman intended to give the painter a commission, and the German didnot. 

"I should like you to paint my wife--and--and--my daughter, " said Mr. Granger, throwing in Sophia as an after-thought. It would be only civil tohave his daughter's portrait painted, he thought. 

Mr. Austin bowed. "I shall be most happy, " he said. Clarissa's eyessparkled with delight. Sophia Granger saw the pleased look, and thought, "O, the vanity of these children of perdition!" But she did not offer anyobjection to the painting of her own likeness. 

"When shall we begin?" asked Mr. Granger. 

"My time is entirely at your disposal. "

"In that case, the sooner the thing is done the better. My wife cannot cometo your studio--she has so many claims upon her time--but that would makeno difficulty, I suppose?"

"Not at all. I can paint Mrs. Granger in her own rooms as well as in mine, if the light will serve. "

"One of our drawing-rooms faces the north, " answered Mr. Granger, "andthe windows are large--larger than I like. Any loss of time which you maysuffer in accommodating Mrs. Granger must, of course, be considered in theprice of your pictures. "

"I have only one price for my pictures, " replied Mr. Austin, with aloftiness that astonished his patron. "I charge fifty guineas for aportrait of that kind--whether it is painted for a duke or a grocer in theRue St. Honoré. "

"I will give you a hundred guineas for each of the pictures, if they aresuccesses, " said Mr. Granger. "If they are failures, I will give you yourown price, and make you a present of the canvasses. "

"I am not a stoic, and have no objection to accept a premium of a hundredguineas from so distinguished a capitalist as Mr. Granger, " returned AustinLovel, smiling. "I don't think Mrs. Granger's portrait will be a failure, "he added confidently, with a little look at Clarissa. 

Sophia Granger saw the look, and resented it. The painter had said nothingof her portrait. It was of Clarissa's only that he thought. It was a verysmall thing; but when her father's wife was concerned, small things weregreat in the eyes of Miss Granger. 

There was no opportunity for confidential talk between Austin Lovel and hissister that evening; but Clarissa went home happy in the expectation ofseeing her brother very often in the simplest, easiest way. The portraitswould take some time to paint, of course; indeed Austin might make thebusiness last almost as long as he liked. 

It was rather hard, however, to have to discuss her brother's merits withMr. And Miss Granger as if he had been a stranger; and Clarissa had to dothis going home in the carriage that night, and at breakfast next morning. The young man was handsome, Mr. Granger remarked, but had rather a wornlook--a dissipated look, in point of fact. That sort of people generallywere dissipated. 

Mrs. Granger ventured to say that she did not think Mr. Austin lookeddissipated--a little worn, perhaps, but nothing more; and that might be theeffect of hard work. 

"My dear Clary, what can you know of the physiology of dissipation? Itell you that young man is dissipated. I saw him playing _écarté_ witha Frenchman just before we left Madame Caballero's; and, unless I amprofoundly mistaken, the man is a gambler. "

Clarissa shuddered. She could not forget what George Fairfax had said toher about her brother's ways, nor the fact that her remittances had seemedof so little use to him. He seemed in good repute too, and talked of fiftyguineas for a picture with the utmost coolness. He must have earned a gooddeal of money, and the money must have gone somewhere. In all the detailsof his home there was evidence of extravagance in the past and poverty inthe present. 

He came at eleven o'clock on the second morning after Madame Caballero'sreception; came in a hired carriage, with his easel and all theparaphernalia of his art. Mr. Granger had made a point of being present atthis first sitting, much to the discomfiture of Clarissa, who was yearningfor a long uninterrupted talk with her brother. Even when Mr. Grangerwas absent, there would be Miss Granger, most likely, she thought, withvexation; and, after all, these meetings with Austin would be only halfmeetings. It would be pleasant only to see him, to hear his voice; but shewas longing to talk freely of the past, to give him counsel for the future. 

The drawing-room looking north was rather a dreary apartment, if anyapartment furnished with blue-satin damask and unlimited gilding can becalled dreary. There was splendour, of course, but it was a chilling kindof splendour. The room was large and square, with two tall wide windowscommanding a view of one of the dullest streets in new Paris--a street atthe end of which workmen were still busy cutting away a hill, the removalwhereof was necessary for the realisation of the Augustan idea of thatarchetypal city, which was to be left all marble. Mr. Granger's apartmentswere in a corner house, and he had the advantage of this side view. Therewas very little of what Mr. Wemmick called "portable property" in thisnorthern drawing-room. There were blue-satin divans running along thewalls, a couple of blue-satin easy-chairs, an ormolu stand with a monsterSèvres dish for cards, and that was all--a room in which one might, "receive, " but could scarcely live. 

The light was capital, Mr. Austin said. He set up his easel, settled theposition of his sister, after a little discussion with Mr. Granger, andbegan work. Clarissa's was to be the first portrait. This being arranged, Mr. Granger departed to write letters, leaving Sophia established, with herBerlin-wool work, at one of the windows. Clarissa would not, of course, like to be left _tête-à-tête_ for two or three hours with a strangepainter, Miss Granger opened. 

Yes, it was very pleasant to have him there, even though their talk wasrestrained by the presence of a third person, and they could only speak ofindifferent things. Perhaps to Austin Lovel himself it was pleasanter tohave Miss Granger there than to be quite alone with his sister. He was veryfond of Clarissa, but there was much in his past life--some things in hispresent life even--that would not bear talking of, and he shrank a littlefrom his sister's tender questioning. Protected by Miss Granger and herBerlin-wool spaniels, he was quite at his ease, and ran gaily on about allmanner of things as he sketched his outline and set his palette. He gavethe two ladies a lively picture of existing French art, with littlesatirical touches here and there. Even Sophia was amused, and blushed tofind herself comparing the social graces of Mr. Austin the painter withthose of Mr. Tillott the curate, very much to the advantage of theformer--blushed to find herself so much interested in any conversation thatwas not strictly utilitarian or evangelical in its drift. Once or twiceAustin spoke of his travels, his Australian experiences; and at eachmention, Clarissa looked up eagerly, anxious to hear more. The history ofher brother's past was a blank to her, and she was keenly interested by theslightest allusion that cast a ray of light upon it. Mr. Austin did notcare, however, to dwell much upon his own affairs. It was chiefly ofother people that he talked. Throughout that first sitting Miss Grangermaintained a dignified formality, tempered by maidenly graciousness. The young man was amusing, certainly, and it was not often Miss Grangerpermitted herself to be amused. She thought Clarissa was too familiarwith him, treated him too much with an air of perfect equality. A man whopainted portraits for hire should be received, Miss Granger thought, as onewould receive a superior kind of bootmaker. 

More than once, in fact, in the course of that agreeable morning, Clarissahad for a moment forgotten that she was talking to Mr. Austin the painter, and not to her brother Austin Lovel. More than once an unconsciouswarmth or softness in her tone had made Miss Granger look up from herembroidery-frame with the eyes of wonder. 

Mr. Granger came back to the drawing-room, having finished hisletter-writing just as the sitting concluded, and, luncheon being announcedat the same time, asked Mr. Austin to stay for that meal. Austin had noobjection to linger in his sister's society. He wanted to know what kindof man this Daniel Granger was; and perhaps wanted to see what probabilitythere was of Daniel Granger's wife being able to supply him with money inthe future. Austin Lovel had, from his earliest boyhood, possessed a fatalcapacity for getting rid of money, and for getting into debt; not commonplain-sailing debt, which would lead at the worst to the Bankruptcy Court, but liability of a more disreputable and perilous character, involving theterror of disgrace, and entanglements that would have to be unravelled by apolice-magistrate. 

Racing debts, gambling debts, and bill-discounting transactions, had beenthe agreeable variety of difficulties which had beset Austin Level'smilitary career; and at the end there had been something--something fullyknown to a few only--which had made the immediate sale of his commissiona necessity. He was _allowed_ to sell it; and that was much, his friendssaid. If his commanding officer had not been an easy-going kind of man, hewould scarcely have got off so cheaply. 

"I wonder how this fellow Granger would treat me, if he knew who I was?" hethought to himself. "He'd inaugurate our acquaintance by kicking me out ofhis house most likely, instead of asking me to luncheon. " Notwithstandingwhich opinion Mr. Austin sat down to share the sacred bread and salt withhis brother-in-law, and ate a cutlet _a la Maintenon_, and drank half abottle of claret, with a perfect enjoyment of the situation. He likedthe idea of being patronised by the man who would not have tolerated hissociety for a moment, had he been aware of his identity. 

He talked of Parisian life during luncheon, keeping carefully clear of allsubjects which the "young person, " as represented by Miss Granger, mightblush to hear; and Mr. Granger, who had only an Englishman's knowledge ofthe city, was amused by the pleasant gossip. The meal lasted longer thanusual, and lost all its wonted formality; and the fair Sophia found herselfmore and more interested in this fascinating painter, with his brilliantdark eyes, and sarcastic mouth, and generally agreeable manner. Shesat next him at luncheon, and, when there came a little pause in theconversation, began to question him about the state of the Parisian poor. It was very bad, was it not?

Mr. Austin shrugged his shoulders. 

"I don't know, " he said, "but I don't think it would be possible for a manto starve to death in Paris under the Imperial regime; and it seems veryeasy for an Englishman to do it in Spitalfields or Mile-end New Town. Youdon't hear of men and women found dead in their garrets from sheer hunger. But of course there is a good deal of poverty and squalor to be found inthe city. "

And then Mr. Austin launched into a graphic description of some interestingphases of life among the lower classes, borrowed from a novel that had beenrecently delighting the reading public of France, but appropriated withsuch an air of reality, that Miss Granger fancied this delightful paintermust spend some considerable part of his existence as a district visitor orcity missionary. 

"What a pity that Mr. Tillott has not his persuasive powers!" she thought;Mr. Tillott's eloquence being, in fact, of a very limited order, chieflyexhibiting itself in little jerky questions about the spiritual andtemporal welfare of his humble parishioners--questions which, in thevernacular language of agricultural labourers, "put a chap's back up, somehow. "

"I should like to show Mr. Austin the baby, Daniel, " Clarissa said to herhusband shyly, while Miss Granger was keeping Austin hard and fast to theamelioration of the working classes; "he would make such a lovely picture. "

Mr. Granger smiled, a quiet well-satisfied smile. He, the strong man, themillowner and millionaire, was as weak as the weakest woman in all thingsconcerning the child of his mature age. 

"Yes, " he said, with some affectation of indifference; "Lovel would make anice picture enough. We'll have him painted if you like, Clary, some day. Send for him, my dear. "

She had her hand upon the bell directly. 

"Yes, " she cried, "he would make the sweetest picture in the world, andAustin shall paint him. "

The familiar mention of the name Austin, _tout court_, scared Mr. Grangeralmost as much as a cannon fired close at his elbow might have done. Hestared at his wife with grave displeasure. 

"_Mr_. Austin can paint him some day, if you wish it, Clarissa, " he said. 

Mrs. Granger blushed crimson; again she remembered that this brother sheloved so dearly was only a strange painter of portraits, whom it behovedher to treat with only the most formal courtesy. She hated the deception;and having a strong faith in her husband's generosity, was sorely temptedto put an end to this acted lie on the spot, and to tell him who his guestwas; but fear of her brother's anger stopped her. She had no right tobetray him; she must wait his permission to tell the secret. 

"Even Sophia seems to like him, " she thought; "and I don't think Danielcould help being pleased with him, in spite of anything papa may have saidto his prejudice. "

The baby was brought, and, being in a benignant humour, was graciouslypleased to look his brightest and prettiest, and in nurse's phraseology, to"take to" his unknown uncle. The unknown uncle kissed him affectionately, and said some civil things about the colour of his eyes, and the plumpnessof his limbs--"quite a Rubens baby, " and so on, but did not consider aboy-baby an especially wonderful creature, having had two boy-babies of hisown, and not having particularly wanted them. He looked upon them rather aschronic perplexities, like accommodation bills that had matured unawares. 

"And this is the heir of Arden, " he said to himself, as he looked down atthe fat blue-eyed thing struggling in Clarissa's arms, with that desperatedesire to get nowhere in particular, common to infancy. "So this littlelump of humanity is the future lord of the home that should have been mine. I don't know that I envy him. Country life and Arden would hardly havesuited me. I think I'd rather have an _entresol_ in the Champs Elysees, and the run of the boulevards, than the gray old Court and a respectableposition. Unless a man's tastes are 'horsey' or agricultural, country lifemust be a bore. "

Mr. Austin patted the plump young cheeks without any feeling of enmity. 

"Poor little beggar! What ghosts will haunt him in the old rooms by-and-by, I wonder?" he said to himself, smiling down at the child. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AUSTIN'S PROSPECTS. 

The picture made rapid progress. For his very life--though the finishing ofhis work had been the signal of his doom, and the executioner waiting tomake a sudden end of him when the last touch was laid upon the canvas, Austin Lovel could not have painted slowly. The dashing offhand brush waslike a young thoroughbred, that could not be pulled, let the jockey saw athis mouth as he might. And yet the painter would have liked much to prolongthis easy intercourse with his sister. But after Clarissa's portrait wasfinished, there was Miss Granger to be painted; and then they would want apicture of that unapproachable baby, no doubt; and after that, perhaps, Mr. Granger might consent to have his massive features perpetuated. Austinconsidered that the millionaire should be good for three hundred guineas orso; he had promised two hundred, and the painter was spending the money byanticipation as fast as he could. 

He came every other morning to the Rue de Morny, and generally stayed toluncheon; and those mornings spent in his company were very pleasant toClarissa--as pleasant as anything could be which involved deception; therewas always the sting of that fact. Miss Granger was rarely absent for tenminutes together on these occasions; it was only some lucky chance whichtook her from the room to fetch some Berlin wool, or a forgotten skein offloss silk for the perennial spaniels, and afforded the brother and sisteran opportunity for a few hurried words. The model villagers almost fadedout of Miss Granger's mind in this agreeable society. She found herselflistening to talk about things which were of the earth earthy, and was fainto confess herself interested in the conversation. She dressed ascarefully to receive the painter as if he had been, to use her particularphraseology, "a person in her own sphere;" and Mr. Tillott would havethought his chances of success at a very low point, if he could have seenher in Austin Lovel's presence. 

That gentleman himself was not slow to perceive the impression he had made. 

"It's rather a pity I'm married, isn't it, Clary?" he said to his sisterone day, when Sophia, whose habits had not been quite so methodical oflate, had gone in search of some white beads for the spaniels, some ofwhich were of a beady nature. "It would have been a great chance for me, wouldn't it?"

What do you mean, Austin?"

"Miss Granger, " answered the painter, without looking up from his work, "Ithink she rather likes me, do you know; and I suppose her father will giveher fifty thousand or so when she marries, in spite of young Lovel. Heseems to have no end of money. It would have been an uncommonly good thing, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think it's any use talking of it, Austin, however good it mighthave been; and I don't think Sophia would have suited you as a wife. "

"Not suited me--bosh! Any woman with fifty thousand pounds would havesuited me. However, you're right--there's no good in talking of _that_. I'mbooked. Poor little woman, she's a good wife to me; but it's rather apity. You don't know how many chances I might have had but for thatentanglement. "

"I wish, Austin, for your poor wife's sake, you'd let me tell my husbandwho you are. This concealment seems so hard upon her, as well as a kind ofwrong to Daniel. I can do so little to serve her, and I might do so much, if I could own her as my sister-in-law. I don't think Daniel could helpliking you, if he knew everything. "

"Drop that, if you please, Clarissa, " said Austin, with a darkeningcountenance. "I have told you that your husband and I can never be friends, and I mean it. I don't want to be degraded by any intercession of yours. _That's_ a little too much even for me. It suits my purpose well enough toaccept Mr. Granger's commissions; and of course it's very agreeable to seeyou; but the matter must end there. "

Miss Granger returned at this moment; but had she stayed away for an hour, Clarissa could scarcely have pressed the question farther. In the old dayswhen they had been boy and girl together, Austin seven years her senior, Clarissa had always been just a little afraid of her brother; and she wasafraid of him now. 

The very fact of his somewhat dependent position made her more fearfulof offending him. She was anxious about his future anxious too about hispresent mode of life; but she dared not question closely upon eithersubject. Once, when she had ventured to ask him about his plan of life, heanswered in his careless off-hand way, --

"My dearest Clary, I have no plans. I like Paris; and if I am notparticularly successful here, I don't suppose I should be more successfulanywhere else. I mean to stay here as long as I can hold out. I know a goodmany people, and sometimes get a stroke of luck. "

"But you are ruining your health. Austin, I fear, with--late hours, and--and--parties. "

"Who told you I keep late hours? The Parisians, as a rule, don't go to bedat curfew. I don't suppose I'm worse than my neighbours. If I didn't goout, Clary, and keep myself in the minds of my patrons, I might rot in agarret. You don't know how soon a man is forgotten--even a man who has madehis mark more positively than I have; and then you see, my dear, I likesociety, and have no taste for the domestic hearth, except for variety, once in a way, like dining on a bouillon after a week's high feeding. Yes, come what may, I shall stay in Paris--as long as I can. "

There was something in the tone of the last words that alarmed Clarissa. 

"You--you--are not in debt, are you, Austin?" she asked timidly. 

"No--no--I'm not in debt; but I owe a good deal of money. "

Clarissa looked puzzled. 

"That is to say, I have no vulgar debts--butcher and baker, and so on; butthere are two or three things, involving some hundreds, which I shall haveto settle some of these days or else----"

"Or else what, Austin?"

"Cut Paris, Clary, that's all. "

Clarissa turned pale. Austin began to whistle a popular _café-chantant_air, as he bent over his palette, squeezing little dabs of Naples yellowout of a leaden tube. Some hundreds!--that was a vague phrase, which mightmean a great deal of money; it was a phrase which alarmed Clarissa; but shewas much more alarmed by the recklessness of her brother's tone. 

"But if you owe money, you must pay it, Austin, " she said; "you can't leavea place owing money. "

The painter shrugged his shoulders. 

"It's not an agreeable thing to do, " he said, "but it has been done. Of thetwo, it's pleasanter than staying in a place where you owe money. "

"Of course I shall do all I can to help you, dear, " said his sister. "Therewill be a hundred and twenty-five pounds due to me at Christmas, and I'llgive you the hundred. "

"You're a first-rate girl, Clary, but I think that fellow Granger mightgive you more pin-money. Five hundred a year is a beggarly pittance for aman of his means. "

"It is more than I fancied I could ever want; and Daniel allows papa fivehundred a year, you know Austin. "

"Humph! that makes a thousand--no great things for a millionaire. A prettygirl, married to a man of that stamp, ought to have unlimited command ofmoney, " replied her brother. "It's the only compensation, " he said tohimself afterwards. 

"I don't like to hear you say these things, Austin. My husband is very kindto me. I'm afraid I'm not half as grateful as I ought to be. "

"Gratitude be----!" He did not finish the ejaculation. 

"Gratitude from a Lovel of twenty to a Granger of fifty! My dear Clary, that's too good a joke! The man is well enough--better than I expected tofind him: but such a girl as you is a prize for which such a man could notpay too highly. "

It was rarely they had the opportunity for so long a conversation as this;and Austin was by no means sorry that it was so. He had very pressing needof all the money his sister could give him; but he did not care to enterinto explanations about the state of his affairs. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXV. 

SISTERS-IN-LAW. 

Clarissa did not forget the existence of the poor little wife in the Rue duChevalier Bayard; and on the very first afternoon which she had to herself, Mr. Granger having gone to see some great cattle-fair a few miles fromParis, and Miss Granger being afflicted with a headache, she took courageto order her coachman to drive straight to the house where her brotherlived. 

"It is much better than making a mystery of it, " she thought. 

"The man will think that I have come to see a milliner or some one of thatkind. "

The footman would fain have escorted Mrs. Granger the way she should go, and held himself in readiness to accompany her into the house; but shewaved him aside on the threshold of the darksome _porte-cochère_, out ofwhich no coach ever came nowadays. 

"I shan't want you, Trotter, " she said. "Tell Jarvis to walk the horsesgently up and down. I shall not be very long. "

The man bowed and obeyed, wondering what business his mistress could havein such a dingy street, "on the Surrey side of the water, too, " as he saidto his comrade. 

Austin was out, but Mrs. Lovel was at home, and it was Mrs. Lovel whomClarissa had come chiefly to see. The same tawdrily-dressed maid admittedher to the same untidy sitting-room, a shade more untidy to-day, whereBessie Lovel was dozing in an easy-chair by the fire, while the two boysplayed and squabbled in one of the windows. 

Mrs. Granger, entering suddenly, radiant in golden-brown moiré and sables, seemed almost to dazzle the eyes of Austin's wife, who had not seen muchof the brighter side of existence Her life before her marriage had beenaltogether sordid and shabby, brightness or luxury of any kind for herclass being synonymous with vice; and Bessie Stanford the painter's modelhad never been vicious. Her life since her marriage had been a life oftrouble and difficulty, with only occasional glimpses of spurious kind ofbrilliancy. She lived outside her husband's existence, as it were, and feltsomehow that she was only attached to him by external links, as a dog mighthave been. He had a certain kind of affection for her, was conscious ofher fidelity, and grateful for her attachment; and there an end. Sympathybetween them there was none; nor had he ever troubled himself to cultivateher tastes, or attempted in the smallest degree to bring her nearer to him. To Bessie Lovel, therefore, this sister of her husband's, in all the gloryof her fresh young beauty and sumptuous apparel, seemed a creature ofanother sphere, something to be gazed upon almost in fear and trembling. 

"I beg your parding!" she faltered, rubbing her eyes. She was apt, whenagitated, to fall back upon the pronunciation of her girlhood, beforeAustin Lovel had winced and ejaculated at her various mutilations of thelanguage. "I was just taking forty winks after my bit of dinner. "

"I am so sorry I disturbed you, " said Clarissa, in her gracious way. "Youwere tired, I daresay. "

"O, pray don't mention it! I'm sure I feel it a great compliment yourcomin'. It must seem a poor place to you after your beautiful house in theRoo de Morny. Austin told me where you lived; and I took the liberty ofwalking that way one evening with a lady friend. I'm sure the houses areperfect palaces. "

"I wish you could come to my house as my sister-in-law ought, " repliedClarissa. "I wanted to confide in my husband, to bring about a friendshipbetween him and my brother, if I could; but Austin tells me that isimpossible. I suppose he knows best. So, you see, I am obliged to act inthis underhand way, and to come to see you by stealth, as it were. "

"It's very good of you to come at all, " answered the wife with a sigh. "Itisn't many of Austin's friends take any notice of me. I'm sure most of 'emtreat me as if I was a cipher. Not that I mind that, provided he couldget on; but it's dinners there, and suppers here, and never no orders forpictures, as you may say. He had next to nothing to do all the autumn;Paris being so dull, you know, with all the high people away at the sea. Hepainted Madame Caballero for nothing, just to get himself talked of amongher set; and if it wasn't for Mr. Granger's orders, I don't know wherewe should be. --Come and speak to your aunt, Henery and Arthur, like goodboys. "

This to the olive-branches in the window, struggling for the possession ofa battered tin railway-engine with a crooked chimney. 

"She ain't my aunt, " cried the eldest hope. "I haven't got no aunt. "

"Yes, this is your aunt Clarissa. You've heard papa talk of her. "

"Yes, I remember, " said the boy sharply. "I remember one night when hetalked of Arden Court and Clarissa, and thumped his forehead on themantelpiece like that;" and the boy pantomimed the action of despair. 

"He has fits of that kind sometimes, " said Bessie Lovel, "and goes on abouthaving wasted his life, and thrown away his chances, and all that. He usedto go on dreadful when we were in Australia, till he made me that nervous Ididn't know what to do, thinking he'd go and destroy himself some day. Buthe's been better since we've been in Paris. The gaiety suits him. He sayshe can't live without society. "

Clarissa sighed. Little as she knew of her brother's life, she knew enoughto be very sure that love of society had been among the chief causes of hisruin. She took one of her nephews on her lap, and talked to him, and lethim play with the trinkets on her chain. Both the children were bright andintelligent enough, but had that air of premature sharpness which comesfrom constant intercourse with grown-up people, and an early initiation inthe difficulties of existence. 

She could only stay half an hour with her sister-in-law; but she could seethat her visit of duty had gratified the poor little neglected wife. Shehad not come empty-handed, but had brought an offering for Bessie Lovelwhich made the tired eyes brighten with something of their old light--alarge oval locket of massive dead gold, with a maltese cross of smalldiamonds upon it; one of the simplest ornaments which Daniel Granger hadgiven her, and which she fancied herself justified in parting with. She hadtaken it to a jeweller in the Palais Royal, who had arranged a lock of herdark-brown hair, with a true-lover's knot of brilliants, inside the locket, and had engraved the words "From Clarissa" on the back. 

Mrs. Lovel clasped her hands in rapture as Clarissa opened the morocco caseand showed her this jewel. 

"For me!" she cried. "I never had anything half as beautiful in my life. And your 'air, too!" She said "'air" in her excitement. "How good of you togive it to me! I don't know how to thank you. "

And the poor little woman made a rapid mental review of her wardrobe, wondering if she had any gown good enough to wear with that splendid jewel. Her purple silk--the one silk dress she possessed--was a little shinyand shabby by daylight, but looked very well by candle-light still, shethought. She was really delighted with the locket. In all her life she hadhad so few presents; and this one gift was worth three times the sum ofthem. But Clarissa spoke of it in the lightest, most careless way. 

"I wanted to bring you some little souvenir, " she said, "and I thoughtyou might like this. And now I must say good-bye, Bessie. I may call youBessie, mayn't I? And remember, you must call me Clarissa. I am sorry Iam obliged to hurry away like this; but I expect Mr. Granger back ratherearly, and I want to be at home when he returns. Good-bye, dear!"

She kissed her brother's wife, who clung to her affectionately, touched byher kindness; kissed the two little nephews also, one of whom caught holdof her dress and said, --

"You gave me that money for toys the other day, didn't you, aunt Clarissa?"

"Yes, darling. "

"But I didn't have it to spend, though. Pa said he'd lay it out for me;and he brought me home a cart from the Boulevard; but it didn't cost twonapoleons. It was a trumpery cart, that went smash the first time Arthurand I stood in it. "

"You shouldn't stand in a toy-cart, dear. I'll bring you some toys the nexttime I come to see mamma. "

They were out on the landing by this time. Clarissa disengaged herself fromthe little fellow, and went quickly down the darksome staircase. 

"Will that be soon?" the boy called over the banisters. 

"I do hope I shall be able to keep it, " said Bessie Lovel presently, as shestood in the window gloating over her locket; whereby it will be seenthat Austin's wife did not feel so secure as she might have done in thepossession of her treasure. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

"AND THROUGH THY LIFE HAVE I NOT WRIT MY NAME?"

Mid-Winter had come, and the pleasures and splendours of Paris were attheir apogee. The city was at its gayest--that beautiful city, which wecan never see again as we have seen it; which we lament, as some fair andradiant creature that has come to an untimely death. Paris the beautiful, Paris the beloved, imperial Paris, with her air of classic splendour, likethe mistress of a Caesar, was in these days overshadowed by no threateningthundercloud, forerunner of the tempest and earthquake to come. The winterseason had begun; and all those wanderers who had been basking throughthe autumn under the blue skies that roof the Pyrenees, or dawdling awayexistence in German gambling-saloons, or climbing Alpine peaks, or paddlingdown the Danube, flocked back to the central city of civilization in timeto assist at Patti's reappearance in the Rue Lepelletier, or to applaud anew play of Sardou's at the Gymnase. 

Amongst this flock of returning pilgrims came George Fairfax, very much theworse for two or three months spent in restless meanderings between Badenand Hombourg, with the consciousness of a large income at his disposal, anda certain reckless indifference as to which way his life drifted, that hadgrown upon him of late years. 

He met Mr. And Mrs. Granger within twenty-four hours of his arrival inParis, at a ball at the British embassy--the inaugural fête of the season, as it were, to which the master of Arden Court, by right of his wealth andweight in the North Riding, had been bidden. The ambassadorial card hadignored Miss Granger, much to the damsel's dissatisfaction. 

Clarissa came upon Mr. Fairfax unawares in the glazed colonnade upon whichthe ball-room opened, where he was standing alone, staring moodily at atall arum lily shooting up from a bed of ferns, when she approached onher partner's arm, taking the regulation promenade after a waltz. Thewell-remembered profile, which had grown sharper and sterner since she hadseen it for the first time, struck her with a sudden thrill, half pleasure, half terror. Yes; she was pleased to see him; she, the wife of DanielGranger, felt her heart beating faster, felt a sense of joy strangelymingled with fear. In all the occupations of her life, even amidst theall-absorbing delight of her child's society, she had not been able quiteto forget this man. The one voice that had touched her heart, the one facethat had haunted her girlish dream, came back to her again and again inspite of herself. In the dead of the night she had started up from herpillow with the sound of George Fairfax's familiar tones in her ears; intoo many a dream she had acted over again the meeting in the orchard, andheard his voice upbraiding her, and had seen his face dark and angry inthe dim light. She had done her duty to Daniel Granger; but she had notforgotten the man she had loved, and who had loved her after his fashion;and often in her prayers she had entreated that she might never see himagain. 

Her prayers had not been granted--perhaps they did not come so entirelyfrom the heart, as prayers should, that would fain bring a blessing. He washere; here to remind her how much she had loved him in the days gone by--tobewilder her brain with conflicting thoughts. He turned suddenly from thatgloomy contemplation of the arum lily, and met her face to face. 

That evening-dress of ours, which has been so liberally abused for itsugliness, is not without a certain charm when worn by a handsome man. A tall man looks taller in the perfect black. The broad expanse ofshirt-front, with its delicate embroidery, not obtrusively splendid, butminutely elaborate rather, involving the largest expenditure of needleworkto produce the smallest and vaguest effect--a suspicion of richness, as itwere, nothing more; the snowy cambric contrasts with the bronzed visageof the soldier, or blends harmoniously with the fair complexion of thefopling, who has never exposed his countenance to the rough winds ofheaven; the expanse of linen proclaims the breadth of chest, and gives afactitious slimness to the waist. Such a costume, relieved perhaps bythe flash of some single jewel, not large, but priceless, is scarcelyunbecoming, and possibly more aesthetic in its simplicity than thegem-besprinkled brocades and velvets of a Buckingham, in the days when menwore jewelled cloaks on their shoulders, and point d'Alençon flounces roundtheir knees. 

George Fairfax, in this evening dress, looked supremely handsome. It is apoor thing, of course, in man or woman, this beauty; but it has its charmnevertheless, and in the being who is loved for other and far higherqualities, the charm is tenfold. Few women perhaps have ever fallen in lovewith a man on account of his good looks; they leave such weak worship forthe stronger sex; but having loved him for some other indefinable reason, are not indifferent to the attraction of splendid eyes or a faultlessprofile. 

Clarissa trembled a little as she held out her hand to be clasped in GeorgeFairfax's strong fingers, the quiet pressure whereof seemed to say, "You_know_ that you and I are something more to each other than the worldsupposes. "

She could not meet him without betraying, by some faint sign, that therewas neither forgetfulness nor indifference in her mind as to the thingsthat concerned him. 

Her late partner--a youthful secretary of legation, with straw-colouredhair and an incipient moustache--murmured something civil, and slid away, leaving those two alone beside the arum lily, or as much alone as theycould be in a place, where the guests were circulating freely, andabout half-a-dozen flirtations ripening amidst the shining foliage oforange-trees and camellias. 

"I thought I should meet you here to-night, " he said. "I came here in thehope of meeting you. "

She was not an experienced woman of the world, skilled in the art ofwarding off such a speech as this. She had never flirted in her life, andsorely felt the want of that facility which comes from long practice. 

"Have you seen my husband?" she asked, awkwardly enough, in her distress. 

"I did not come to see Mr. Granger. It was the hope of seeing you thatbrought me here. I am as great a fool as I was at Hale Castle, you see, Clarissa. There are some follies of which a man cannot cure himself. "

"Mr. Fairfax!"

She looked up at him gravely, reproachfully, with as much anger as shecould bring herself to feel against him; but as their eyes met, somethingin his--a look that told too plainly of passion and daring--made hereyelids fall, and she stood before him trembling like a frightened child. And this moment was perhaps the turning-point in Clarissa's life--themoment in which she took the first step on the wrong road that was to leadher so far away from the sacred paths of innocence and peace. 

George Fairfax drew her hand through his arm--she had neither strength norresolution to oppose him--and led her away to the quietest corner of thecolonnade--a recess sheltered by orange-trees, and provided with a rusticbench. 

There is no need to record every word that was spoken there; it was the oldstory of a man's selfish guilty love, and a woman's sinful weakness. Hespoke, and Clarissa heard him, not willingly, but with faint efforts ofresistance that ended in nothing. She heard him. Never again could she meetDaniel Granger's honest gaze as she had done--never, it seemed to her, could she lose the sense of her sin. 

He told her how she had ruined his life. That was his chief reproach, and areproach that a woman can rarely hear unmoved. He painted in the briefestwords the picture of what he might have been, and what he was. If his lifewere wrecked utterly--and from his own account of himself it must needs beso, --the wreck was her fault. He had been ready to sacrifice everything forher. She had basely cheated him. His upbraiding stung her too keenly; shecould keep her secret no longer. 

"I had promised Laura Armstrong, " she said--"I had promised her that nopower on earth should tempt me to marry you--if you should ask me. "

"You had promised!" he cried contemptuously. "Promised that shallowtrickster! I might have known she had a hand in my misery. And you thoughta promise to her more sacred than good faith to me? That was hard, Clarissa. "

"It was hard, " she answered, in a heart-broken voice. 

"My God!" he cried, looking at her with those passionate eyes, "and yetyou loved me all the time?"

"With all my heart, " she faltered, and then hid her face in her hands. 

It seemed as if the confession had been wrung from her somehow. In the nextmoment she hated herself for having said the words, and calming herselfwith a great effort, said to him quietly. 

"And now that you know how weak I was, when I seemed indifferent to you, have pity upon me, Mr. Fairfax. "

"Pity!" he exclaimed. "It is not a question of pity; it is a question oftwo lives that have been blighted through your foolish submission to thatplotting woman. But there must be some recompense to be found in the futurefor all the tortures of the past. I have broken every tie for your sake, Clarissa; you must make some sacrifice for me. "

Clarissa looked at him wonderingly. Was he so mad as to suppose that shewas of the stuff that makes runaway wives?

"Your father tempted my mother, Mr. Fairfax, " she said, "but I thank Heavenshe escaped him. The role of seducer seems hereditary in your family. You could not make me break my word when I was free to marry you; do youbelieve that you can make me false to my husband?"

"Yes, Clarissa. I swore as much that night in the orchard--swore that Iwould win you, in spite of the world. "

"And my son, " she said, with the tone she might have used if he had beenone-and-twenty, "is he to blush for his mother by and by?"

"I have never found that sons have a faculty for blushing on account ofthat kind of thing, " Mr. Fairfax answered lightly. --"Egad, there'd be agreat deal of blushing going on at some of the crack clubs if they had!" hesaid to himself afterwards. 

Clarissa rose from the seat amongst the orange-trees, and George Fairfaxdid not attempt to detain her. 

He offered her his arm to conduct her back to the ball-room; they had beenquite long enough away. He did not want to attract attention; and he hadsaid as much as he cared to say. 

He felt very sure of his ground now. She loved him--that was theall-important point. His wounded self-esteem was solaced by this knowledge. His old sense of power came back to him. He had felt himself all at sea, asit were, when he believed it possible that any woman he cared to win couldbe indifferent to him. 

From the other side of the ball-room Mr. Granger saw his wife re-enterarm-in-arm with George Fairfax. The sight gave him a little shock. He hadhoped that young man was far enough away, ruining himself in a fashionablemanner somehow; and here he was in attendance upon Clarissa. He rememberedhow his daughter had said that George Fairfax was sure to meet them inParis, and his own anger at the suggestion. He would be obliged to be civilto the young man, of course. There was no reason indeed that he should beotherwise than civil--only that lurking terror in his mind, that this wasthe man his wife had loved. _Had_ loved? is there any past tense to thatverb?

Mrs. Granger dropped Mr. Fairfax's arm directly they came to a vacant seat. 

"I am rather tired, " she said, in her coldest voice. "I think I'll rest alittle, if you please. I needn't detain you. I daresay you are engaged forthe next dance. "

"No. I seldom dance. "

He stood by her side. One rapid glance across the room had shown him DanielGranger making his way towards them, looking unspeakably ponderous andBritish amidst that butterfly crowd. He did not mean to leave her justyet, in spite of her proprietor's approach. She belonged to him, he toldhimself, by right of that confession just now in the conservatory. It wasonly a question when he should take her to himself. He felt like some boldrover of the seas, who has just captured a gallant craft, and carries herproudly over the ocean chained to his gloomy hull. 

She was his, he told himself; but before he could carry her away from herpresent surroundings he must play the base part which he had once thoughthe never could play. He must be civil to Daniel Granger, mask hisbatteries, win his footing in the household, so that he might have easyaccess to the woman he loved, until one day the thunderbolt would descend, and an honest man be left desolate, "with his household gods shattered. " Itwas just one of those sins that will not bear contemplation. George Fairfaxwas fain to shut his eyes upon the horror and vileness of it, and only tosay to himself doggedly, "I have sworn to win her. "

Mr. Granger greeted him civilly enough presently, and with the stereotypedcordiality which may mean anything or nothing. Was Mr. Fairfax going toremain long in Paris? Yes, he meant to winter there, if nothing betterturned up. 

"After all, you see, " he said, "there is no place like Paris. One getstired of it, of course, in time; but I find that in other places one isalways tired. "

"A very pleasant ball, " remarked Mr. Granger, with the air of sayingsomething original. "You have been dancing, I suppose?"

"No, " replied Mr. Fairfax, smiling; "I have come into my property. I don'tdance. 'I range myself, ' as our friends here say. "

He thought, as he spoke, of sundry breakneck gallops and mahlstrom waltzesdanced in gardens and saloons, the very existence whereof was ignored by orunknown to respectability; and then thought, "If I were safely planted onthe other side of the world with _her_ for my wife, it would cost me nomore to cut all that kind of thing than it would to throw away a handful ofwithered flowers. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

STOLEN HOURS. 

Miss Granger's portrait was finished; and the baby picture--a chubbyblue-eyed cherub, at play on a bank of primroses, with a yellowhammerperched on a blossoming blackthorn above his head, and just a glimpse ofblue April sky beyond; a dainty little study of colour in which the painterhad surpassed himself--was making rapid progress, to the young mother'sintense delight. Very soon Mr. Austin would have no longer the privilegeof coming every other day to the Rue da Morny. Daniel Granger had declinedsitting for his portrait. 

"I did it once, " he said. "The Bradford people insisted upon making me apresent of my own likeness, life-size, with my brown cob, Peter Pindar, standing beside me. I was obliged to hang the picture in the hall atArden--those good fellows would have been wounded if I hadn't given it aprominent position; but that great shining brown cob plays the mischiefwith my finest Velasquez, a portrait of Don Carlos Baltazar, in white satinslashed with crimson. No; I like your easy, dashing style very much, Mr. Austin; but one portrait in a lifetime is quite enough for me. "

As the Granger family became more acclimatised, as it were, Clarissa foundherself with more time at her disposal. Sophia had attached herself toa little clique of English ladies, and had her own engagements and herseparate interests. Clarissa's friends were for the most part Frenchwomen, whom she had known in London, or to whom she had been introduced by LadyLaura. Mr. Granger had his own set, and spent his afternoons agreeablyenough, drinking soda water, reading _Galignani_, and talking commerce orpolitics with his compeers at the most respectable cafe on the Boulevards. Being free therefore to dispose of her afternoons, Clarissa, when Lovel'spicture was finished, went naturally to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. Havingonce taken her servants there, she had no farther scruples. "They willthink I come to see a dressmaker, " she said to herself. But in this she didnot give those domestic officers credit for the sharpness of their class. Before she had been three times to her brother's lodgings, John Thomas, the footman, had contrived--despite his utter ignorance of the Frenchtongue--to discover who were the occupants of No. 7, and had ascertainedthat Mr. Austin, the painter, was one of them. 

"Who'd have thought of her coming to see that chap Hostin?" said JohnThomas to the coachman. "That's a rum start, ain't it?"

"Life is made up of rum starts, John Thomas, " replied the coachmansententiously. "Is there a Mrs. Hostin, do you know?"

"Yes, he's got a wife. I found that out from the porter, though the blessedold buffer can't speak anything but his French gibberish. 'Madame?' I said, bawling into his stupid old ear. 'Mossoo and Madame Hostin? comprenny?' andhe says, 'Ya-ase, ' and then bursts out laughing, and looks as proud as ahen that's just laid a hegg--' Ya-ase, Mossoo et Madame. "

George Fairfax and Clarissa met very frequently after that ball at theEmbassy. It happened that they knew the same people; Mr. Fairfax, indeed, knew every one worth knowing in Paris; and he seemed to have grown suddenlyfond of respectable society, going everywhere in the hope of meeting Mrs. Granger, and rarely staying long anywhere, if he did not meet her. Therewere those who observed this peculiarity in his movements, and shruggedtheir shoulders significantly. It was to be expected, of course, said thisbutterfly section of humanity: a beautiful young woman, married to a manold enough to be her father, would naturally have some one interested inher. 

Sometimes Clarissa met George Fairfax in her brother's painting-room;so often, indeed, that she scarcely cared to keep an account of thesemeetings. Austin knew a good many clever agreeable Americans and Frenchmen, and his room was a pleasant lounge for idle young men, with some interestin art, and plenty to say upon every subject in the universe. If therewere strangers in the painting-room when Mrs. Granger came to the Ruedu Chevalier Bayard, she remained in the little salon, talking to hersister-in-law and the two precocious nephews; but it happened generallythat George Fairfax, by some mysterious means, became aware of herpresence, and one of the folding-doors would open presently, and the tallfigure appear. 

"Those fellows have fairly smoked me out, Mrs. Austin, " he would say. --"Ah, how do you do, Mrs. Granger? I hope you'll excuse any odour of Victoriasand Patagas I may bring with me. Your brother's Yankee friends smoke likeso many peripatetic furnaces. "

And then he would plant himself against a corner of the mantelpiece, andremain a fixture till Clarissa departed. It was half-an-hour's talk thatwas almost a tête-à-tête. Bessie Lovel counted for so little between thosetwo. Half-an-hour of dangerous happiness, which made all the rest of Mrs. Granger's life seem dull and colourless; the thought of which even camebetween her and her child. 

Sometimes she resolved that she would go no more to that shabby street onthe "Surrey side"; but the resolve was always broken. Either Austin hadasked her to come for some special reason, or the poor little wife hadbegged some favour of her, which required personal attention; there wasalways something. 

Those were pleasant afternoons, when the painting-room was empty ofstrangers, and Clarissa sat in a low chair by the fire, while GeorgeFairfax and her brother talked. Austin was never so brilliant as inGeorge's company; the two men suited each other, had lived in the sameworld, and loved the same things. They talked of all things in heaven andearth, touching lightly upon all, and with a careless kind of eloquencethat had an especial fascination for the listener. It seemed as if she hadscarcely lived in the dull interval between those charmed days at HaleCastle and these hours of perilous delight; as if she had been half-stifledby the atmosphere of common-sense which had pervaded her existence--crushedand borne down by the weight of Daniel Granger's sober companionship. _This_ was fairyland--a region of enchantment, fall of bright thoughts andpleasant fancies; _that_ a dismal level drill-ground, upon which all theworld marched in solid squares, to the monotonous cry of a serjeant-major'sword of command. One may ride through a world of weariness in abarouche-and-pair. Clarissa had not found her husband's wealth by anymeans a perennial source of happiness, nor even the possession of Arden anunfailing consolation. 

It was strange how this untidy painting-room of Austin's, with its tawdrydilapidated furniture--all of which had struck her with a sense ofshabbiness and dreariness at first--had grown to possess a charm for her. In the winter gloaming, when the low wood fire glowed redly on the hearth, and made a flickering light upon the walls, the room had a certainpicturesque aspect. The bulky Flemish cabinets, with their coarse floridcarving, stood boldly out from the background, with red gleams from thefire reflected on chubby cherub heads and mediaeval monsters. The fadedcurtains lost their look of poverty, and had only the sombre air of age; anold brass chandelier of the Louis Quatorze period, which Austin had hung inin the centre of his room, flashed and glittered in the uncertain, light;and those two figures--one leaning against the mantelpiece, the otherprowling restlessly to and fro as he talked, carrying a mahl-stick, whichhe waved ever and anon like the rod of a magician--completed the picture. It was a glimpse of the behind-the-scenes in the great world of art, a peepinto Bohemia; and O, how much brighter a region it seemed to Clarissa thanthat well-regulated world in which she dined every day at the same hour, with four solemn men watching the banquet, and wound up always with thegame dismal quarter of an hour's sitting in state at dessert!

Those stolen hours in Austin's painting-room had too keen a fascination forher. Again and again she told herself that she would come no more, and yetshe came. She was so secure of her own integrity, so fenced and defended bywomanly pride, that she argued with herself there could be neither sin nordanger in these happy respites from the commonplace dreariness of her life. And yet, so inconsistent is human nature, there were times when this womanflung herself upon the ground beside her baby's crib, and prayed God topardon her iniquities. 

Austin was much too careless to be conscious of his sister's danger. GeorgeFairfax had made an afternoon lounge of his rooms in the previous winter;it was no new thing for him to come there three or four times a week; andAustin did not for a moment suspect that Clarissa's occasional presence hadanything to do with these visits. 

When the three portraits were finished, Mr. Granger expressed himselfhighly content with them, and gave Austin Lovel a cheque for three hundredpounds; a sum which, in the painter's own words, ought to have set himupon his legs. Unhappily, Austin's legs, from a financial point of view, afforded only the most insecure basis--were always slipping away from him, in fact. Three hundred pounds in solid cash did not suffice for even hismost pressing needs. He saw nothing before him but the necessity of anignominious flight from Paris. It was only a question of when and where heshould fly; there was no question as to the fact. 

He did not care to tell Clarissa this, however. It would be time enoughwhen the thing was done, or just about to be done. All his life he had beenin the habit of shirking unpleasant subjects, and he meant to shirk this aslong as he could. He might have borrowed money of George Fairfax, no doubt;but unfortunately he was already in that gentleman's debt, for moneyborrowed during the previous winter; so he scarcely cared to make any newappeal in that quarter. 

So the unsubstantial Bohemian existence went on; and to Clarissa, forwhom this Bohemia was an utterly new world, it seemed the only life worthliving. Her brother had been pleased to discover the ripening of herartistic powers, and had given her some rough-and-ready lessons in the artshe loved so well. Sometimes, on a bright wintry morning, when Mr. Grangerwas engaged out of doors, she brought her portfolio to the Rue du ChevalierBayard, and painted there for an hour or so. At first this had been asecure hour for unreserved talk with her brother; but after she had beenthere two or three mornings in this way, Mr. Fairfax seemed mysteriouslyaware of her movements, and happened to drop in while she was taking herlesson. 

It is not to be supposed that Clarissa could be so much away from homewithout attracting the attention of Miss Granger. Whether that young ladywas at home or abroad, she contrived to keep herself always well informedas to the movements of her stepmother. She speculated, and wondered, andpuzzled herself a good deal about these frequent outings; and findingClarissa singularly reticent upon the subject, grew daily more curious andsuspicious; until at last she could endure the burden of this perplexity nolonger, without some relief in words, and was fain to take the judiciousWarman into her confidence. 

"Has Mrs. Granger been out again this afternoon, Warman?" she asked oneevening, when the handmaiden was dressing her hair for dinner. 

"Yes, miss. The carriage came home just now. I heard it Mrs. Granger wentout almost directly after you did. "

"I wonder she can care to waste so much time in calls, " said Sophia. 

"Yes, miss, it is odd; and almost always the same place too, as you maysay. But I suppose Mrs. Granger was intimate with Mr. And Mrs. Austinbefore her marriage. "

"Mr. And Mrs. Austin! What do you mean, Warman?"

"Lor', miss, I thought you would know where she went, as a matter ofcourse. It seems only natural you should. I've heard Jarvis mention it atsupper. Jarvis has his meals at _our_ table, you know, miss. 'We've beento the Rue du Cavalier Barnard again to-day, ' he says, 'which I supposeis French for Barnard's-inn. Missus and them Austins must be very thick. 'Jarvis has no manners, you know, miss; and that's just his uncultivated wayof speaking. But from what I've heard him remark, I'm sure Mrs. Grangergoes to call upon the Austins as much as three times a week, and seldomstops less than an hour. "

A deadly coldness had crept over Sophia Granger--a cold, blank feeling, which had never come upon her until that moment. He had a wife, then, thatdashing young painter with the brilliant brown eyes--the only man who hadever aroused the faintest interest in her well-regulated soul. He wasmarried, and any vague day-dream with which she had interwoven his imagewas the merest delusion and phantasmagoria. She was unspeakably angrywith herself for this unworthy weakness. A painter--a person paid by herfather--something less than a curate--if it was possible for any creatureto seem less than Mr. Tillott in Sophia's estimation. He was a marriedman--a base impostor, who had sailed under false colours--a very pirate. All those graceful airy compliments, those delicate attentions, whichhad exercised such a subtle influence over her narrow mind--had, indeed, awakened in her something that was almost sentiment--were worse thanmeaningless, were the wiles of an adventurer trading on her folly. 

"He wanted to paint papa's picture, " she thought, "and I suppose he fanciedmy influence might help him. "

But what of Clarissa's visits to the painter's lodgings? what possiblereason could she have for going there? Miss Granger's suspicions wereshapeless and intangible as yet, but she did suspect. More than once--manytimes, in fact--during the painting of the portrait, she had seen, or hadimagined she could see, signs and tokens of a closer intimacy betweenthe painter and her father's wife than was warranted by their ostensibleacquaintance. The circumstances were slight enough in themselves, but thesefragile links welded together made a chain which would have been goodenough evidence in a criminal court, skilfully handled by an Old Baileylawyer. Sophia Granger racked her brain to account for this suspectedintimacy. When and where had these two been friends, lovers perhaps? Mr. Austin had been away from England for many years, if his own statement wereto be believed. It must have been abroad, therefore, that Clarissa hadknown him--in her school-days. He had been drawing-master, perhaps, in theseminary at Belforêt. What more likely?

Miss Granger cherished the peculiar British idea of all foreign schools, that they were more or less sinks of iniquity. A flirtation betweendrawing-master and pupil would be a small thing in such a perniciousatmosphere. Even amidst the Arcadian innocence of native academies suchweeds have flourished This flirtation, springing up in foreign soil, wouldbe of course ten times more desperate, secret, jesuitical in fact, than anypurely English product. 

Yes, Miss Granger decided at the end of every silent debate in which sheargued this question with herself--yes, that was the word of the enigma. These two had been lovers in the days that were gone; and meeting again, both married, they were more than half lovers still. 

Clarissa made some excuse to see her old admirer frequently. She was takinglessons in painting, perhaps. Miss Granger observed that she painted morethan usual lately--merely for the sake of seeing him. 

And how about George Fairfax? Well, that flirtation, of course, was oflater date and a less serious affair. Jealousy--a new kind of jealousy, more bitter even than that which she had felt when Clarissa came betweenher and her father--sharpened Miss Granger's suspicions in this case. Shewas jealous even of that supposed flirtation at Belforêt, four or fiveyears ago. She was angry with Clarissa for having once possessed this man'sheart; ready to suspect her of any baseness in the past, any treason in thepresent. 

The Grangers were at Madame Caballero's two or three evenings after thisrevelation of Warman's, and Sophia had an opportunity of gleaning somescraps of information from the good-natured little lion-huntress. Madamehad been asking her if Mr. Austin's portraits had been a success. 

"Yes; papa thinks they are excellent, and talks about having them exhibitedin the salon. Mr. Austin is really very clever. Do you know, I was notaware that he was married, till the other day?" Sophia added, with acareless air. 

"Indeed! Yes, there is a wife, I understand; but she never goes intosociety; no one hears of her. For my part I think him charming. "

"Has he been long in Paris?"

Madame Caballero shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, " she said. "I haveonly known of his existence since he became famous--in a small way--a verysmall way, of course. He exhibited some military sketches, which attractedthe attention of a friend of mine, who talked to me about him. I said atonce, 'Bring him here. I can appreciate every order of genius, from AryScheffer to Gavarni. ' The young man came, and I was delighted with him. Iadmitted him among my intimates; and he insisted on painting the picturewhich your papa was good enough to admire. "

"Do you know how he lived before he came into notice--if he has ever been adrawing-master, for instance?"

"I know that he has given lessons. I have heard him complain of thedrudgery of teaching. "

This sustained Miss Granger's theory. It seemed so likely. No otherhypothesis presented itself to her mind. 

Day by day she watched and waited and speculated, hearing of all Clarissa'smovements from the obsequious Warman, who took care to question Mrs. Granger's coachman in the course of conversation, in a pleasant casualmanner, as to the places to which he had taken his mistress. She waited andmade no sign. There was treason going on. The climax and explosion wouldcome in good time. 

In the meanwhile, Clarissa seemed almost entirely free. Mr. Granger, afterliving for nearly fifty years of his life utterly unaffected by feminineinfluence, was not a man to hang upon his wife's footsteps or to hold herbound to his side. If she had returned his affection with equal measure, ifthat sympathy for which he sighed in secret could have arisen between them, he might have been as devoted a slave as love could make an honest man. Asit was, his married life at its best was a disappointment. Only in thefond hopes and airy visions which his son had inspired, did he find thehappiness he had dreamt of when he first tried to win Clarissa for hiswife. Here alone, in his love for his child, was there a pure and perfectjoy. All other dreams ended in bitter waking. His wife had never lovedhim, never would love him. She was grateful for his affection, obedient, submissive; her grace and beauty gave him a reflected lustre in society. She was a creature to be proud of, and he was proud of her; but she didnot love him. And with this thought there came always a sudden agony ofjealousy. If not him, what other had she loved? Whose image reigned in theheart so closely shut against him? Who was that man, the mere memory ofwhom was more to her than the whole sum of her husband's devotion?

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

"FROM CLARISSA. "

That jewel which Clarissa had given to Bessie Lovel was a treasure ofprice, the very possession whereof was almost an oppressive joy to the poorlittle woman, whose chief knowledge of life came from the experience of itsdebts and difficulties. That the massive gold locket with the diamond crosswould be required of her sooner or later, to be handed into the ruthlesspaw of a clerk at the _mont de piété_, she had little doubt. Everythingthat she or her husband had ever possessed worth possessing had sovanished--had been not an absolute property, but a brief fleeting joy, a kind of supernal visitant, vanishing anon into nothingness, or only apawnbroker's duplicate. The time would come. She showed the trinket to herhusband with a melancholy foreboding, and read his thoughts as he weighedit in his palm, by mere force of habit, speculating what it would fetch, ifin his desperate needs this waif might serve him. 

She was not surprised, therefore--only a little distressed--when Austinbroached the subject one day at his late breakfast--that breakfast at whichit needed nearly a bottle of claret to wash down three or four mouthfuls ofsavoury pie, or half a tiny cutlet. She had possessed the bauble more thana month, holding it in fear and trembling, and only astonished that it hadnot been demanded of her. 

"O, by the way, Bess, " Austin Lovel said carelessly, "I was abominablyunlucky last night, at Madame Caballero's. I'm generally lugged in for agame or two at _écarté there_, you know. One can't refuse in a house ofthat kind. And I had been doing wonders. They were betting on my game, andI stood to win something handsome, when the luck changed all in a moment. The fellow I was playing against marked the king three times running; and, in short, I rose a considerable loser--considerable for me, that is to say. I told my antagonist I should send him the money to-day. He's a kind of manI can't afford to trifle with; and you know the Caballero connection is oftoo much use to be jeopardised. So I've been thinking, Bess, that if you'dlet me have that gimcrack locket my sister gave you, I could raise a tenneron it. Clary can afford to give you plenty of such things, even if it werelost, which it need not be. "

Of course not. Mrs. Lovel had been told as much about the little Genevawatch which her husband had given her a few days after her marriage, andhad taken away from her six weeks later. But the watch had never come backto her. She gave a faint sigh of resignation. It was not within the compassof her mind to oppose him. 

"We shall never get on while you play cards, Austin, " she said sadly. 

"My dear Bessie, a man may win as well as lose. You see when I go intosociety there are certain things expected of me; and my only chance ofgetting on is by making myself agreeable to the people whose influence isworth having. "

"But I can't see that card-playing leads to your getting commissions forpictures, Austin, no more than horseracing nor billiards. It all seems toend the same--in your losing money. "

The painter pushed away his plate with an impatient gesture. He was takinghis breakfast in his painting-room, hours after the family meal, Bessiewaiting upon him, and cobbling some juvenile garment during the intervalsof her attendance. He pushed his plate aside, and got up to pace the roomin the restless way that was common to him on such occasions. 

"My dear child, if you don't want to give me the locket, say so, " he said, "but don't treat me to a sermon. You can keep it if you like, though Ican't conceive what use the thing can be to you. It's not a thing you canwear. "

"Not at home, dear, certainly; and I never go out, " the wife answered, withthe faintest touch of reproachfulness. "I am very fond of it, though, foryour sister's sake. It was so kind of her to bring it to me, and such a newthing for me to have a present. But you are welcome to it, Austin, if youreally want it. "

"If I really want it! Do you suppose I should be mean enough to ask you forit if I didn't? I shouldn't so much care about it, you see, only I am tomeet the man to-morrow evening at dinner, and I can't face him without themoney. So if you'll look the thing out some time to-day, Bess, I'll take itdown to the Quai between this and to-morrow afternoon, and get the businessover. "

Thus it was that George Fairfax, strolling into Mrs. Lovel's sitting-roomthat afternoon while Austin was out, happened to find her seated in apensive attitude, with an open work-box before her and Clarissa's locketin her hand. It was a shabby battered old box, but had been for years therepository of all Bessie's treasures. 

She had kept the locket there, looking at it very often, and wondering ifshe would ever be able to wear it--if Austin would take her to a theatre, for instance, or give a little dinner at home instead of abroad, for oncein a way, to some of the men whose society absorbed so much of his time. 

There was no hope of this now. Once gone from her hand; the treasure wouldreturn no more. She knew that very well and was indulging her grief by afarewell contemplation of the trinket, when Mr. Fairfax came into the room. 

The flash of the diamonds caught his quick eye. 

"What a pretty locket you've got there, Mrs. Austin!" he said, as he shookhands with her. "A new-year's gift from Austin, I suppose. "

"No, it was my sister-in-law, Mrs. Granger, who gave it me, " Bessieanswered, with a sigh. 

He was interested in it immediately, but was careful not to betray hisinterest. Mrs. Lovel put it into his hands. She was proud of it even inthis last hour of possession. "Perhaps you'd like to look at it, " she said. "It's got her 'air inside. "

Yes, there was a circlet of the dark brown hair he knew so well, and thetwo works, "From Clarissa. "

"Upon my word, it's very handsome, " he said, looking at the diamond crossoutside, but thinking of the love-lock within. "I never saw a locketI liked better. You are very fond of it, I daresay?" he addedinterrogatively. 

"O, yes, I like it very much! I can't bear to part with it. "

And here Bessie Lovel, not being gifted with the power of concealing heremotions, fairly broke down and cried like a child. 

"My dear Mrs. Austin, " exclaimed George Fairfax, "pray don't distressyourself like that. Part with it? Why should you part with your locket?"

"O, Mr. Fairfax, I oughtn't to have told you--Austin would be so angry ifhe knew--but he has been losing money at that horrid ecarty, and he sayshe must have ten pounds to-morrow; so my beautiful locket must go to thepawnbroker's. "

George Fairfax paused. His first impulse was to lend the poor little womanthe money--the veriest trifle, of course, to the lord of Lyvedon. But thenext moment another idea presented itself to him. He had the locket lyingin the open palm of his hand. It would be so sweet to possess that lock ofhair--to wear so dear a token of his mistress. Even those two words, "FromClarissa, " had a kind of magic for him. It was a foolish weakness, ofcourse; but then love is made up of such follies. 

"If you really mean to part with this, " he said, "I should be very glad tohave it. I would give you more than any pawnbroker--say, twenty instead often pounds, for instance--and a new locket for yourself into the bargain. Ishouldn't like to deprive you of an ornament you valued without some kindof compensation. I have taken a fancy to the design of the thing, andshould really like to have it. What do you say now, Mrs. Austin--shall thatbe a transaction between you and me, without any reference to your husband, who might be angry with you for having let me into domestic secrets? Youcan tell him you got the money from the _mont de piété_. Look here, now;let's settle the business at once. "

He opened his purse, and tumbled the contents out upon the table. BessieLovel thought what a blessed state of existence that must be in whichpeople walked this world with all that ready money about them. 

"There are just four-and-twenty pounds here, " he said cheerily; "so we'llsay four-and-twenty. "

He saw that she was yielding. 

"And would you really give me a locket for myself, " she said, almostincredulously, "as well as this money?"

"Unquestionably. As good a one as I can find in the Rue de la Paix. Thishas diamonds, and that shall have diamonds. It's the design, you see, " headded persuasively, "that has taken my fancy. "

"I'm sure you are very generous, " Bessie murmured, still hesitating. 

"Generous! Pshaw, not at all. It's a caprice; and I shall consider myselfunder an obligation to you if you gratify it. "

The temptation was irresistible. To obtain the money that wasrequired--more than double the sum her husband had wanted--and to haveanother locket as well! Never, surely, had there been such a bargain sincethe famous magician offered new lamps for old ones. Of course, it was onlyMr. Fairfax's delicate way of doing them a kindness; his fancy for thelocket was merely a benevolent pretence. What could he care for thatparticular trinket; he who might, so to speak, walk knee-deep in diamonds, if he pleased?

She took the twenty-four pounds--an English ten-pound note, and the rest innew glittering napoleons--and then began to speculate upon the possibilityof giving Austin twenty pounds, and appropriating the balance to her ownuses. The children wanted so many things--that perpetual want of thejuvenile population above all, shoe-leather; and might she not even screwsome cheap dress for herself out of the sum? while if it were all givento Austin, it would vanish, like smoke before the wind, leaving no tracebehind. 

So George Fairfax put the bauble in his waistcoat-pocket, and whateversentimental pleasure might be derived from such a talisman was his. Thereare those among our disciples of modern magic who believe there is a subtleanimal magnetism in such things; that the mere possession of such a tokenconstitutes a kind of spiritual link between two beings. Mr. Fairfax had nosuch fancy; but it pleased him to have obtained that which no prayers ofhis could have won from Clarissa herself. Not at present, that is to say. It would all come in good time. She loved him; secure of that one fact, hebelieved all the rest a mere question of patience and constancy. 

"And she is worth the winning, " he said to himself. "A man might serve fora longer slavery than Jacob's, and yet be rewarded by such a conquest. Ithink, by the way, that Rachel must have been just a trifle faded when thepatriarch was out of his time. "

He dawdled away an hour or so in Bessie's salon--telling the poor littlewoman the news of the day, and playing with the two boys, who regardedhim as a beneficent being, from whose hands flowed perpetual toys andsweetmeats. He waited as long as he could without making his motiveobvious; waited, in the hope that Clarissa would come; and then, as therewas no sign of her coming, and Austin was still out, he wished Bessiegood-bye. 

"I shan't forget the locket, " he said, as he departed. 

Austin came in five minutes afterwards. The boys had been scuttled off totake their evening meal in the kitchen--a darksome cupboard about eightfeet square--where the tawdry servant was perpetually stewing savourymesses upon a small charcoal stove. 

Bessie handed her husband the ten-pound note, and twelve bright napoleons. 

"Why, what's this?" he asked. 

"The--the money for the locket, Austin. I thought you might be late home;so I ran round to the Quai with it myself. And I asked for twenty pounds, and the man gave it to me. "

"Why, that's a brave girl!" cried Austin, kissing the pleading faceuplifted to his. "I don't believe they'd have given me as much. An Englishtenner, though; that's odd!" he added carelessly, and then slipped the cashloose into his pocket, with the air of a man for whom money is at best atemporary possession. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THAT IS WHAT LOVE MEANS. 

The Grangers and Mr. Fairfax went on meeting in society; and DanielGranger, with whom it was a kind of habit to ask men to dinner, couldhardly avoid inviting George Fairfax. It might have seemed invidious to doso; and for what reason should he make such a distinction? Even to himselfMr. Granger would not be willing to confess that he was jealous of thisman. So Mr. Fairfax came with others of his species to the gorgeouscaravanserai in the Rue de Morny, where the rooms never by any chancelooked as if people lived in them, but rather as if they were waiting-roomsat some railway station got up with temporary splendour for the receptionof royalty. 

He came; and though Clarissa sometimes made feeble efforts to avoid him, ithappened almost always, that before the evening was out he found some fewminutes for unreserved talk with her. There is little need to record suchbrief stolen interviews--a few hurried words by the piano, a sentenceor two in a lowered voice at parting. There was not much in the wordsperhaps--only very common words, that have done duty between thousands ofmen and women--a kind of signal code, as it were; and yet they had powerto poison Clarissa's life, to take the sweetness out of every joy, even amother's innocent idolatry of her child. 

The words were spoken; but so carefully did George Fairfax play his part, that not even Sophia's sharp eyes could perceive more than was correct inthe conduct of her stepmother. No, she told herself, that other flirtationwas the desperate one. Clarissa might have had some preference for GeorgeFairfax; there had been occasional indications of such a feeling in hermanner at Hale Castle; but the dark spot of her life, the secret of hergirlhood, was a love affair with Mr. Austin. 

By way of experiment, one day she asked her father's wife a question aboutthe painter. 

"You seemed to admire Mr. Austin very much, Clarissa, " she said, "and Iadmit that he is remarkably clever; but he appears such a waif and stray. In all his conversation with us he never threw much light upon his ownhistory. Do you know anything of his antecedents?"

Clarissa blushed in spite of herself. The deception she had sustained solong was unspeakably distasteful her. Again and again she had been temptedto hazard everything, and acknowledge Austin as her brother, whether heliked or not that she should do so. It was only his peremptory tone thathad kept her silent. 

"What should I know of his antecedents more than you, Sophy?" she said, avoiding a more direct reply. "It is quite enough for me to know that hehas undeniable genius. "

The blush, and a certain warmth in her tone, seemed to Sophia conclusiveevidence of her hidden regard for this man. Miss Granger's heart beat agood deal faster than usual, and little jealous sparkles shone in her coldgray eyes. She had never admired any man so much as she had admired thisbrilliant young painter. Many men had paid her compliments; as the rich Mr. Granger's sole daughter and heiress, she had been gratified with no meagreshare of mankind's worship; but no words ever spoken had sounded so sweetin her ears as those few civil speeches that Mr. Austin had found time toaddress to her during his visits to the Rue de Morny. And after havingtaken so much pleasure in his converse, and thought so much more about himthan she would have considered it proper for any model villager tothink about an individual of the opposite sex, it was a hard thing tofind--first, that the base impostor had a wife; and secondly, that whateverillegitimate worship he might have to render, was to be offered at theshrine of Clarissa. 

"Indeed!" she exclaimed, with an air of extreme surprise. "You seemed onsuch very friendly terms with him, that I fancied you must really haveknown each other before, and that you had some motive for concealing thefact from papa. "

Clarissa blushed a deeper crimson at this homethrust, and bent a littlelower over her drawing-board. It seemed a fortunate thing that she happenedto be painting when Miss Granger opened her guns upon her in this manner. 

"He gives lessons, I believe; does he not?" asked Sophia. 

"Yes--I--I believe--I have heard so. "

"Do you know, I took it into my head that he might have been yourdrawing-master at Belforêt. "

Clarissa laughed aloud at this suggestion. Miss Granger's persistentcuriosity amused her a little, dangerous as the ground was. 

"Oh dear no, he was not our master at Belforêt, " she said. "We had a littleold Swiss--such an ancient, ancient man--who took snuff continually, andwas always talking about his _pays natal_ and Jean Jacques Rousseau. Ithink he had known Rousseau; and I am sure he was old enough to rememberthe night they locked him out of Geneva. "

Sophia was fairly posed; she had been on a false scent evidently, and yetshe was sure there was something. That is how she shaped her doubts in herown mind--there was _something_. Warman thought so, she knew; and Warmanwas gifted with no ordinary amount of penetration. 

So Mrs. Granger went her way, with suspicion around and about her, anddanger ahead. Whatever peace had been hers in the brief period of hermarried life--and the quiet spring-time and summer that came after herbaby's birth had been very peaceful--had vanished now. A cloud of fearencompassed her; a constant melancholy possessed her; a pleading voice, which she ought never to have heard, was always in her ears--a voice thatcharged her with the burden of a broken life--a voice that told her it wasonly by some sacrifice of her own she could atone for the sacrifice thathad been made for her--a too persuasive voice, with a perilous charm in itsevery accent. 

She loved him. That she could ever be weak enough, or vile enough, to sinkinto that dread abyss, whereto some women have gone down for the love ofman, was not within the compass of her thought. But she knew that no day inher life was sinless now; that no pure and innocent joys were left to her;that her every thought of George Fairfax was a sin against her husband. 

And yet she went on loving him. Sometimes, when the dense of her guilt wasstrongest, she would fain have asked her husband to take her back to Arden;which must needs be a kind of sanctuary, as it were, she thought. Nay, hardly so; for even in that tranquil retreat Temple Fairfax had contrivedto pursue her mother, with the poison of his influence and his presence. Very often she felt inclined to ask her husband this favour; but she couldnot do so without running some risk of betraying herself--Heaven knows howmuch she might betray--unawares. Again, their sojourn in the Rue de Mornywas not to endure for ever. Already Mr. Granger had expressed himselfsomewhat tired of Paris; indeed, what denizen of that brilliant city doesnot become a little weary of its brightness, sooner or later, and fallsick of the Boulevard-fever--a harassing sense of all-pervading glare andconfusion, a sensation of Paris on the brain?

There was some talk of returning to Arden at the end of a month. They werenow at the close of January; by the first of March Mr. Granger hoped to beat the Court. His architect and his head-bailiff were alike eager for hisreturn; there were more pullings down and reconstructions required on thenew estate; there were all manner of recondite experiments to be triedin scientific farming: there were new leases to be granted, and expiringleases, the covenants whereof must be exacted. 

Since they were likely to leave Paris so soon, it would be foolish toexcite wonder by asking to leave sooner, Mrs. Granger thought. It matteredso little, after all, she told herself sometimes. It mattered this muchonly--that day by day her feet were straying farther from the right road. 

O those happy winter afternoons in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard! Suchinnocent happiness, too, in all seeming--only a little animated ramblingtalk upon all manner of subjects, from the loftiest problems in philosophyto the frothiest gossip of the Faubourg St. Honoré; only the presence oftwo people who loved each other to distraction. A dim firelit room; alittle commonplace woman coming in and out; two young men disputing in thedusk; and Clarissa in her low chair by the fire, listening to the magicalvoice that was now the only music of her dreams. If it could have gone onfor ever thus--a sweet sentimental friendship like that which linked MadameRoland and Brissot, Madame Recamier and Chateaubriand--there would surelyhave been no harm, Clarissa sometimes argued with herself. She was marriedto a man whom she could respect for many qualities of his heart and mind, against whom she could never seriously offend. Was it so great a sin if thefriendship of George Fairfax was dear to her? if the few happy hours of herlife were those she spent in his company? But such special pleading as thiswas the poorest sophistry; at heart she was conscious that it was so. Awoman has a double conscience, as it were--a holy of holies within thetemple of her mind, to which falsehood cannot enter. She may refuse to liftthe screen, and meet the truth face to face; but it is there--not to beextinguished--eternal, immutable; the divine lamp given for her guidance, if only she will not withdraw herself from its light. 

Just a little less than a month before his intended departure, Mr. Grangerhad a letter from that exacting bailiff, entreating his return. Somethingin the scientific farming had gone wrong, some great sewage question was atissue, and none but the lord of the soil himself could settle the matter. Very dear to Daniel Granger were those lands of Arden, that Arden-Courtestate which he had made to spread itself so far over the face of thecounty. Sweet are ancestral domains, no doubt; dear by association, madeholy by the pride of the race; but perhaps sweeter to the soul of man arethose acres he has won by the work of his own strong hand, or his ownsteadfast brain. Next to his wife and children, in Mr. Granger's regard, were the lands of Arden: the farms and homesteads, in valleys and onhill-tops; the cottages and school-houses, which he had built for theimprovement of his species; the bran-new slack-baked gothic church in anoutlying village, where the church had never been before his coming. 

He was very sorry to leave his wife; but the question at stake was animportant one. If he could have carried his household away with him at anhour's notice, he would gladly have done so; but to move Clarissa andthe nurse, and the baby, and Miss Granger, would be rather a formidablebusiness--in fact, not to be done without elaborate preparation. He had theapartments in the Rue du Morny on his hands, too, until the beginningof March; and even a millionaire seldom cares to waste such a rental asParisian proprietors exact for houseroom in a fashionable quarter. So hedecided upon going to Arden at once--which was essential--and returningdirectly he had adjusted matters with his bailiff, and done a morning'swork with his architect. 

He told Clarissa of his intention one evening when they had returned from adinner-party, and she was seated before her dressing-table, taking off herjewels in a slow, absent way. She looked up with a start as her husbandcame into the room, and planted himself on the white sheepskin rug, withhis back against the mantelpiece. 

"I am obliged to go back to Yorkshire, Clary, " he said. 

She thought he meant they were all going back--that it was an interpositionof Providence, and she was to be taken away from sin and danger. But O, howhard it seemed to go--never again to look forward to those stolen twilightsin her brother's painting-room!

"I am glad!" she exclaimed. "I shall be very glad to go back to Arden. "

"You, my dear!" said her husband; "it is only I who am going. There is somehitch in our experiments on the home farm, and Forley knows how anxious Iam about making a success this year. So he wants me to run over and seeto things; he won't accept the responsibility of carrying on any longerwithout me. I needn't be away above two or three days, or a week at most. You can get on very well without me. "

Clarissa was silent, looking down at a bracelet which she was turning idlyround her arm. Get on without him! Alas, what part had Daniel Grangerplayed in her life of late beyond that of some supernumerary king in astage-play?--a person of importance by rank and title in the play-bill, butof scarcely any significance to the story. Her guilty heart told her howlittle he had ever been to her; how, day by day, he had been growing lessand less. And while he was away, she might go to the Rue du ChevalierBayard every day. There would be nothing to prevent her so doing if shepleased. The carriage was nominally and actually hers. There was a broughamat Miss Granger's disposal; but the landau was essentially Clarissa'scarriage. 

"You can get on very well without me, " repeated Mr. Granger. "I do notthink my presence or absence makes very much difference to you, Clarissa, "he added, in a grave displeased tone. 

It was almost his first hint of a reproach. To his wife's guilty heart itstruck sharply home, like an unexpected blow. She looked up at him with apale conscience-stricken face, in which he might have read much morethan he did read there. He only thought that he had spoken a shade tooseverely--that he had wounded her. 

"I--I don't know what you mean by that, " she faltered helplessly, "I alwaystry to please you. "

"Try to please me!" he repeated passionately. "Yes, Clary, as a child triesto please a schoolmaster. Do you know, that when I married you I was madenough to hope the day would come when you would love me--that you loved mea little even then? Do you know how I have waited for that day, and havelearned to understand, little by little, that it never can dawn for meupon this earth? You are my wife, and the mother of my child; and yet, God knows, you are no nearer to me than the day I first saw you at HaleCastle--a slim, girlish figure in a white dress, coming in at the door ofthe library. Not a whit nearer, " he went on, to himself rather than toClarissa; "but so much more dear. "

There was a passion in his words which touched his wife. If it had onlybeen possible for her to love him! If gratitude and respect, joinedtogether, could have made up the sum of love; but they could not. She knewthat George Fairfax was in all moral qualities this man's inferior; yet, for some indefinable charm, some trick of tone or manner, some curiousmagic in a smile or a glance, she loved him. 

She was silent. Perhaps the sense of her guilt came more fully home to herin this moment than it had ever done before. What words could she speak tobring comfort to her husband's soul--she whose whole life was a lie?

Daniel Granger wandered up and down the room for some minutes in a vaguerestless way, and then came to his wife's chair, and looked down at hervery tenderly. 

"My dear, I do wrong to worry you with reproaches, " he said. "The mistakehas been mine. From first to last, I have been to blame. I suppose in thewisest life there must always be some folly. Mine has been the hope that Icould win your love. It has gone now, Clarissa; it is quite gone. Not evenmy child has given me a place in your heart. "

She looked up at him again, with that look which expressed such a depth ofremorse. 

"I am very wicked, " she said, "I am utterly unworthy of all you have donefor me. It would have been better for you never to have seen my face. "

"Wicked! no, Clary. Your only sin has been to have disappointed a foolishfancy. What right had I to suppose you loved me? Better never to have seenyour face?--yes, perhaps that might have been better. But, once having seenyou, I would rather be wretched with you than happy with any other woman inthe world. That is what love means, Clary. "

He stooped down to kiss her. 

"Say no more, dear, " he said, "I never meant to speak as I have spokento-night. I love you for ever. "

The day came when she remembered those words, "I love you for ever. "

If she could have thrown herself upon his breast and acknowledged all herweakness, beseeching him to shield her from herself in obedience to theimpulse of that moment, what a world of anguish might have been spared tothese two! But she let the impulse pass, and kept silence. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XL. 

LYING IN WAIT. 

Mr. Granger went back to Yorkshire; and Clarissa's days were at her owndisposal. They were to leave Paris at the beginning of March. She knew itwas only for a very short time that she would be able to see her brother. It was scarcely natural, therefore, that she should neglect such anopportunity as this. There was so much in Austin's life that caused heruneasiness; he seemed in such sore need of wiser counsel than his poorempty-headed little wife could give him; and Clarissa believed that she hadsome influence with him: that if he would be governed by the advice of anycreature upon earth, that counsellor was herself. 

So she spent her mornings in baby-worship, and went every afternoon to theRue du Chevalier Bayard, where it happened curiously that Mr. Fairfax cameeven oftener than usual just at this time. In the evening she stayed athome--not caring to keep her engagements in society without her husband'sescort--and resigned herself to the edifying companionship of Miss Granger, who was eloquent upon the benighted condition of the Parisian poor ascompared with her model villagers. She described them sententiously as apeople who put garlic in everything they ate, and never read their Bibles. 

"One woman showed me a book with little pictures of saints printed uponpaper with lace edges, " said Sophia, "as if there were any edification tobe derived from lace edges; and such a heathen book too--Latin on one sideand French on the other. And there the poor forsaken creatures sit in theirchurches, looking at stray pictures and hearing a service in an unknowntongue. "

Daniel Granger had been away nearly a week; and as yet there was noannouncement of his return; only brief business-like letters, tellingClarissa that the drainage question was a complicated one, and he shouldremain upon the spot till he and Forley could see their way out of thedifficulty. He had been away nearly a week, when George Fairfax went to theRue du Chevalier Bayard at the usual hour, expecting to find Austin Lovelstanding before his easel with a cigar in his mouth, and Clarissa sittingin the low chair by the fire, in the attitude he knew so well, with the redglow of the embers lighting up gleams of colour in her dark velvet dress, and shining on the soft brown hair crowned with a coquettish littleseal-skin hat--a _toque_, as they called it on that side of the Channel. 

What was his astonishment to find a pile of trunks and portmanteaus on thelanding, Austin's easel roughly packed for removal, and a heap of thatmiscellaneous lumber without which even poverty cannot shift its dwelling!The door was open; and Mr. Fairfax walked straight into the sitting-room, where the two boys were eating some extemporised meal at a side-table undertheir mother's supervision; while Austin lounged with his back againstthe chimney-piece, smoking. He was a man who would have smoked during theculminating convulsions of an earthquake. 

"Why, Austin, what the--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Austin--what _does_ thismean?"

"It means Brussels by the three-fifteen train, my dear Fairfax, that'sall. "

"Brussels? With those children and that luggage? What, in Heaven's name, induces you to carry your family off like this, at an hour's notice?"

"It is not an hour's notice; they've had an hour and three-quarters. As tomy reasons for this abrupt hegira--well, that involves rather a long story;and I haven't time to tell it to-day. One thing is pretty clear--I can'tlive in Paris. Perhaps I may be able to live in Brussels. I can't very welldo worse than I've done here--that's _one_ comfort. "

At this Bessie Lovel began to cry--in a suppressed kind of way, like awoman who is accustomed to cry and not to be taken much notice of. GeorgeFairfax flung himself into a chair with an impatient gesture. He was atonce sorry for this man and angry with him; vexed to see any man go to ruinwith such an utter recklessness, with such a deliberate casting away ofevery chance that might have redeemed him. 

"You have got into some scrape, I suppose, " he said presently. 

"Got into a scrape!" cried Austin with a laugh, tossing away the end of onecigar and preparing to light another. "My normal condition is that of beingin a scrape. Egad! I fancy I must have been born so. --For God's sake don'twhimper, Bessie, if you want to catch the three-fifteen train! _I_ go bythat, remember, whoever stays behind. --There's no occasion to enter intoexplanations, Fairfax. If you could help me I'd ask you to do it, inspite of former obligations; but you can't. I have got into adifficulty--pecuniary, of course; and as the law of liability in this cityhappens to be a trifle more stringent than our amiable British code, I haveno alternative but to bid good-bye to the towers of Notre Dame. I love thedear, disreputable city, with her lights and laughter, and music and mirth;but she loves not me. --When those boys have done gorging themselves, Bessie, you had better put on your bonnet. "

"His wife cast an appealing glance at George Fairfax, as if she felt shehad a friend in him who would sustain her in any argument with her husband. Her face was very sad, and bore the traces of many tears. 

"If you would only tell me why we are going, Austin, " she pleaded, "I couldbear it so much better. "

"Nonsense, child! Would anything I could tell you alter the fact that weare going? Pshaw, Bessie! why make a fuss about trifles? The packing isover: that was the grand difficulty, I thought. I told you we could managethat. "

"It seems so hard--running away like criminals. "

Austin Lovel's countenance darkened a little. 

"I can go alone, " he said. 

"No, no, " cried the wife piteously: "I'll go with you. I don't want to vexyou, Austin. Haven't I shared everything with you--everything? I would gowith you if it was to prison--if it was to death. You know that. "

"I know that we shall lose the three-fifteen train if you don't put on yourbonnet. "

"Very well, Austin; I'm going. And Clarissa--what will she think of us? I'mso sorry to leave her. "

"O, by the way, George, " said Austin, "you might manage that business forme. My sister was to be here at five o'clock this afternoon. I've writtenher a letter telling her of the change in my plans. She was in some measureprepared for my leaving Paris; but not quite so suddenly as this. I wasgoing to send the letter by a commissionnaire; but if you don't mind takingit to the Rue de Morny, I'd rather trust it to you. I don't want Clary tocome here and find empty rooms. "

He took a sealed letter from the mantelpiece and handed it to GeorgeFairfax, who received it with somewhat of a dreamy air, as of a man whodoes not quite understand the mission that is intrusted to him. It was asimple business enough, too--only the delivery of a letter. 

Mrs. Lovel came out of the adjoining room dressed for the journey, andcarrying a collection of wraps for the children. It was wonderful to beholdwhat comforters, and scarves, and gaiters, and muffetees those juvenileindividuals required for their equipment. 

"Such a long cold journey!" the anxious mother exclaimed, and went onwinding up the two children in woollen stuffs, as if they had beenroyal mummies. She pushes little papers of sandwiches into theirpockets--sandwiches that would hardly be improved by the squeezing andsitting upon they must need undergo in the transit. 

When this was done, and the children ready, she looked into thepainting-room with a melancholy air. 

"Think of all the furniture, Austin, " she exclaimed; "the cabinets andthings!"

"Yes; there's a considerable amount of money wasted there Bess; for I don'tsuppose we shall ever see the things again, but there's a good many of themnot paid for. There's comfort in that reflection. "

"You take everything go lightly, " she said with a hopeless sigh. 

"There's nothing between that and the Morgue, my dear. You'd scarcely liketo see me framed and glazed _there_, I think. "

"O, Austin!"

"Precisely. So let me take things lightly, while I can. Now, Bess, the timeis up. Good-bye, George. "

"I'll come downstairs with you, " said Mr. Fairfax, still in a somewhatdreamy state. He had put Austin's letter into his pocket, and was standingat a window looking down into the street, which had about as much lifeor traffic for a man to stare at as some of the lateral streets in theBloomsbury district--Caroline-place, for instance, or Keppel-street. 

There was a great struggling and bumping of porters and coachman on thestairs, with a good deal more exclamation than would have proceeded fromstalwart Englishmen under the same circumstances; and then Austin went downto the coach with his wife and children, followed by George Fairfax. Thepainter happened not to be in debt to his landlord--a gentleman who gavehis tenants small grace at any time; so there was no difficulty about thedeparture. 

"I'll write to Monsieur Meriste about my furniture, " he said to theguardian of the big dreary mansion. "You may as well come to the stationwith us, George, " he added, looking at Mr. Fairfax, who stood irresolute onthe pavement, while Bessie and the boys were being packed into the vehicle, the roof of which was laden with portmanteaus and the painter's "plant. "

"Well--no; I think not. There's this letter to be delivered, you see. I hadbetter do that at once. "

"True; Clarissa might come. She said five o'clock, though; but it doesn'tmatter. Good-bye, old fellow. I hope some of these days I may be able tomake things square with you. Good-bye, Tell Clary I shall write to her fromBrussels, under cover to the maid as usual. "

He called out to the coachman to go on; and the carriage drove off, staggering under its load. George Fairfax stood watching it till it was outof sight, and then turned to the porter. 

"Those rooms up-stairs will be to let, I suppose?" he said. 

"But certainly, monsieur. "

"I have some thoughts of taking them for--for a friend. I'll just takeanother look round them now they're empty. And perhaps you wouldn't mind mywriting a letter up-stairs--eh?"

He slipped a napoleon into the man's hand--by no means the first that hehad given him. New-Year's day was not far past; and the porter rememberedthat Mr. Fairfax had tipped him more liberally than some of the lodgers inthe house. If monsieur had a legion of letters to write, he was at libertyto write them. The rooms up yonder were entirely at his disposal; theporter laid them at his feet, as it were. He might have occupied themrent-free for the remainder of his existence, it would have been supposedfrom the man's manner. 

"If madame, the sister of Monsieur Austin, should come by-and-by, you willpermit her to ascend, " said Mr. Fairfax. "I have a message for her from herbrother. "

"Assuredly, monsieur. "

The porter retired into his den to meditate upon his good fortune. It wasa rendezvous, of course, cunningly arranged on the day of the painter'sdeparture. It seemed to him like a leaf out of one of those flabby novelson large paper, with a muddy wood-cut on every sixteenth page, which hethumbed and pored over now and then of an evening. 

George Fairfax went up-stairs. How supremely dismal the rooms looked intheir emptiness, with the litter of packing lying about!--old boots andshoes in one corner; a broken parasol in another; battered fragments oftoys everywhere; empty colour-tubes; old newspapers and magazines; aregiment of empty oil-flasks and wine-bottles in the den of a kitchen--intowhich Mr. Fairfax peered curiously, out of very weariness. It was onlyhalf-past three; and there was little hope of Clarissa's arrival untilfive. He meant to meet her there. In the moment that Austin put the letterin his hand some such notion flashed into his mind. He had never intendedto deliver the letter. How long he had waited for this chance--to see heralone, free from all fear of interruption, and to be able to tell his storyand plead his cause, as he felt that he could plead!

He walked up and down the empty painting-room, thinking of her coming, meditating what he should say, acting the scene over in his brain. He hadlittle fear as to the issue. Secure as she seemed in the panoply of herwoman's pride, he knew his power, and fancied that it needed only time andopportunity to win her. This was not the first time he had counted hischances and arranged his plan of action. In the hour he first heard of hermarriage he had resolved to win her. Outraged love transformed itself intoa passion that was something akin to revenge. He scarcely cared how lowhe might bring her, so long as he won her for his own. He did not stop toconsider whether hers was a mind which could endure dishonour. He knew thatshe loved him, and that her married life had been made unhappy because ofthis fatal love. 

"I will open the doors of her prison-house, " he said to himself, "poorfettered soul! She shall leave that dreary conventional life, with itsforms and ceremonies of pleasure; and we will wander all over the earthtogether, only to linger wherever this world is brightest. What can shelose by the exchange? Not wealth. For the command of all that makes lifedelightful, I am as rich a man as Daniel Granger, and anything beyondthat is a barren surplus. Not position; for what position has she as Mrs. Granger? I will take her away from all the people who ever knew her, andguard her jealously from the hazard of shame. There will only be a coupleof years in her life which she will have to blot out--only a leaf torn outof her history. "

And the child? the blue-eyed boy that George Fairfax had stopped to kiss inArden Park that day? It is one thing to contemplate stealing a wife fromher husband--with George Fairfax's class there is a natural antipathy tohusbands, which makes that seem a fair warfare, like fox-hunting--but it isanother to rob a child of its mother. Mr. Fairfax's meditations came to astandstill at this point--the boy blocked the line. 

There was only one thing to be done; put on the steam, and run down theobstacle, as Isambard Brunel did in the Box-tunnel, when he saw a strayluggage-truck between him and the light. 

"Let her bring the boy with her, and he shall be my son, " he thought. 

Daniel Granger would go in for a divorce, of course. Mr. Fairfax thought ofeverything in that hour and a half of solitary reflection. He would try fora divorce, and there would be no end of scandal--leading articles in someof the papers, no doubt, upon the immorality of the upper middle classes; afull-flavoured essay in the Saturday, proving that Englishwomen were in thehabit of running away from their husbands. But she should be far away fromthe bruit of that scandal. He would make it the business of his life toshield her from the lightest breath of insult. It could be done. There werenew worlds, in which men and women could begin a fresh existence, under newnames; and if by chance any denizen of the old world should cross theirpath untimely--well, such unwelcome wanderers are generally open tonegotiation. There is a good deal of charity for such offenders among thetravelled classes, especially when the chief sinner is lord of such anestate as Lyvedon. 

Yet, varnish the picture how one will, dress up the story with what flowersof fancy one may, it is at best but a patched and broken business. Thevarnish brings out dark spots in the picture; the flowers have a fadedmeretricious look, not the bloom and dew of the garden; no sophistrycan overcome the inherent ugliness of the thing--an honest man's namedishonoured; two culprits planning a future life, to be spent in hidingfrom the more respectable portion of their species; two outcasts, tryingto make believe that the wildernesses beyond Eden are fairer than thatparadise itself. 

His mother--what would she feel when she came to know what he had donewith his life? It would be a disappointment to her, of course; a grief, nodoubt; but she would have Lyvedon. He had gone too far to be influencedby any consideration of that kind; he had gone so far that life withoutClarissa seemed to him unendurable. He paced the room, contemplating thiscrisis of his existence from every point of view, till the gray winter skygrew darker, and the time of Clarissa's coming drew very near. There hadbeen some logs smouldering on the hearth when he came, and these he hadreplenished from time to time. The glow of the fire was the only thing thatrelieved the dreariness of the room. 

Nothing could be more fortunate, he fancied, than the accident which hadbrought about this meeting. Daniel Granger was away. The flight, which wasto be the preface of Clarissa's new existence, could not take place toosoon; no time need be wasted on preparations, which could only serveto betray. Her consent once gained, he had only to put her into ahackney-coach and drive to the Marseilles station. Why should they notstart that very night? There was a train that left Paris at seven, he knew;in three days they might be on the shores of the Adriatic. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLI. 

MR. GRANGER'S WELCOME HOME. 

Clarissa left the Rue de Morny at three o'clock that day. She had a roundof calls to make, and for that reason had postponed her visit to herbrother's painting-room to a later hour than usual. The solemn dinner, which she shared with Miss Granger in stately solitude, took place athalf-past seven, until which hour she considered her time at her owndisposal. 

Sophia spent that particular afternoon at home, illuminating the new gothictexts for her schoolrooms at Arden. She had been seated at her work aboutan hour after Clarissa's departure, when the door opened behind her, andher father walked into the room. 

There had been no word of his return in his latest letter; he had only saidgenerally in a previous epistle, that he should come back directly thebusiness that had called him to Yorkshire was settled. 

"Good gracious me, papa, how you startled me!" cried Miss Granger, dabbingat a spot of ultramarine which had fallen upon her work. It was not a verywarm welcome; but when she had made the best she could of that unlucky bluespot, she laid down her brush and came over to her father, to whom sheoffered a rather chilly kiss. "You must be very tired, papa, " she remarked, with striking originality. 

"Well, no; not exactly tired. We had a very fair passage; but the journeyfrom Calais is tedious. It seems as if Calais oughtn't to be any fartherfrom Paris than Dover is from London. There's something lop-sided in it. Iread the papers all the way. Where's Clarry?"

"Clarissa has gone to pay some visits. "

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"I rarely do go with her, papa. Our sets are quite different; and I haveother duties. "

"Duties, pshaw! Messing with those paint-brushes; you don't call that duty, I hope? You had much better have gone out with your stepmother. "

"I was not wanted, papa. Mrs. Granger has engagements which do not in theleast concern me. I should only be in the way. "

"What do you mean by that, Sophia?" asked her father sternly. "And what doyou mean by calling my wife Mrs. Granger?"

"There are some people so uncongenial to each other, papa, that anypretence of friendship can be only the vilest hypocrisy, " replied Sophia, turning very pale, and looking her father full in the face, like a personprepared to do battle. 

"I am very sorry to hear this, Sophia, " said Mr. Granger. "for if this isreally the case, it will be necessary for you to seek some other home. Iwill have no one in my house who cannot value my wife. "

"You would turn me out of doors, papa?"

"I should certainly endeavour to provide you with a morecongenial--congenial, that was the word you used, I think--more congenialhome. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Sophia. "Then I suppose you quite approve of all mystepmother's conduct--of her frequent, almost daily visits to such a personas Mr. Austin?"

"Clarissa's visits to Austin! What, in heaven's name, do you mean?"

"What, papa! is it possible you are ignorant of the fact? I thought that, though my stepmother never talked to _me_ of her visits to the Rue duChevalier Bayard, you of course knew all about them. Though I hardlysupposed you would encourage such an intimacy. "

"Encourage such an intimacy! You must be dreaming, girl. My wife visit aportrait-painter--a single man?"

"He is not a single man, papa. There is a wife, I understand; though henever mentioned her to us. And Clarissa visits them almost every day. "

"I don't believe it. What motive could she have for cultivating suchpeople?"

"I can't imagine--except that she is fond of that kind of society, and ofpainting. She may have gone to take lessons of Mr. Austin. He teaches, Iknow. "

Daniel Granger was silent. It was not impossible; and it would have been nocrime on his wife's part, of course. But the idea that Clarissa could havedone such a thing without his knowledge and approval, offended him beyondmeasure. He could hardly realize the possibility of such an act. 

"There is some misapprehension on your part, Sophia, I am convinced, " hesaid. "If Clarissa had wished to take drawing lessons from Austin, shewould have told me so. "

"There is no possibility of a mistake on my part, papa. I am not in thehabit of making statements which I cannot support. "

"Who told you of these visits? Clarissa herself?"

"O dear, no; Clarissa is not in the habit of telling me her affairs. Iheard it from Warman; not in reply to any questioning of mine, I can assureyou. But the thing has been so frequent, that the servants have begunto talk about it. Of course, I always make a point of discouraging anyspeculations upon my stepmother's conduct. "

The servants had begun to talk; his wife's intimacy with people of whom heknew scarcely anything had been going on so long as to provoke the gossipof the household; and he had heard nothing of it until this moment! Thethought stung him to the quick. That domestic slander should have been busywith her name already; that she should have lived her own life so entirelywithout reference to him! Both thoughts were alike bitter. Yet it was nonew thing for him to know that she did not love him. 

He looked at his watch meditatively. 

"Has she gone there this afternoon, do you think?" he asked. 

"I think it is excessively probable. Warman tells me she has been thereevery afternoon during your absence. "

"She must have taken a strange fancy to these people. Austin's wife is someold schoolfellow of Clary's perhaps. "

Miss Granger shook her head doubtfully. 

"I should hardly think that, " she said. 

"There must be some reason--something that we cannot understand. She mayhave some delicacy about talking to me of these people; there may besomething in their circumstances to--"

"Yes, " said Miss Granger, "there is _something_, no doubt. I have beenassured of that from the first. "

"What did you say the address was?"

"The Rue du Chevalier Bayard, Number 7. "

Mr. Granger left the room without another word. He was not a man toremain long in doubt upon any question that could be solved by promptinvestigation. He went out into the hall, where a footman sat reading_Galignani_ in the lamplight. 

"Has Mrs. Granger's carriage come back, Saunders?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir; the carriage has been back a quarter of an hour. I were out withmy mistress. "

"Where is Mrs. Granger? In her own rooms?"

"No, sir; Mrs. Granger didn't come home in the carriage. We drove her tothe Shangs Elysy first, sir, and afterwards to the Rue du Cavalier Baynard;and Mr. Fairfax, he came down and told me my mistress wouldn't want thecarriage to take her home. "

"Mr. Fairfax--in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard!"

"Yes, sir; he's an intimate friend of Mr. Hostin's, I believe. Leastways, we've seen him there very often. "

George Fairfax! George Fairfax a frequent guest of those people whomshe visited! That slumbering demon, which had been sheltered in DanielGranger's breast so long, arose rampant at the sound of this name. GeorgeFairfax, the man he suspected in the past; the man whom he had done hisbest to keep out of his wife's pathway in the present, but who, by somefatality, was not be avoided. Had Clarissa cultivated an intimacy with thisBohemian painter and his wife only for the sake of meeting George Fairfaxwithout her husband's knowledge? To suppose this was to imagine a depth ofdepravity in the heart of the woman he loved. And he had believed her sopure, so noble a creature. The blow was heavy. He stood looking at hisservant for a moment or so, paralysed; but except that one blank gaze, hegave no sign of his emotion. He only took up his hat, and went quietly out. "His looks was orful!" the man said afterwards in the servants' hall. 

Sophia came out of the drawing-room to look for her father, just a littledisturbed by the thought of what she had done. She had gone too far, perhaps. There had been something in her father's look when he asked herfor that address that had alarmed her. He was gone; gone _there_, no doubt, to discover his wife's motives for those strange visits. Miss Granger'sheart was not often fluttered as it was this evening. She could not "settleto anything, " as she said herself, but wandered up into the nursery, andstood by the dainty little cot, staring absently at her baby brother as heslept. 

"If anything should happen, " she thought--and that event which she vaguelyforeshadowed was one that would leave the child motherless--"I should makeit _my_ duty to superintend his rearing. No one should have power to saythat I was jealous of the brother who has robbed me of my heritage. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLII. 

CAUGHT IN A TRAP. 

It was dusk when Clarissa's carriage drove into the Rue du ChevalierBayard--the dull gray gloaming of February--and the great bell of NotreDame was booming five. She had been paying visits of duty, talkingbanalities in fashionable drawing-rooms, and she was weary. She seemed tobreathe a new life as she approached her brother's dwelling. Here therewould be the free reckless utterance of minds that harmonised, of soulsthat sympathised:--instead of stereotyped little scraps of gossip about thegreat world, or arid discussion of new plays and famous opera-singers. 

She did not stop to ask any questions of the complacent porter. It was nother habit to do so. She had never yet failed to find Austin, or Austin'swife, at home at this hour. She went swiftly up the darksome staircase, where never a lamp was lighted to illumine the stranger, only an occasionalcandle thrust out of a doorway by some friendly hand. In the dusk of thisparticular evening there was not so much as a glimmer. 

The outer door was ajar--not such an uncommon thing as to occasion anysurprise to Clarissa. She pushed it open and went in, across a dingy lobbysome four feet square, on which abutted the kitchen, and into the salon. This was dark and empty; but one of the folding-doors leading into thepainting-room was open, and she saw the warm glow of the fire shining onthe old Flemish cabinets and the brazen chandelier. That glow of firelighthad a comfortable look after the desolation and darkness of the salon. 

She went into the painting-room. There was a tall figure standing by one ofthe windows, looming gigantic through the dusk--a figure she knew verywell, but not Austin's. She looked quickly round the room, expecting to seeher brother lounging by the chimney-piece, or wandering about somewhere inhis desultory way; but there was no one else, only that tall figure by thewindow. 

The silence and emptiness of the place, and _his_ presence, startled her alittle. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Fairfax, " she said. "Isn't Austin here?"

"Not at this moment. How do you do, Mrs. Granger?" and they shook hands. So commonplace a meeting might almost have disappointed the sentimentalporter. 

"And Bessie?" Clarissa asked. 

"She too is out of the way for the moment, " replied George Fairfax, glancing out of the window. "You came in your carriage, I suppose, Mrs. Granger? If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll just ran and see if--ifAustin has come in again. "

He went quickly out of the room and downstairs, not to look for AustinLovel, who was on his way to Brussels by this time, but to tell Mrs. Granger's coachman she had no farther use for the carriage, and would notbe home to dinner. The man looked a little surprised at this order, but Mr. Fairfax's tone was too peremptory to be unauthorised; so he drove homewardwithout hesitation. 

Clarissa was seated in her favourite easy-chair, looking pensively atthe wood-fire, when George Fairfax came back. She heard his returningfootsteps, and the sharp click of a key turning in the outer door. Thissound set her wondering. What door was that being locked, and by whom?

Mr. Fairfax came into the painting-room. It was the crisis of his life, hetold himself. If he failed to obtain some promise from her to-night--somedefinite pledge of his future happiness--he could never hope to succeed. 

"Time and I against any two, " he had said to himself sometimes in relationto this business. He had been content to bide his time; but the goldenopportunity had come at last. If he failed to-night, he failed forever. 

"Is he coming?" Clarissa asked, rather anxiously. There was somethingominous in the stillness of the place, and the absence of any sign of lifeexcept George Fairfax's presence. 

"Not immediately. Don't alarm yourself, " he said hurriedly, as Clarissarose with a frightened look. "There is nothing really wrong, only there arecircumstances that I felt it better to break to you gently. Yet I fear I aman awkward hand at doing that, at the best. The fact is, your brother hasleft Paris. "

"Left Paris!"

"Yes, only a couple of hours ago. " And then Mr. Fairfax went on to tell thestory of Austin's departure, making as light of it as he could, and with noword of that letter which had been given him to deliver. 

The news was a shock to Clarissa. Very well did she remember what herbrother had told her about the probability of his being compelled to "cutParis. " It had come, then, some new disgrace, and banished him from thecity he loved--the city in which his talents had won for him a buddingreputation, that might have blossomed into fame, if he had only been awiser and a better man. She heard George Fairfax in silence, her head bowedwith shame. This man was her brother, and she loved him so dearly. 

"Do you know where they have gone?" she asked at last. 

"To Brussels. He may do very well there, no doubt, if he will only keephimself steady--turn his back upon the rackety society he is so fondof--and work honestly at his art. It is a place where they can live morecheaply, too, than they could here. "

"I am so sorry they are gone without a word of parting. It must have beenvery sudden. "

"Yes. I believe the necessity for the journey arose quite suddenly; or itmay have been hanging over your brother for a long time, and he may haveshut his eyes to the fact until the last moment. He is such a fellow fortaking things easily. However, he did not enter into explanations with me. "

"Poor Austin! What a wretched life!"

Clarissa rose and moved slowly towards the folding-doors. George Fairfaxstopped her at the threshold, and quietly closed the door. 

"Don't go yet, Clarissa. I want to speak to you. "

His tone told her what was coming--the scene in the conservatory was tobe acted over again. This was the first time they had been actually alonesince that too-well-remembered night. 

She drew herself up haughtily. A woman's weakness makes her desperate insuch a case as this. 

"I have no time to talk now, Mr. Fairfax. I am going home. "

"Not yet, Clarissa. I have waited a long time for this chance. I amdetermined to say my say. "

"You will not compel me to listen to you?"

"Compel is a very hard word. I beseech you to hear me. My future lifedepends on what I have to say, and on your answer. "

"I cannot hear a word! I will not remain a moment!"

"The door yonder is locked, Clarissa, and the key in my pocket. Brutal, youwill say. The circumstances of our lives have left me no option. I havewatched and waited for such an opportunity as this; and now, Clarissa, youshall hear me. Do you remember that night in the orchard, when you drove meaway by your coldness and obstinacy? And yet you loved me! You have ownedit since. Ah, my darling, how I have hated myself for my dulness thatnight!--hated myself for not having seized you in my arms, if need were, and carried you off to the end of the world to make you my wife. What afool and craven I must have been to be put off so easily!"

"Nothing can be more foolish than to discuss the past, Mr. Fairfax, "replied Clarissa, in a low voice that trembled a little. "You have mademe do wrong more than once in my life. There must be an end of this. Whatwould my husband think, if he could hear you? what would he think of me forlistening to you? Let me pass, if you please; and God grant that we maynever meet again after to-night!"

"God grant that we may never part, Clarissa! O, my love, my love, forpity's sake be reasonable! We are not children to play fast and loose withour lives. You love me, Clary. No sweet-spoken pretences, no stereotypeddenials, will convince me. You love me, my darling, and the world is allbefore us. I have mapped-out our future; no sorrow or discredit shall evercome nigh you--trust a lover's foresight for that. Whatever difficultiesmay lie in our pathway are difficulties that I will face andconquer--alone. You have only to forget that you have ever been DanielGranger's wife, and leave Paris with me to-night. "

"Mr. Fairfax! are you mad?"

"Never more reasonable--never so much in earnest. Come with me, Clarissa. It is not a sacrifice that I ask from you: I offer you a release. Do youthink there is any virtue or beauty in your present life, or any merit incontinuing it? From first to last, your existence is a lie. Do you thinka wedding-ring redeems the honour of a woman who sells herself for money?There is no slavery more degrading than the bondage of such an alliance. "

"Open the door, Mr. Fairfax, and let me go!"

His reproaches stung her to the quick; they were so bitterly true. 

"Not till you have heard me, my darling--not till you have heard me out. "

His tone changed all at once, softening into ineffable tenderness. Hetold her of his love with words of deeper passion than he had ever spokenyet--words that went home to the heart that loved him. For a moment, listening to that impassioned pleading, it seemed to Clarissa that thisverily was life indeed--that to be so loved was in itself alone the perfectjoy and fulness of existence, leaving nothing more to be desired, makingshame as nothing in the balance. In that one moment the guilty heart waswell-nigh yielding; the bewildered brain could scarcely maintain theconflict of thought and feeling. Then suddenly this mental agony changed toa strange dulness, a mist rose between Clarissa and the eager face of herlover. She was nearer fainting than she had ever been in her life before. 

George Fairfax saw her face whiten, and the slender figure totter ever soslightly. In a moment a strong arm was round her. The weary head sank onhis shoulder. 

"My darling, " he whispered, "why not leave Paris to-night? It cannot be toosoon. Your husband is away. We shall have a start of two or three days, andavoid all risk of pursuit. "

"Not quite, " said a voice close behind him; and looking round, GeorgeFairfax saw one of the folding-doors open, and Daniel Granger standing onthe threshold. The locked outer door had availed the traitor nothing. Mr. Granger had come upstairs with the porter, who carried a bunch of duplicatekeys in his pocket. 

Clarissa gave a sudden cry, which rose in the next instant to a shrillscream. Two men were struggling in the doorway, grappling each othersavagely for one dreadful minute of confusion and agony. Then one fellheavily, his head crashing against the angle of the doorway, and lay atfull length, with his white face looking up to the ceiling. 

This was George Fairfax. 

Clarissa threw herself upon her knees beside the prostrate figure. 

"George! George!" she cried piteously. 

It was the first time she had ever uttered his Christian name, except inher dreams; and yet it came to her lips as naturally in that moment ofsupreme agony as if it had been their every-day utterance. 

"George! George!" she cried again, bending down to gaze at the whiteblank face dimly visible in the firelight; and then, with a still sharperanguish, "He is dead!"

The sight of that kneeling figure, the sound of that piteous imploringvoice, was well-nigh maddening to Daniel Granger. He caught his wife by thearm, and dragged her up from her knees with no tender hand. 

"You have killed him, " she said. 

"I hope I have. "

Whatever latent passion there was in this man's nature was at white heatnow. An awful fury possessed him. He seemed transformed by the intensity ofhis anger. His bulky figure rose taller; his full gray eyes shone with apitiless light under the straight stern brows. 

"Yes, " he said, "I hope I have killed your lover. "

"My lover!"

"Your lover--the man with whom you were to have left Paris to-night. Yourlover--the man you have met in this convenient rendezvous, day after dayfor the last two months. Your lover--the man you loved before you did methe honour to accept the use of my fortune, and whom you have loved eversince. "

"Yes, " cried Clarissa, with a wild hysterical laugh, "my lover! You areright. I am the most miserable woman upon earth, for I love him. "

"I am glad you do not deny it. Stand out of the way, if you please, and letme see if I have killed him. "

There were a pair of half-burned wax candles on the mantelpiece. Mr. Granger lighted one of them, and then knelt down beside the prostratefigure with the candle in his hand. George Fairfax had given no sign oflife as yet. There had not been so much as a groan. 

He opened his enemy's waistcoat, and laid his hand above the region of theheart. Yes, there was life still--a dull beating. The wretch was not dead. 

While he knelt thus, with his hand upon George Fairfax's heart, a massivechain, loosened from its moorings, fell across his wrist. Attached to thechain there was a locket--a large gold locket with a diamond cross--one ofthe ornaments that Daniel Granger had given to his wife. 

He remembered it well. It was a very trifle among the gifts be had showeredupon her; but he remembered it well. If this had been the one solitary gemhe had given to his wife, he could not have been quicker to recognise it, or more certain of its identity. 

He took it in the palm of his hand and touched the spring, holding thecandle still in the other hand. The locket flew open, and he saw the ringof silky brown hair and the inscription, "From Clarissa. "

He looked up at his wife with a smile--such a smile! "You might haveafforded your lover something better than a secondhand _souvenir_, " hesaid. 

Clarissa's eyes wandered from the still white face, with its awful closedeyes, only to rest for a moment on the unlucky locket. 

"I gave that to my sister-in-law, " she said indifferently. "Heaven onlyknows how he came by it. " And then, in a different tone, she asked, "Whydon't you do something for him? Why don't you fetch some one? Do you wanthim to die?"

"Yes. Do you think anything less than his death would satisfy me? Don'talarm yourself; I am not going to kill him. I was quite ready to do it justnow in hot blood. But he is safe enough now. What good would there be inmaking an end of him? There are two of you in it. "

"You can kill me, if you like, " said Clarissa "Except for my child's sake, I have little wish to live. "

"For your child's sake!" echoed her husband scornfully. "Do you think thereis anything in common between my son and you, after to-night. "

He dropped the locket on George Fairfax's breast with a contemptuousgesture, as if he had been throwing away a handful of dirt. _That_ follyhad cost dearly enough. 

"I'll go and fetch some one, " he said. "Don't let your distraction make youforget that the man wants all the air he can get. You had better stand awayfrom him. "

Clarissa obeyed mechanically. She stood a little way off, staring at thatlifeless figure, while Daniel Granger went to fetch the porter. The housewas large, and at this time in the evening for the most part untenanted, and Austin's painting-room was over the arched carriage-way. Thus ithappened that no one had heard that fall of George Fairfax's. 

Mr. Granger explained briefly that the gentleman had had a fall, and wasstunned--would the porter fetch the nearest doctor? The man looked a himrather suspiciously. The lovely lady's arrival in the gloaming; a lockeddoor; this middle-aged Englishman's eagerness to get into the rooms; andnow a fall and the young Englishman is disabled. The leaf out of a romancebegan to assume a darker aspect. There had been murder done, perhaps, upyonder. The porter's comprehensive vision surveyed the things that mightbe--the house fallen into evil repute by reason of this crime, and bereftof lodgers. The porter was an elderly man, and did not care to shift hishousehold gods. 

"What have they come to do up there?" he asked. "I think I had better fetchthe _sergent de ville_. "

"You are quite at liberty to do that, provided you bring a doctor alongwith him, " replied Daniel Granger coolly, and then turned on his heel andwalked upstairs again. 

He roamed through the empty rooms with a candle in his hand until he founda bottle of water, some portion of which he dashed into his enemy's face, kneeling by his side to do it, but with a cool off-hand air, as if he werereviving a dog, and that a dog upon, which he set no value. 

George Fairfax opened his eyes, very slowly, and groaned aloud. 

"O God, my head!" he said. "What a blow!"

He had a sensation of lying at the bottom of a steep hill--on a sharpinclined plane, as it were, with his feet uppermost--a sense ofsuffocation, too, as if his throat had been full of blood. There seemed tohim to be blood in his eyes also; and he could only see things in a dimcloudy way--a room--what room he could not remember--one candle flaring onthe mantelpiece, and the light of an expiring fire. 

Of the things that had happened to him immediately before that struggle andthat fall, he had, for the time being, no memory. But by slow degrees itdawned upon him that this was Austin Lovel's painting-room. 

"Where the devil are you, Austin?" he asked impatiently. 

"Can't you pick a fellow up?"

A grasp stronger than ever Austin Lovel's had been, dragged him to hisfeet, and half led, half pushed him into the nearest chair. He sat there, staring blankly before him. Clarissa had moved away from him, and stoodamid the deep shadows at the other end of the studio, waiting for her doom. It seemed to her to matter very little what that doom should be. Perfectruin had come upon her. The porter came in presently with a doctor--alittle old grey-headed man, who wore spectacles, and had an ancientdoddering manner not calculated to inspire beholders with any great beliefin his capacity. 

He bowed to Mr. Granger in on old-fashioned ceremonious way, and went overto the patient. 

"A fall, I believe you say, monsieur!" he said. 

"Yes, a fall. He struck his head against the angle of that doorway. "

Mr. Granger omitted to state that it was a blow between the eyes from hisclenched fist which had felled George Fairfax--a blow sent straight outfrom the powerful shoulder. 

"There was no seizure--no fit of any kind, I hope?"

"No. "

The patient had recovered himself considerably by this time, and twitchedhis wrist rather impatiently from the little doctor's timid grasp. 

"I am well enough now, " he said in a thick voice. "There was no occasion tosend for a medical man. I stumbled at the doorway yonder, and knocked myhead in falling--that's all. "

The Frenchman was manipulating Mr. Fairfax's cranium with cautious fingers. 

"There is a considerable swelling at the back of the skull, " he said. "But there appears to have been another blow on the forehead. There is apuffiness, and a slight abrasion of the skin. "

Mr. Fairfax extricated his head from this investigation by standing upsuddenly out of reach of the small doctor. He staggered a little as he roseto his feet, but recovered himself after a moment or so, and stood firmlyenough, with his hand resting on the back of the chair. 

"If you will be good enough to accept this by way of fee, " he said, slipping a napoleon into the doctor's hand, "I need give you no farthertrouble. "

The old man looked rather suspiciously from Mr. Fairfax to Mr. Granger andthen back again. There was something queer in the business evidently, but anapoleon was a napoleon, and his fees were neither large nor numerous. Hecoughed feebly behind his hand, hesitated a little, and then with a slidingbow slipped from the room. 

The porter lingered, determined to see the end of the romance, at any rate. 

It was not long. 

"Are you ready to come away?" Daniel Granger asked his wife, in a coldstern voice. And then, turning to George Fairfax, he said, "You know whereto find me, sir, when you wish to settle the score between us. "

"I shall call upon you to-morrow morning, Mr. Granger. "

Clarissa looked at George Fairfax piteously for a moment, wondering if hehad been much hurt--if there were any danger to be feared from the effectsor that crushing fall. Never for an instant of her life had she meant tobe false to her husband; but she loved this man; and her secret beingdiscovered now, she deemed that the bond between her and Daniel Granger wasbroken. She looked at George Fairfax with that brief yearning look, justlong enough to see that he was deadly pale; and then left the room with herhusband, obeying him mechanically They went down the darksome staircase, which had grown so familiar to Clarissa, out into the empty street. Therewas a hackney carriage waiting near the archway--the carriage that hadbrought Mr. Granger. He put his wife into it without a word, and took hisseat opposite to her; and so they drove home in profound silence. 

Clarissa went straight to her room--the dressing-room in which DanielGranger had talked to her the night before ha went to England. How well sheremembered his words, and her own inclination to tell him everything! Ifshe had only obeyed that impulse--if she had only confessed the truth--theshame and ignominy of to-night would have been avoided. There would havebeen no chance of that fatal meeting with George Fairfax; her husband wouldhave sheltered her from danger and temptation--would have saved her fromherself. 

Vain regrets. The horror of that scene was still present with her--mustremain so present with her till the end of her life, she thought. Those twomen grappling each other, and then the fall--the tall figure crashingdown with the force of a descending giant, as it had seemed to thatterror-stricken spectator. For a long time she sat thinking of that awfulmoment--thinking of it with a concentration which left no capacity forany other thought in her mind. Her maid had come to her, and removed herout-of-door garments, and stirred the fire, and had set out a dainty littletea-tray on a table close at hand, hovering about her mistress with asympathetic air, conscious that there was something amiss. But Clarissa hadbeen hardly aware of the girl's presence. She was living over again theagony of that moment in which she thought George Fairfax was dead. 

This could not last for ever. She awoke by and by to the thought of herchild, with her husband's bitter words ringing in her ears, --

"Do you think there is anything in common between my son and you, afterto-night?"

"Perhaps they will shut me out of my nursery, " she thought. 

The rooms sacred to Lovel Granger were on the same floor as her own--shehad stipulated that it should be so. She went out into the corridor fromwhich all the rooms opened. All was silent. The boy had gone to bed, ofcourse, by this time; very seldom had she been absent at the hour of hisretirement. It had been her habit to spend a stolen half-hour in thenursery just before dressing for dinner, or to have her boy brought to herdressing-room--one of the happiest half-hours in her day. No one barredher entrance to the nursery. Mrs. Brobson was sitting by the fire, making-believe to be busy at needlework, with the under-nurse inattendance--a buxom damsel, whose elbows rested on the table as sheconversed with her superior. Both looked up in some slight confusion atClarissa's entrance. They had been talking about her, she thought, but witha supreme indifference. No petty household slander could trouble her in hergreat sorrow. She went on towards the inner room, where her darling slept, the head-nurse following obsequiously with a candle. In the night-nurserythere was only the subdued light of a shaded lamp. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Brobson, but I don't want any more light, " Clarissa saidquietly. "I am going to sit with baby for a little while. Take the candleaway, please; it may wake him. "

It was the first time she had spoken since she had left the Rue duChevalier Bayard. Her own voice sounded strange to her; and yet its tonecould scarcely have betrayed less agitation. 

"The second dinner-bell has rung, ma'am, " Mrs. Brobson said, with atimorously-suggestive air; "I don't know whether you are aware. "

"Yes, I know, but I am not going down to dinner; I have a wretchedheadache. You can tell Target to say so, if they send for me. "

"Yes, ma'am; but you'll have something sent up, won't you?"

"Not yet; by and by, perhaps, I'll take a cup of tea in my dressing-room. Go and tell Target, please, Mrs. Brobson; Mr. Granger may be waitingdinner. "

She was so anxious to get rid of the woman, to be alone with her baby. Shesat down by the cot. O, inestimable treasure! had she held him so lightlyas to give any other a place in her heart? To harbour any guilty thoughtwas to have sinned against this white-souled innocent. If those clear eyes, which looked up from her breast sometimes with such angelic tenderness, could have read the secrets of her sinful heart, how could she have daredto meet their steadfast gaze? To-night that sleeping baby seemed somethingmore to her than her child; he was her judge. 

"O, my love, my love, I am not good enough to have you for my son!" shemurmured, sobbing, as she knelt by his side, resting her tired head uponhis pillow, thinking idly how sweet it would be to die thus, and make anend of all this evil. 

She stayed with her child for more than an hour undisturbed, wonderingwhether there would be any attempt to take him away from her--whether therewas any serious meaning in those pitiless words of Daniel Granger's. Couldhe think for a moment that she would surrender him? Could he suppose thatshe would lose this very life of her life, and live?

At a little after nine o'clock, she heard the door of the outer nurseryopen, and a masculine step in the room--her husband's. The door between thetwo nurseries was half open. She could hear every word that was spoken; shecould see Daniel Granger's figure, straight and tall and ponderous, as hestood by the table talking to Mrs. Brobson. 

"I am going back to Arden the day after to-morrow, Brobson, " he said; "youwill have everything ready, if you please. "

"O, certainly, sir; we can be ready. And I'm sure I shall rejoice to seeour own house again, after all the ill-conveniences of this place. " AndMrs. Brobson looked round the handsomely-furnished apartment as if it hadbeen a hovel. "Frenchified ways don't suit me, " she remarked. "If, whenthey was furnishing their houses, they laid out more money upon water-jugsand wash-hand basins, and less upon clocks and candelabras, it would dothem more credit; and if there was a chair to be had not covered with redvelvet, it would be a comfort. Luxury is luxury; but you may overdo it. "

This complaint, murmured in a confidential tone, passed unnoticed by DanielGranger. 

"Thursday morning, then, Mrs. Brobson, remember; the train leaves at seven. You'll have to be very early. "

"It can't be too early for me. "

"I'm glad to hear that; I'll go in and take a look at the child--asleep, Isuppose?"

"Yes, sir; fast asleep. "

He went into the dimly-lighted chamber, not expecting to see that kneelingfigure by the cot. He gave a little start at seeing it, and stood aloof, asif there had been infection that way. Whatever he might feel or think, hecould scarcely order his wife away from her son's bedside. Her son! Yes, there was the sting. However he might put her away from himself, he couldnot utterly sever _that_ bond. He would do his best; but in the days tocome his boy might revolt against him, and elect to follow that guiltymother. 

He had loved her so fondly, he had trusted her so completely; and his angeragainst her was so much the stronger because of this. He could not forgiveher for having made him so weak a dupe. Her own ignominy--and he deemed herthe most shameful of women--was not so deep as his disgrace. 

He stood aloof, looking at his sleeping boy, looking across the kneelingfigure as if not seeing it, but with a smouldering anger in his eyes thatbetrayed his consciousness of his wife's presence. She raised her haggardeyes to his face. The time would come when she would have to tell him herstory--to make some attempt to justify herself--to plead for his pardon;but not yet. There was time enough for that. She felt that the severancebetween them was utter. He might believe, he might forgive her; but hewould never give her his heart again. She felt that this was so, andsubmitted to the justice of the forfeiture. Nor had she loved him wellenough to feel this loss acutely. Her one absorbing agony was the fear oflosing her child. 

Daniel Granger stood for a little while watching his son's placid slumber, and then left the room without a word. What could he say to his wife? Hisanger was much too great for words; but there was something more thananger: there was a revulsion of feeling, that made the woman he had lovedseem hateful to him--hateful in her fatal beauty, as a snake is hatefulin its lithe grace and silvery sheen. She had deceived him so completely;there was something to his mind beyond measure dastardly in her stolenmeetings with George Fairfax; and he set down all her visits to the Rue duChevalier Bayard to that account. She had smiled in his face, and had goneevery other day to meet her lover. 

Clarissa stayed with her child all that night. The servants would wonderand speculate, no doubt. She knew that; but she could not bring herselfto leave him. She had all manner of fantastic fears about him. They wouldsteal him from her in the night, perhaps. That order of Daniel Granger'sabout Thursday morning might be only a ruse. She laid herself down upon asofa near the cot, and pretended to sleep, until the nurse had gone to bed, after endless fussings and rustlings and movings to and fro, that weretorture to Mrs. Granger's nerves; and then listened and watched all thenight through. 

No one came. The wintry morning dawned, and found her child stillslumbering sweetly, the rosy lips ever so slightly parted, golden-tintedlashes lying on the round pink cheeks. She smiled at her own folly, as shesat watching him in that welcome daylight. What had she expected? DanielGranger was not an ogre. He could not take her child from her. 

_Her_ child! The thought that the boy was _his_ child very rarely presenteditself to her. Yet it had been suggested rather forcibly by those bitterwords of her husband's: "Do you think there is anything in common betweenmy son and you, after to-night?"

For Daniel Granger and herself there might be parting, an eternalseverance; but there could be no creature so cruel as to rob her of herchild. 

She stayed with him during his morning ablutions; saw him splash and kickin the water with the infantine exuberance that mothers love to behold, fondly deeming that no baby ever so splashed or so kicked before; saw himarrayed in his pretty blue-braided frock, and dainty lace-bedizened cambricpinafore. What a wealth of finery and prettiness had been lavished upon thelittle mortal, who would have been infinitely happier dressed in ragsand making mud-pies in a gutter, than in his splendid raiment andwell-furnished nursery; an uninteresting nursery, where there were nocupboards full of broken wagons and head-less horses, flat-nosed dolls andarmless grenadiers, the cast-off playthings of a flock of brothers andsisters--a very chaos of rapture for the fingers of infancy! Only a fewexpensive toys from a fashionable purveyor--things that went by machinery, darting forward a little way with convulsive jerks and unearthly chokingnoises, and then tumbling ignominiously on one side. 

Clarissa stayed with the heir of Arden until the clock in the day-nurserystruck nine, and then went to her dressing-room, looking very pale andhaggard after her sleepless night. In the corridor she met her husband. Hebent his head gravely at sight of her, as he might have saluted a strangerwhom he encountered in his own house. 

"I shall be glad to speak to you for a quarter of an hour, by and by, " hesaid. "What time would suit you best?" "Whenever you please. I shall be inmy dressing-room, " she answered quietly; and then, growing desperate in herdesire to know her fate, she exclaimed, "But O, Daniel, are we really to goback to Arden to-morrow?"

"We are not, " he said, with a repelling look. "My children are going backto-morrow. I contemplate other arrangements for you. "

"You mean to separate my baby and me?" she cried incredulously. 

"This is neither the place nor the time for any discussion about that. Iwill come to your dressing-room by and by. "

"I will not be parted from my child!"

"That is a question which I have to settle. "

"Do not make any mistake, Mr. Granger, " Clarissa said firmly, facing himwith a dauntless look that surprised him a little--yet what cannot a womandare, if she can betray the man who has loved and trusted her? "You may dowhat you please with me; but I will not submit to have my child taken fromme. "

"I do not like talking in passages, " said her husband; "if you insist upondiscussing this matter now, we had better go into your room. "

They were close to the dressing-room door. He opened it, and they went in. The fire was burning brightly, and the small round table neatly laid forbreakfast. Clarissa had been in the habit of using this apartment as hermorning-room. There were books and drawing-materials, a table with adrawing-board upon it, and a half-finished sketch. 

She sank down into a chair near the fire, too weak to stand. Her husbandstood opposite to her. She noticed idly that he was dressed with his usualbusiness-like neatness, and that there was no sign of mental anguish inhis aspect. He seemed very cold and hard and cruel as he stood before her, strong in his position as an injured man. 

"I am not going to talk about last night any more than I am positivelyobliged, " he said; "nothing that I or you could say would alter the factsof the case, or my estimation of them. I have made my plans for the future. Sophia and Lovel will go back to Yorkshire to-morrow. You will go with meto Spa, where I shall place you under your father's protection. Your futurelife will be free from the burden of my society. "

"I am quite willing to go back to my father, " replied Clarissa, in a voicethat trembled a little. She had expected him to be very angry, but not sohard and cold as this--not able to deal with her wrong-doing in such abusiness-like manner, to dismiss her and her sin as coolly as if he hadbeen parting with a servant who had offended him. 

"I am ready to go to my father, " she repeated, steadying her voice with aneffort; "but I will go nowhere without my child. "

"We will see about that, " said Mr. Granger, "and how the law will treatyour claims; if you care to advance them--which I should suppose unlikely. I have no compunction about the justice of my decision. You will go nowherewithout your child, you say? Did you think of that last night when yourlover was persuading you to leave Paris?"

"What!" cried Clarissa aghast. "Do you imagine that I had any thought ofgoing with him, or that I heard him with my free will?"

"I do not speculate upon that point; but to my mind the fact of his askingyou to run away with him argues a foregone conclusion. A man rarely comesto that until he has established a right to make the request. All I knowis, that I saw you on your knees by your lover, and that you were candidenough to acknowledge your affection for him. This knowledge is quitesufficient to influence my decision as to my son's future--it must not bespent with Mr. Fairfax's mistress. "

Clarissa rose at the word, with a shrill indignant cry. For a few momentsshe stood looking at her accuser, magnificent in her anger and surprise. 

"You dare to call me _that_!" she exclaimed. 

"I dare to call you what I believe you to be. What! I find you in anobscure house, with locked doors; you go to meet your lover alone; and I amto think nothing!"

"Never alone until last night, and then not with my consent, I went to seeMr. And Mrs. Austin--I did not know they had left Paris. "

"But their departure was very convenient, was it not? It enabled your loverto plead his cause, to make arrangements for your flight. You were tohave three days' start of me. Pshaw! why should we bandy words about theshameful business? You have told me that you love him--that is enough. "

"Yes, " she said, with the anger and defiance gone out of her face andmanner, "I have been weak and guilty, but not as guilty as you suppose. Ihave done nothing to forfeit my right to my son. You shall not part us!"

"You had better tell your maid you are going on a journey to-morrow. Shewill have to pack your things--your jewels, and all you care to take. "

"I shall tell her nothing. Remember what I have said--I will not beseparated from Lovel!"

"In that case, I must give the necessary orders myself, " said Mr. Grangercoolly, and saying this he left the room to look for his wife's maid. 

Jane Target, the maid, came in presently. She was the young woman chosenfor Clarissa's service by Mrs. Oliver; a girl whose childhood had beenspent at Arden, and to whose childish imagination the Levels of Arden Courthad always seemed the greatest people in the world. The girl poured out hermistress's tea, and persuaded her to take something. She perceived thatthere was something amiss, some serious misunderstanding between Clarissaand her husband. Had not the business been fully discussed in the Areopagusdownstairs, all those unaccountable visits to the street near theLuxembourg, and Mr. Fairfax's order to the coachman?

"Nor it ain't the first time I've seen him there neither, " Jarvis hadremarked; "me and Saunders have noticed him ever so many times, dropping inpromiscuous like while Mrs. G. Was there, Fishy, to say the least of it!"

Jane Target was very fond of her mistress, and would as soon have doubtedthat the sun was fire as suspected any flaw in Clarissa's integrity. Shehad spoken her mind more than once upon this subject in the servants' hall, and had put the bulky Jarvis to shame. 

"Do, ma'am, eat something!" she pleaded, when she had poured out the tea. "You had no dinner yesterday, and no tea, unless you had it in the nursery. You'll be fit for nothing, if you go on like this. "

Fit for nothing! The phrase roused Clarissa from her apathy. Too weak todo battle for her right to the custody of her child, she thought; andinfluenced by this idea, she struggled through a tolerable breakfast, eating delicate _petite pains_ which tasted like ashes, and drinking strongtea with a feverish eagerness. 

The tea fortified her nerves; she got up and paced her room, thinking whatshe ought to do. 

Daniel Granger was going to take her child from her--that wascertain--unless by some desperate means she secured her darling to herself. Nothing could be harder or more pitiless than his manner that morning. Thedoors of Arden Court were to be shut against her. 

"And I sold myself for Arden!" she thought bitterly. She fancied how therecord of her life would stand by-and-by, like a verse in those Chronicleswhich Sophia was so fond of: "And Clarissa reigned a year and a half, anddid that which was evil"--and so on. Very brief had been her glory; verydeep was her disgrace. 

What was she to do? Carry her child away before they could take him fromher--secure him to herself somehow. If it were to be done at all, it mustbe done quickly; and who had she to help her in this hour of desperateneed. 

She looked at Jane Target, who was standing by the dressing-table dustingthe gold-topped scent-bottles and innumerable prettinesses scatteredthere--the costly trifles with which women who are not really happy striveto create for themselves a factitious kind of happiness. The girl waslingering over her work, loth to leave her mistress unless actuallydismissed. 

Jane Target, Clarissa remembered her a flaxen-haired cottage girl, with anhonest freckled face and a calico-bonnet; a girl who was always swinging onfive-barred gates, or overturning a baby brother out of a primitive woodencart--surely this girl was faithful, and would help her in her extremity. In all the world, there was no other creature to whom she could appeal. 

"Jane, " she said at last, stopping before the girl and looking at her withearnest questioning eyes, "I think I can trust you. " "Indeed you can, ma'am, " answered Jane, throwing down her feather dusting-brush to clasp herhands impetuously. "There's nothing in this world I would not do to provemyself true to you. "

"I am in great trouble, Jane. "

"I know that, ma'am, " the girl answered frankly. 

"I daresay you know something of the cause. My husband is angryabout--about an accidental meeting which arose between a gentleman and me. It was entirely accidental on my part; but he does not choose to believethis, and----" The thought of Daniel Granger's accusation flashedupon her in this moment in all its horror, and she broke down, sobbinghysterically. 

The girl brought her mistress a chair, and was on her knees beside her in amoment, comforting her and imploring her to be calm. 

"The trouble will pass away, ma'am, " said the maid, soothingly. "Mr. Granger will come to see his mistake. He can't be angry with you long, I'msure; he loves you so. "

"Yes, yes, he has been very good to me--better than I have ever deserved;but that is all over now. He won't believe me--he will hardly listen to me. He is going to take away my boy, Jane. "

"Going to take away Master Lovel?"

"Yes; my darling is to go back to Arden, and I am to go to papa. "

"What!" cried Jane Target, all the woman taking fire in her honestheart. "Part mother and child! He couldn't do that; or if he could, he_shouldn't_, while I had the power to hinder him. "

"How are we to prevent him, Jane--you and I?"

"Let's take the darling away, ma'am, before he can stop us. "

"You dear good soul!" cried Clarissa. "It's the very thing I've beenthinking of. Heaven knows how it is to be done; but it must be donesomehow. And you will come with me, Jane? and you will brave all for me, you good generous girl?"

"Lor, ma'am, what do you think I'm frightened of? Not that stuck-up Mrs. Brobson, with her grand airs, and as lazy as the voice of the sluggard intothe bargain. Just you make up your mind, mum, where you'd like to go, andwhen you'd like to start, and I shall walk into the nursery as bold asbrass, and say I want Master Lovel to come and amuse his mar for half anhour; and once we've got him safe in this room, the rest is easy. Partmother and child indeed! I should like to see him do it! I warrant we'llsoon bring Mr. Granger to his senses. "

Where to go? yes, there was the rub. What a friendless creature ClarissaGranger felt, as she pondered on this serious question! To her brother?Yes, he was the only friend she would care to trust in this emergency. Buthow was she to find him? Brussels was a large place, and she had no clue tohis whereabouts there. Could she feel even sure that he had really gone toBrussels?

Somewhither she must go, however--that was certain. It could matter verylittle where she found a refuge, if only she had her darling with her. Sothe two women consulted together, and plotted and planned in Clarissa'ssanctum; while Daniel Granger paced up and down the great drearydrawing-room, waiting for that promised visit from George Fairfax. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLIII. 

CLARISSA'S ELOPEMENT. 

Mr. Fairfax came a little after noon--came with a calm grave aspect, as ofa man who had serious work before him. With all his heart he wished thatthe days of duelling had not been over; that he could have sent his bestfriend to Daniel Granger, and made an end of the quarrel in a gentlemanlikeway, in some obscure alley at Vincennes, or amidst the shadowy aisles ofSt. Germains. But a duel nowadays is too complete an anachronism for anEnglishman to propose in cold blood. Mr. Fairfax came to his enemy's housefor one special purpose. The woman he loved was in Daniel Granger's power;it was his duty to explain that fatal meeting in Austin's rooms, to justifyClarissa's conduct in the eyes of her husband. It was not that he meant tosurrender his hope of their future union--indeed, he hoped that the sceneof the previous evening would bring about a speedy separation betweenhusband and wife. But he had placed her in a false position; she wasinnocent, and he was bound to assert her innocence. 

He found Daniel Granger like a man of iron, fully justifying that phrase ofLady Laura's--"_Carré par la base_. " The ignominy of his own position camefully home to him at the first moment of their meeting. He remembered theday when he had liked and respected this man: he could not despise him now. 

He was conscious that he carried the mark of last night's skirmish in anunpleasantly conspicuous manner. That straight-out blow of Daniel Granger'shad left a discoloration of the skin--what in a meaner man might have beencalled a black eye. He, too, had hit hard in that brief tussle; but nostroke of his had told like that blow of the Yorkshireman's. Mr. Grangerbore no trace of the encounter. 

The two men met with as serene an air as if they had never grappled eachother savagely in the twilight. 

"I considered it due to Mrs. Granger that I should call upon you, " GeorgeFairfax began, "in order to explain her part in the affair of last night. "

"Go on, sir. The old story, of course--Mrs. Granger is spotless; it is onlyappearances that are against her. "

"So far as she is concerned, our meeting yesterday afternoon was anaccident. She came there to see another person. "

"Indeed I Mr. Austin the painter, I suppose?--a man who painted herportrait, and who had no farther acquaintance with her than that. A veryconvenient person, it seems, since she was in the habit of going to hisrooms nearly every afternoon; and I suppose the same kind of accident asthat of yesterday generally brought you there at the same time. "

"Mrs. Granger went to see her brother. "

"Her brother?"

"Yes, Austin Lovel; otherwise Mr. Austin the painter. I have been pledgedto him to keep his identity a secret; but I feel myself at liberty to breakmy promise now--in his sister's justification. "

"You mean, that the man who came to this house as a stranger is my wife'sbrother?"

"I do. "

"What duplicity! And this is the woman I trusted!"

"There was no voluntary duplicity on your wife's part. I know that she wasmost anxious you should be told the truth. "

"_You_ know! Yes, of course; _you_ are in my wife's confidence--an honour Ihave never enjoyed. "

"It was Austin who objected to make himself known to you. "

"I scarcely wonder at that, considering his antecedents. The whole thinghas been very cleverly done, Mr. Fairfax, and I acknowledge myselfcompletely duped. I don't think there is any occasion for us to discuss thesubject farther. Nothing that you could say would alter my estimation ofthe events of last night. I regret that I suffered myself to be betrayedinto any violence--that kind of thing is behind the times. We have wiserremedies for our wrongs nowadays. "

"You do not mean that you would degrade your wife in a law court!" criedMr. Fairfax. "Any legal investigation must infallibly establish herinnocence; but no woman's name can escape untainted from such an ordeal. "

"No, I am not likely to do that. I have a son, Mr. Fairfax. As for my wife, my plans are formed. It is not in the power of any one living to alterthem. "

"Then it is useless for me to say more. On the honour of a gentleman, Ihave told you nothing but the truth. Your wife is innocent. "

"She is not guiltless of having listened to you. That is quite enough forme. "

"I have done, sir, " said George Fairfax gravely, and, with a bow and asomewhat cynical smile, departed. 

He had done what he felt himself bound to do. He had no ardent wish topatch up the broken union between Clarissa and her husband. From thefirst hour in which he heard of her marriage, he had held it in jealousabhorrence. He had very little compunction about what had happened. It mustbring matters to a crisis, he thought. In the meantime, he would have givena great deal to be able to communicate with Clarissa, and began accordinglyto deliberate how that might best be done. 

He did not deliberate long; for while he was meditating all manner ofroundabout modes of approach, he suddenly remembered how Austin Lovel hadtold him he always wrote to his sister under cover to her maid. All he hadto do, therefore, was to find out the maid's name. 

That would be easy enough, Mr. Fairfax imagined, if his servant was goodfor anything. The days of Leporello are over; but a well-bred valet maystill have some little talent for diplomacy. 

"My fellow has only to waylay one of Granger's grooms, " Mr. Fairfax said tohimself, "and he can get the information I want readily enough. "

There was not much time to be lost, he thought. Mr. Granger had spoken ofhis plans with a certain air of decision. Those plans involved some changeof residence, no doubt. He would take his wife away from Paris; punishher by swift banishment from that brilliant city; bury her alive at ArdenCourt, and watch her with the eyes of a lynx for the rest of his life. 

"Let him watch you never so closely, or shut you in what prison he may, Iwill find a door of escape for you, my darling, " he said to himself. 

The mistress and maid were busy meanwhile, making arrangements for a suddenflight. There was very little packing to be done; for they could takenothing, or scarcely anything, with them. The great difficulty would be, toget the child out of the house. After a good deal of deliberation theyhad decided the manner in which their attempt was to be made. It was duskbetween five and six; and at dusk Jane was to go to the nursery, and in themost innocent manner possible, carry off the boy for half-an-hour's play inhis mother's dressing-room. It was, fortunately, a usual thing for Clarissato have him with her at this time, when she happened to be at home soearly. There was a dingy servants' staircase leading from the corridor tothe ground-floor; and down this they were to make their escape unobserved, the child bundled up in a shawl, Jane Target having slipped out beforehandand hired a carriage, which was to wait for them a little way off in aside-street. There was a train leaving Paris at seven, which would takethem to Amiens, where they could sleep that night, and go on to Brussels inthe morning. Once in Brussels, they must contrive somehow to find AustinLovel. 

Of her plans for the future--how she was to live separated from herhusband, and defying him--Clarissa thought nothing. Her mind was whollyoccupied by that one consideration about her child. To secure him toherself was the end and aim of her existence. 

It was only at Jane's suggestion that she set herself to calculate ways andmeans. She had scarcely any ready money--one five-pound note and a handfulof silver comprised all her wealth. She had given her brother everysixpence she could spare. There were her jewels, it is true; jewels worththree or four thousand pounds. But she shrank from the idea of touchingthese. 

While she sat with her purse in her hand, idly counting the silver, and notat all able to realise the difficulties of her position, the faithful Janecame to her relief. 

"I've got five-and-twenty pounds with me, ma'am; saved out of my wagessince I've been in your service; and I'm sure you're welcome to the money. "

Jane had brought her little hoard with her, intending to invest some partof it in presents for her kindred--a shawl for her mother, and so on; buthad been disappointed, by finding that the Parisian shops, brilliant asthey were, contained very much the same things she had seen in London, andat higher prices. She had entertained a hazy notion that cashmere shawlswere in some manner a product of the soil of France, and could be boughtfor a mere trifle; whereby she had been considerably taken aback when theproprietor of a plate-glass edifice on the Boulevard des Italiens asked hera thousand francs for a black cashmere, which she had set her mind upon asa suitable covering for the shoulders of Mrs. Target. 

"You dear good girl!" said Clarissa, touched by this new proof of fidelity;"but if I should never be able to pay you the money!"

"Stuff and nonsense, ma'am! no fear of that; and if you weren't, Ishouldn't care. Father and mother are comfortably off; and I'm not going towork for a pack of brothers and sisters. I gave the girls new bonnets lastEaster, and sent them a ribbon apiece at Christmas; and that's enough for_them_. If you don't take the money, ma'am, I shall throw it in the fire. "

Clarissa consented to accept the use of the money. She would be able torepay it, of course. She had a vague idea that she could earn money as ateacher of drawing in some remote continental city, where they might livevery cheaply. How sweet it would be to work for her child! much sweeterthan to be a millionaire's wife and dress him in purple and fine linen thatcost her nothing. 

She spent some hours in looking over and arranging her jewels. From all ofthese she selected only two half-hoop diamond rings, as a reserve againstthe hour of need. These and these only of Daniel Granger's gifts would shetake with her. She made a list of her trinkets, with a _nota bene_ statingher appropriation of the two rings, and laid it at the top of her principaljewel-case. After this, she wrote a letter to her husband--a few linesonly, telling him how she had determined to take her child away with her, and how she should resist to the last gasp any attempt to rob her of him. 

"If I were the guilty wretch you think me, " she wrote, "I would willinglysurrender my darling, rather than degrade him by any association with sucha fallen creature. But whatever wrong I have committed against you--andthat wrong was done by my marriage--I have not forfeited the right to mychild's affection. "

This letter written, there was nothing more to be done. Jane packed atravelling-bag with a few necessary items, and that was all the luggagethey could venture to carry away with them. 

The afternoon post brought a letter from Brussels, addressed to Miss JaneTarget, which the girl brought in triumph to her mistress. 

"There'll be no bother about finding Mr. Austin, ma'am, " she cried. "Here'sa letter!"

The letter was in Austin's usual brief careless style, entering into noexplanations; but it told the quarter in which he had found a lodging; soClarissa was at least sure of this friendly shelter. It would be a poorone, no doubt; nor was Austin Lovel by any means a strong rock upon whichto lean in the hour of trouble. But she loved him, and she knew that hewould not turn his back upon her. 

The rest of the day seemed long and dreary. Clarissa wandered into thenursery two or three times in order to assure herself, by the evidence ofher own eyes, of her boy's safety. She found the nursemaid busy packing, under Mrs. Brobson's direction. 

The day waned. Clarissa had not seen her husband since that meeting in thecorridor; nor had she gone into any of the rooms where Miss Granger mightbe encountered. 

That young lady, painfully in the dark as to what had happened, sat at hertable in the window, diligently illuminating, and wondering when her fatherwould take her into his confidence. She had been told of the intendedjourney on the next day, and that she and her brother were to go back toArden Court, under the protection of the servants, while Mr. Granger andhis wife went elsewhere, and was not a little puzzled by the peculiarity ofthe arrangement. Warman was packing, complaining the while at having to doso much in so short a time, and knew nothing of what had occurred inthe Rue du Chevalier Bayard, after the dismissal of the carriage by Mr. Fairfax. 

"There must have been something, miss, " she said, "or your pa would neverhave taken, this freak into his head--racing back as if it was for a wager;and me not having seen half I wanted to see, nor bought so much as apincushion to take home to my friends. I had a clear month before me, Ithought, so where was the use of hurrying; and then to be scampered andharum-scarumed off like this! It's really too bad. "

"I have no doubt papa has good reasons for what he is doing, Warman, "answered Miss Granger, with dignity. 

"O, of course, miss; gentlefolks has always good reasons for _their_goings-on!" Warman remarked snappishly, and then "took it out" of one ofMiss Granger's bonnets during the process of packing. 

Twilight came at last, the longed-for dusk, in which the attempt was to bemade. Clarissa had put on one of her darkest plainest dresses, and borroweda little black-straw bonnet of her maid's. This bonnet and her sealskinjacket she deferred putting on until the last; for there was always thefear that Mr. Granger might come in at some awkward moment. At half-pastfive Jane Target went to the nursery and fetched the year-old heir of ArdenCourt. 

He was always glad to go to his mother; and he came to-night crowing andlaughing, and kicking his little blue shoes in boisterous rapture. Janekept guard at the door while Clarissa put on her bonnet and jacket, andwrapped up the baby--first in a warm fur-lined opera-jacket, and then in athick tartan shawl. They had no hat for him, but tied up his pretty flaxenhead in a large silk handkerchief, and put the shawl over that. The littlefellow submitted to the operation, which he evidently regarded in the lightof an excellent joke. 

Everything was now ready. Clarissa carried her baby, Jane went before withthe bag, leading the way down the darksome servants' staircase, where atany moment they might meet one of Mr. Granger's retainers. Luckily, theymet no one; the descent only occupied about two minutes; and at the bottomof the stairs, Clarissa found herself in a small square stone lobby, lighted by a melancholy jet of gas, and pervaded by the smell of cooking. In the next moment Jane--who had made herself mistress of all minordetails--opened a door, and they were out in the dull quiet street--theside-street, at the end of which workmen were scalping away a hill. 

A few doors off they found the carriage, which Jane had secured half anhour before, and a very civil driver. Clarissa told the driver where to go, and then got in, with her precious burden safe in her arms. 

The precious burden set up a wail at this juncture, not understanding orapproving these strange proceedings, and it was as much as his mother coulddo to soothe him. A few yards round the corner they passed a man, wholooked curiously at the vehicle. This was George Fairfax, who was pacingthe street in the gloaming in order to reconnoitre the dwelling of thewoman he loved, and who let her pass him unaware. His own man was busy atthe same time entertaining one of Mr. Granger's footmen in a neighbouringwine-shop, in the hope of extracting the information his master requiredabout Mrs. Granger's maid. They reached the station just five minutesbefore the train left for Amiens; and once seated in the railway-carriage, Clarissa almost felt as if her victory was certain, so easily had the firststage been got over. She kissed and blessed Jane Target, whom she calledher guardian angel; and smothered her baby with kisses, apostrophising himwith all manner of fond foolishness. 

Everything favoured her. The flight was not discovered until nearlythree-quarters of an hour after Clarissa had eloped with her baby down thatdarksome stair. Mrs. Brobson, luxuriating in tea, toast, and gossipbefore the nursery fire, and relieved not a little by the absence of herone-year-old charge, had been unconscious of the progress of time. It wasonly when the little clock upon the chimney-piece chimed the half-hourafter six, that she began to wonder about the baby. 

"His mar's had him longer than ever, " she said; "you'd better go and fetchhim, Liza. She'll be wanting to dress for dinner, I dessay. I suppose she'sgoing down to dinner to-night, though there is something up. "

"She didn't go down to breakfast, nor yet to lunch, " said Eliza, who hadher information fresh and fresh from one of the footmen; "and Mr. Granger'sbeen a-walking up and down the droring-room as if he was a-doing of it fora wager, William Baker says. Mr. Fairfax come this morning, and didn't stopabove a quarter of a hour; but William was outside the droring-room doorall the time, and there was no loud talking, nor quarrelling, nor nothink. "

"That Fairfax is a villain, " replied Mrs. Brobson. "I don't forget theday he kissed baby in Arden Park. I never see any good come of a singlegentleman kissing a lady's baby, voluntary. It isn't their nature to do it, unless they've a hankering after the mar. "

"Lor, Brobson, how horful!" cried Eliza. And in this pleasant converse, thenurse and her subordinate wasted another five minutes. 

The nursemaid frittered away a few more minutes in tapping gingerly at thedressing-room door, until at last, emboldened by the silence, she openedit, and, peering in, beheld nothing but emptiness. Mrs. Granger had gone tothe drawing-room perhaps; but where was baby? and where was Jane Target?The girl went in search of her favourite, William Baker. Were Mrs. Grangerand baby in the drawing-room? No; Mr. Baker had been in attendance all theafternoon. Mrs. Granger had not left her own apartments. 

"But she's not there, " cried Eliza, aghast; "nor Target either. I've beenlooking for baby. "

She ran back to the dressing-room; it was still empty, and the bedroomadjoining. Mr. Granger's dressing-room was beyond that, and he was therewriting letters. At this door--this sacred door, the threshold whereof shehad never crossed--Eliza the nursemaid tapped nervously. 

"O, if you please, sir, have you got Master Lovel?"

"No, " cried Daniel Granger, starting up from his desk. "What made you thinkhim likely to be here?"

"I can't find him, please, sir. I've been looking in Mrs. Granger'sdressing-room, and everywhere almost. Jane Target fetched him for his maclose upon a hour ago; and Mrs. Brobson sent me for him, and I fancied asyou might have got him with you, sir. "

Mr. Granger came out of his room with the lamp in his hand, and camethrough the bedroom to his wife's dressing-room, looking with that sternsearching gaze of his into every shadowy corner, as if he thought Clarissaand her baby might be playing hide-and-seek there. But there was noone--the cheval-glass and the great glass door of the wardrobe reflectedonly his own figure, and the scared nursemaid peering from behind hiselbow. He went on to the nursery, opening the doors of all the rooms as hepassed, and looking in. There are some convictions that come in a minute. Before that search was finished, Daniel Granger felt very sure that hiswife had left him, and had taken her child away with her. 

In what manner and to what doom had she gone? Was her flight a shamefulone, with George Fairfax for her companion? He knew now, for the firsttime, that in the depths of his mind there had been some lurking belief inher innocence, it was so supreme an agony to him to imagine that she hadtaken a step which must make her guilt a certainty. He did not waste muchtime in questioning the verbose Brobson. The child was missing--that wasquite clear--and his wife, and his wife's maid. It was some small relief tohim to know that she had taken the honest Yorkshire girl. If she had beengoing to ignominy, she would scarcely have taken any one who knew her pasthistory, above all, one whom she had known in her childhood. 

What was he to do? To follow her, of course, if by any means he coulddiscover whither she had gone. To set the telegraph wires going, also, witha view to discovering her destination. He drove off at once to the chieftelegraph office, and wrote a couple of messages, one to Mr. Lovel, atSpa--the other to Mr. Oliver, at Holborough Rectory; with a brief sternrequest to be informed immediately if his wife should arrive at eitherplace. There was Lady Laura Armstrong, her most intimate friend, with whomshe might possibly seek a refuge in the hour of her trouble; but he did notcare to make any application in that quarter, unless driven to do so. Hedid not want to make his wrongs public. 

From the telegraph office he drove to the Northern Railway Station, andmade minute inquiries about the trains. There was a train by which shemight have gone to Calais half an hour before he arrived there. Heenlisted the services of an official, and promenaded the waiting-rooms andplatforms, the dreary chambers in which travellers wait for their luggage, to and fro between the barriers that torment the soul of the impatient. Heasked this man, and several other men, if a lady, with her baby and maid, had been observed to take their departure by any train within the lasthour. But the men shrugged their shoulders hopelessly. Ladies and maids andbabies came and went in flocks, and no one noticed them. There were alwaysbabies. Yes; one of the men did remember a stout lady in a red shawl, with a baby and a birdcage and a crowd of boxes, who had gone by thesecond-class. Is it that that was the lady monsieur was looking for, _parhasard_?

"She will go to her father, " Mr. Granger said to himself again and again;and this for the moment seemed to him such a certainty, that he had halfmade up his mind to start for Spa by the next train that would carry him inthat direction. But the thought of George Fairfax--the possibility that hiswife might have had a companion in her flight--arrested him in the nextmoment. "Better that I should stop to make sure of _his_ whereabouts, " hethought; and drove straight to the Champs Elysées, where Mr. Fairfax hadhis bachelor quarters. 

Here he saw the valet, who had not long returned from that diplomaticexpedition to the neighbourhood of the Rue de Morny; but who appeared thevery image of unconsciousness and innocence notwithstanding. Mr. Fairfaxwas dining at home with some friends. Would Mr. Granger walk in? The dinnerwas not served yet. Mr. Fairfax would be delighted to see him. 

Mr. Granger refused to go in; but told the man he should be glad to see Mr. Fairfax there, in the ante-room, for a moment. He wanted to be quite surethat the valet was not lying. 

Mr. Fairfax came out, surprised at the visit. 

"I had a special reason for wishing to know if you were at home thisevening, " said Daniel Granger. "I am sorry to have disturbed you, and willnot detain you from your friends. "

And then the question flashed upon him--_Was she there?_ No; that would betoo daring. Any other refuge she might seek; but surely not this. 

George Fairfax had flung the door wide open in coming out. Mr. Grangersaw the dainty bachelor room, with its bright pictures shining in thelamp-light, and two young men in evening-dress lolling against themantelpiece. The odours of an elaborate dinner were also perceptible. Thevalet had told the truth. Daniel Granger murmured some vague excuse, anddeparted. 

"Queer!" muttered Mr. Fairfax as he went back to his friends. 

"I'm afraid the man is going off his head; and yet he seemed cool enoughto-day. "

From the Champs Elysees Mr. Granger drove to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. There was another possibility to be considered: if Austin the painter wereindeed Austin Lovel, as George Fairfax had asserted, it was possible thatClarissa had gone to him; and the next thing to be done was to ascertainhis whereabouts. The ancient porter, whom Mr. Granger had left the nightbefore in a doubtful and bewildered state of mind, was eating some savourymess for his supper comfortably enough this evening, but started upin surprise, with his spectacles on his forehead, at Mr. Granger'sreappearance. 

"I want to know where your lodger Mr. Austin went when he left here?" Mr. Granger demanded briefly. 

The porter shrugged his shoulders. 

"Alas, monsieur, that is an impossibility. I know nothing of Mr. Austin'sdestination; only that he went away yesterday, at three o'clock, in ahackney-coach, which was to take him to the Northern Railway. "

"Is there no one who can tell me what I want to know?" asked Mr. Granger. 

"I doubt it, monsieur. Monsieur Austin was in debt to almost every oneexcept his landlord. He promised to write about his furniture, --some ofthe movables in those rooms upstairs are his--cabinets, carved chairs, tapestries, and so on; but he said nothing as to where he was going. "

"He promised to write, " repeated Mr. Granger. "That's an indefinite kind ofpromise. You could let me know, I suppose, if you heard anything?"

"But certainly, " replied the porter, who saw Mr. Granger's fingers in hiswaistcoat pocket, and scented a fee, "monsieur should know immediately. "

Mr. Granger wrote his address upon a card, and gave it to the porter, witha napoleon. 

"You shall have another when you bring me any information. Good-night. "

At home, Daniel Granger had to face his daughter, who had heard by thistime of her stepmother's departure and the abstraction of the baby. 

"O, papa, " she exclaimed, "I do so feel for you!" and made as if she wouldhave embraced her parent; but he stood like a rock, not inviting anyaffectionate demonstration. 

"Thank you, my dear, " he said gravely; "but I can do very well withoutpity. It's a kind of thing I'm not accustomed to. I am annoyed thatClarissa should have acted in--in this ill-advised manner; but I have nodoubt matters will come right in a little time. "

"Lovel--my brother is safe, papa?" inquired Sophia, clasping her hands. 

"I have every reason to believe so. He is with his mother. "

Miss Granger sighed profoundly, as much as to say, "He could not be inworse hands. "

"And I think, my dear, " continued her father, "that the less you troubleyourself about this business the bettor. Any interference on your part willonly annoy me, and may occasion unpleasantness between us. You will go backto Arden, to-morrow, as I intended, with Warman, and one of the men to takecare of your luggage. The rest of the establishment will follow in a day orso. "

"And you, papa?"

"My plans are uncertain. I shall return to Arden as soon as I can. "

"Dear old Arden!" exclaimed Sophia; "how I wish we had never left it! Howhappy I was for the first four years of my life there!"

This apostrophe Mr. Granger perfectly understood--it meant that, with theadvent of Clarissa, happiness had fled away from Sophia's dwelling-place. He did not trouble himself to notice the speech; but it made him angrynevertheless. 

"There is a letter for you, papa, " said Miss Granger, pointing to aside-table; "a letter which Warman found upstairs. "

The lynx-eyed Warman, prying and peering about, had spied out Clarissa'sletter to her husband, half hidden among the frivolities on thedressing-table. Mr. Granger pounced upon it eagerly, full of hope. It mighttell him all he wanted to know. 

It told him nothing. The words were not consistent with guilt, unlessClarissa were the very falsest of women. But had she not been the falsest?Had she not deceived him grossly, unpardonably? Alas, he was already tryingto make excuses for her--trying to believe her innocent, innocent of whatsociety calls sin--yes, she might be that. But had he not seen her kneelingbeside her lover? Had she not owned that she loved him? She had; and thememory of her words were poison to Daniel Granger. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLIV. 

UNDER THE SHADOW OF ST. GUDULE. 

It was about half an hour before noon on the following day when Clarissaarrived at Brussels, and drove straight to her brother's lodging, which wasin an obscure street under the shadow of St. Gudule. Austin was at workin a room opening straight from the staircase--a bare, shabby-lookingchamber--and looked up from his easel with profound astonishment onbeholding Mrs. Granger with her maid and baby. 

"Why, Clary, what in the name of all that's wonderful, brings you toBrussels?" he exclaimed. 

"I have come to live with you for a little while, Austin, if you will letme, " she answered quietly. "I have no other home now. "

Austin Lovel laid down his palette, and came across the room to receiveher. 

"What does it all mean, Clary?--Look here, young woman, " he said to JaneTarget; "you'll find my wife in the next room; and she'll help you to makethat youngster comfortable. --Now, Clary, " he went on, as the girl curtseyedand vanished through the door that divided the two rooms, "what does it allmean?"

Clarissa told him her story--told it, that is to say, as well as she couldtell a story which reflected so much discredit upon herself. 

"I went to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard at 5 on Tuesday--as I promised, youknow, Austin--and found Mr. Fairfax there. You may imagine how surprisedI was when I heard you were gone. He did not tell me immediately; and hedetained me there--talking to me. "

The sudden crimson which mounted to her very temples at this juncturebetrayed her secret. 

"Talking to you!" cried Austin; "you mean making love to you! The infernalscoundrel!"

"It was--very dishonourable!"

"That's a mild way of putting it. What! he hung about my rooms when I hadgone, to get you into a trap, as it were, at the risk of compromising youin a most serious manner! You never gave him any encouragement, did you, Clarissa?"

"I never meant to do so. "

"You never meant! But a woman must know what she is doing. You used tomeet him at my rooms very often. If I had dreamt there was any flirtationbetween you, I should have taken care to put a stop to _that_. Well, go on. You found Fairfax there, and you let him detain you, and then----?"

"My husband came, and there was a dreadful scene, and he knocked Mr. Fairfax down. "

"Naturally. I respect him for doing it. "

"And for a few minutes I thought he was dead, " said Clarissa with ashudder; and then she went on with her story, telling her brother howDaniel Granger had threatened to separate her from her child. 

"That was hard lines, " said Austin; "but I think you would have done betterto remain passive. It's natural that he should take this business ratherseriously at first: but that would wear off in a short time. What you havedone will only widen the breach. "

"I have got my child, " said Clarissa. 

"Yes; but in any case you must have had him. That threat of Granger's wasonly blank cartridge. He could not deprive you of the custody of your son. "

"He will try to get a divorce, perhaps. He thinks me the vilest creature inthe world. "

"A divorce--bosh! Divorces are not obtained so easily. What a child youare, Clarissa!"

"At any rate, he was going to take me back to papa in disgrace. I could nothave endured that. My father would think me guilty, perhaps. "

Again the tell-tale crimson flushed Clarissa's face. The memory of thatSeptember evening at Mill Cottage flashed across her mind, and her father'sdenunciation of George Fairfax and his race. 

"Your father would be wise enough to defend his child, I imagine, " repliedAustin, "although he is not a person whose conduct I would pretend toanswer for. But this quarrel between you and your husband must be patchedup, Clary. "

"That will never be. "

"It must be--for your son's sake, if not for yours. You pretend to lovethat boy, and are yet so blind to his interests? He is not the heir to anentailed estate, remember. Granger is a self-made man, and if you offendhim, may leave Arden Court to his daughter's children. "

She had robbed her son of his birthright, perhaps. For what? Because shehad not had the strength to shut her heart against a guilty love; because, in the face of every good resolution she had ever made, she had been weakenough to listen when George Fairfax chose to speak. 

"It seems very hard, " she said helplessly. 

"It would be uncommonly hard upon that child, if this breach were nothealed. But it must be healed. "

"You do not know half the bitter things Mr. Granger said. Nothing wouldinduce me to humiliate myself to him. "

"Not the consideration of your son's interests?"

"God will protect my son; he will not be punished for any sin of hismother's. "

"Come now, Clary, be reasonable. Let me write to Granger in my own propercharacter, telling him that you are here. "

"If you do that, I will never forgive you. It would be most dishonourable, most unkind. You will not do that, Austin?"

"Of course I will not, if you insist upon it. But I consider that you areacting very foolishly. There must have been a settlement, by the way, whenyou married. Do you remember anything about it?"

"Very little. There was five hundred a year settled on me for pin money;and five hundred a year for papa, settled somehow. The reversion to cometo me, I think they said. And--yes, I remember--If I had any children, theeldest son was to inherit Arden Court. "

"That's lucky! I thought your father would never be such a fool as to letyou marry without some arrangement of that sort. "

"Then my darling is safe, is he not?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. "

"And you will not betray me, Austin?" said Clarissa imploringly. 

"Betray you! If you put it in that way, of course not. But I should beacting more in your interests if I wrote to Granger. No good can comeof the step you have taken. However, we must trust to the chapter ofaccidents, " added Austin, with a resumption of his habitual carelessness. "I needn't tell you that you are heartily welcome to my hospitality, suchas it is. Our quarters are rough enough, but Bessie will do what she can tomake you comfortable; and I'll put on a spurt and work hard to keep thingstogether. I have found a dealer in the Montagne de la Cour, who is willingto take my sketches at a decent price. Look here, Clary, how do you likethis little bit of _genre?_ 'Forbidden Fruit'--a chubby six-year-old girl, on tiptoe, trying to filch a peach growing high on the wall; flimsy child, and pre-Raphaelite wall. Peach, carnation velvet; child's cheek to matchthe peach. Rather a nice thing, isn't it?" asked Austin lightly. 

Clarissa made some faint attempt to appear interested in the picture, whichshe only saw in a dim far-off way. 

"I shall be very glad to see where you are going to put baby, " she saidanxiously. 

The bleak and barren aspect of the painting-room did not promise much forthe accommodation or comfort of Mr. Lovel's domicile. 

"Where I am going to put baby! Ah, to be sure, you will want a room tosleep in, " said Austin, as if this necessity had only just struck him. "We'll soon manage that; the house is roomy enough, --a perfect barrack, infact. There was a lace-factory carried on in it once, I believe. I daresaythere's a room on this floor that we can have. I'll go and see aboutthat, while you make yourself comfortable with Bessie. We have only tworooms--this and the next, which is our bedroom; but we shall do somethingbetter by and by, if I find my pictures sell pretty fast. "

He went off whistling an opera air, and by no means oppressed by the ideathat he had a sister in difficulties cast upon his hands. 

There was a room--a darksome chamber at the back of the house--looking intoa narrow alley, where domestic operations of some kind seemed to be goingon in every window and doorway, but sufficiently spacious, and with twobeds. It was altogether homely, but looked tolerably clean; and Clarissawas satisfied with it, although it was the poorest room that had eversheltered her. She had her baby--that was the grand point; and he rolledupon the beds, and crowed and chattered, in his half inarticulate way, withas much delight as if the shabby chamber had been an apartment in a palace. 

"If he is happy, I am more than content!" exclaimed Mrs. Granger. 

A fire was lighted in the stove, and Bessie brought them a second breakfastof coffee and rolls, and a great basin of bread and milk for young Lovel. The little man ate ravenously, and did not cry for Brobson--seemed indeedrather relieved to have escaped from the jurisdiction of that respectablematron. He was fond of Jane Target, who was just one of those plumpapple-cheeked young women whom children love instinctively, and who hada genius for singing ballads of a narrative character, every verseembellished with a curious old-fashioned quavering turn. 

After this refreshment--the first that Clarissa had taken with any approachto appetite since that luckless scene in her brother's painting-room--Janepersuaded her mistress to lie down and rest, which she did, falling asleeppeacefully, with her boy's bright young head nestling beside her on thepillow. It was nearly dark when she awoke; and after dinner she went outfor a walk with Austin, in the bright gas-lit streets, and along a wideboulevard, where the tall bare trees looked grim in the darkness. Thefreedom of this new life seemed strange to her, after the forms andceremonies of her position as Daniel Granger's wife, and Sophia Granger'sstepmother--strange, and not at all unpleasant. 

"I think I could be very happy with you and Bessie always, Austin, " shesaid, "if they would only leave me in peace. "

"Could you, Clary? I'm sure I should be very glad to have you; but it wouldbe rather hard upon Granger. "

"He was going to take me back to papa; he wanted to get rid of me. "

"He was in a passion when he talked about that, rely upon it. "

"He was as cold as ice, Austin. I don't believe he was ever in a passion inhis life. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLV. 

TEMPTATION. 

It was Sunday; and Clarissa had been nearly a week in Brussels--a veryquiet week, in which she had had nothing to do but worship her baby, andtremblingly await any attempt that might be made to wrest him from her. Shelived in hourly fear of discovery, and was startled by every step on thestaircase and fluttered by every sudden opening of a door, expecting to seeDaniel Granger on the threshold. 

She went to church alone on this first Sunday morning. Austin was seldomvisible before noon, dawdling away the bleaker morning hours smoking andreading in bed. Bessie had a world of domestic business on her hands, andthe two boys to torment her while she attempted to get through it. SoClarissa went alone to St. Gudule. There were Protestant temples, no doubt, in the Belgian city wherein she might have worshipped; but that solemnpile drew her to itself with a magnetic attraction. She went in amongthe gay-looking crowd--the old women in wondrous caps, the sprinklingof soldiers, the prosperous citizens and citizenesses in their Sundaysplendour--and made her way to a quiet corner remote from the greatcarved-oak pulpit and the high altar--a shadowy corner behind a massivecluster of columns, and near a little wooden door in one of the greatportals, that opened and shut with a clanging noise now and then, andbeside which a dilapidated-looking old man kept watch over a shell-shapedmarble basin of holy water, and offered a brush dipped in the sacred fluidto devout passers-by. Here she could kneel unobserved, and in her ignorantfashion, join in the solemn service, lifting up her heart with theelevation of the host, and acknowledging her guiltiness in utter humilityof spirit. 

Yet not always throughout that service could she keep her thoughts fromwandering. Her mind had been too much troubled of late for perfect peace orabstraction of thought to be possible to her. The consideration of her ownfolly was very constantly with her. What a wreck and ruin she had made ofher life--a life which from first to last had been governed by impulseonly!

"If I had been an honourable woman, I should never have married DanielGranger, " she said to herself. "What right had I to take so much and giveso little--to marry a man I could not even hope to love for the sake ofwinning independence for my father, or for the sake of my old home?"

Arden Court--was not that the price which had made her sacrifice tolerableto her? And she had lost it; the gates of the dwelling she loved wereclosed upon her once again--and this time for ever. How the memory of theplace came back to her this chill March morning!--the tall elms rocking inthe wind, the rooks' nests tossing in the topmost branches, and the hoarsecawing of discontented birds bewailing the tardiness of spring. 

"It will be my darling's home in the days to come, " she said to herself;but even this thought brought no consolation. She dared not face her son'sfuture. Would it not involve severance from her? Now, while he was aninfant, she might hold him; but by-and-by the father's stern claim wouldbe heard. They would take the boy away from her--teach him to despise andforget her. She fancied herself wandering and watching in Arden Park, atrespasser, waiting for a stolen glimpse of her child's face. 

"I shall die before that time comes, " she thought gloomily. 

Some such fancy as this held her absorbed when the high mass concluded, andthe congregation began to disperse. The great organ was pealing out one ofMozart's Hallelujahs. There was some secondary service going on at eitherend of the church. Clarissa still knelt, with her face hidden in her hands, not praying, only conjuring up dreadful pictures of the future. Little bylittle the crowd melted away; there were only a few worshippers murmuringresponses in the distance; the last chords of the Hallelujah crashed andresounded under the vaulted roof; and at last Clarissa looked up and foundherself almost alone. 

She went out, but shrank from returning immediately to her child. Thoseagitating thoughts had affected her too deeply. She walked away from thechurch up towards the park, hoping to find some quiet place where she mightwalk down the disturbance in her mind, so as to return with a calm smilingface to her darling. It was not a tempting day for any purposelesspedestrian. The sky had darkened at noon, and there was a drizzling raincoming down from the dull gray heavens. The streets cleared quickly now theservices were over; but Clarissa went on, scarcely conscious of the rain, and utterly indifferent to any inconvenience it might cause her. 

She was in the wide open place near the park, when she heard footstepsfollowing her, rapidly, and with a purpose, as it seemed. Some women havea kind of instinct about these things. She knew in a moment, as if by somesubtle magnetism, that the man following her was George Fairfax. 

"Clarissa, " said a voice close in her ear; and turning quickly, she foundherself face to face with him. 

"I was in the church, " he said, "and have followed you all the way here. I waited till we were clear of the narrow streets and the crowd. O, mydarling, thank God I have found you! I only knew yesterday that you hadleft Paris; and some happy instinct brought me here. I felt sure you wouldcome to Austin. I arrived late last night, and was loafing about thestreets this morning, wondering how I should discover your whereabouts, when I turned a corner and saw you going into St. Gudule. I followed, but would not disturb your orisons, fair saint. I was not very far off, Clarissa--only on the other side of the pillar. "

"Was it kind of you to follow me here, Mr. Fairfax?" Clarissa askedgravely. "Have you not brought enough trouble upon me as it is?"

"Brought trouble upon you! Yes, that seems hard; but I suppose it was myfate to do that, and to make amends for it afterwards, dearest, in a lifethat shall know no trouble. "

"I am here with my son, Mr. Fairfax. It was the fear of being separatedfrom him that drove me away from Paris. If you have one spark of generousfeeling, you will not pursue me or annoy me here. If my husband were to seeus together, or were to hear of our being seen together, he would have justgrounds for taking my child away from me. "

"Clarissa, " exclaimed George Fairfax, with intensity, "let us make an endof all folly and beating about the bush at once and for ever. I do not saythat I am not sorry for what happened the other night--so far as it causedannoyance to you--but I am heartily glad that matters have been brought toa crisis. The end must have come sooner or later, Clary--so much the betterif it has come quickly. There is only one way to deal with the wretchedmistake of your marriage, and that is to treat it as a thing that has neverbeen. There are places enough in the world, Clary, in which you and I arenameless and unknown, and we can be married in one of those places. I willrun all risks of a criminal prosecution and seven, years at Portland. Youshall be my wife, Clarissa, by as tight a knot as Church and State cantie. "

She looked at him with a half scornful smile. 

"Do you think you are talking to a child?" she said. 

They had been standing in the chill drizzling rain all this time, unconscious, and would have so stood, perhaps, if a shower of fire andbrimstone had been descending upon Brussels. But at this juncture Mr. Fairfax suddenly discovered that it was raining, and that Clarissa's shawlwas growing rapidly damper. 

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "what a brute I am. I must find you some kindof shelter. "

There was a café near at hand, the café attached to the Théâtre du Pare, with rustic out-of-door constructions for the accommodation of itscustomers. Mr. Fairfax conducted Clarissa to one of these wooden arbours, where they might remain till the rain was over, or till he chose to bringher a carriage. He did not care to do that very soon. He had a great dealto say to her. This time he was resolved not to accept defeat. 

A solitary waiter espied them promptly, having so little to do in thisdoleful weather, and came for orders. Mr. Fairfax asked for some coffee, and waited in silence while the man brought a little tray with cups andsaucers and a great copper coffee-pot, out of which he poured the blackinfusion with infinite flourish. 

"Bring some cognac, " said Mr. Fairfax; and when the spirit had beenbrought, he poured half a wine-glassful into a cup of coffee, and entreatedClarissa to drink it as an antidote to cold. 

"You were walking ever so long in the rain, " he said. 

She declined the nauseous dose. 

"I am not afraid of catching cold, " she said; "but I shall be very glad ifyou will let that man fetch me a fly. I ought to have been at home half anhour ago. "

"At home! Is it permissible to ask where you live?"

"I would rather not tell you my address. I hope, if my being here hadanything to with your coming to Brussels, that you will go back to Paris atonce. "

"I shall never go back to Paris unless I enter its gates with you some day. I am going to the East, Clary; to Constantinople, and Athens, and all theworld of fable and story, and you are going with me--you and young Lovel. Do you know there is one particular spot in the island of Corfu which Ihave pitched upon for the site of a villa, just such a fairy place as youcan sketch for me--your own architecture--neither gothic nor composite, neither classic nor rustic, only _le style Clarisse_; not for our permanentdwelling--to my mind, nothing but poverty should ever chain a man to onehabitation--but as a nest to which we might fly now and then, when we wereweary of roaming. "

He was talking lightly, after his nature, which was of the lightest, but for a purpose, also, trying to beguile Clarissa from seriousconsiderations, to bring a smile to the pale sad face, if he could. Invain; the hazel eyes looked straight forward with an unwonted fixedness, the lips were firmly set, the hands clasped rigidly. 

After this, his tone grew more earnest; again he pleaded, very much ashe had pleaded before, but with a stronger determination, with a deeperpassion, painting the life that might be for those two in the warmest, brightest colours that his fancy could lend it. What had she to care for?he argued. Absolutely nothing. She had broken with her husband, whom GeorgeFairfax knew by his own experience to be implacable in his resentment. Andoh, how much to gain! A life of happiness; all her future spent with theman who loved her; spent wherever and however she pleased. What was he buther slave, to obey her?

She was not unmoved by his pleading. Unmoved? These were words and tonesthat went home to her heart of hearts. Yes, she could imagine the life hepainted so well. Yes, she knew what the future would seem to her, if itwere to be spent with him. She loved him dearly--had so loved him eversince that night in the railway-carriage, she thought. When had his imagereally been absent from her since that time?

He insisted that she should hear him to the end, and she submitted, notunwillingly, perhaps. She had no thought of yielding; but it was sweet toher to hear his voice--for the last time, she told herself; this must bethe last time. Even while he pleaded and argued and demonstrated that thewisest thing in the world she could do was to run away with him, she wasmeditating her plan of escape. Not again must they meet thus. She had acertain amount of strength of mind, but it was not inexhaustible, and shefelt her weakness. 

"You forget that I have a son, " she said at last, when he urged her tospeak. 

"He shall be my son. Do you think I do not love that rosy yearling? Heshall inherit Lyvedon, if you like; there is no entail; I can do what Iplease with it. Yes, though I had sons of my own he should be first, byright of any wrong we may do him now. In the picture I have made of ourfuture life, I never omitted that figure, Clarissa. Forget your son! No, Clary; when I am less than a father to him, tell me that I never lovedyou. "

This was the man's way of looking at the question; the boy's future shouldbe provided for, he should have a fine estate left him by way of solatium. The mother thought of what her son would think of _her_, when he grew oldenough to consider her conduct. 

"I must ask you to get me a fly somehow, Mr. Fairfax, " she said quietly. "It is still raining, and I am really anxious to get home to Lovel. I amsorry you should have taken so much trouble about me; it is quite useless, believe me. I know that I have been very weak--guilty even--in many wayssince I have known you; but that is all over now. I have paid the penaltyin the loss of my husband's esteem. I have nothing now to live for but mychild. "

"And is that to be the end of everything, Mrs. Granger?" asked GeorgeFairfax, with an angry look in his eyes. "Are we to part upon that? It issuch an easy thing to lure a man on to a certain point, and then turn uponhim and protest you never meant to go beyond that point. You have paid thepenalty! Do you think I have paid no penalty? Was it a pleasant thing tome, do you suppose, to jilt Geraldine Challoner? I trampled honour in thedust for your sake, Clarissa. Do you know that there is a coolness betweenmy mother and me at this moment, because of my absence from England andthat broken-off marriage? Do you know that I have turned my back for everupon a place that any man might be proud to call his home, for the sake ofbeing near you? I have cast every consideration to the winds; and now thatyou have actually broken loose from your bondage, now that there is nothingto come between us and a happy future, you set up your son as an obstacle, and"--he concluded with a bitter laugh--"ask me to fetch you a fly!"

"I am sorry to wound you; but--but--I cannot bring dishonour upon my son. "

"Your son!" cried George Fairfax savagely. "An east wind may blow yourson off the face of the earth to-morrow. Is a one-year-old baby tostand between a man and his destiny? Come, Clary, I have served myapprenticeship; I have been very patient; but my patience is exhausted. Youmust leave this place with me to-night. "

"Mr. Fairfax, will you get me a fly, or must I walk home?"

He looked at her fixedly for a few moments, intent upon finding out if shewere really in earnest, if this cold persistence were unconquerable even byhim. Her face was very pale, the eyes downcast, the mouth firm as marble. 

"Clarissa, " he cried, "I have been fooled from first to last--you havenever loved me!"

Those words took her off her guard; she lifted her eyes to meet his, eyesfull of love and despair, and again he told himself success was only aquestion of time. His apprenticeship was not finished yet; he must becontent to serve a little longer. When she had tasted the bitterness of hernew life, its helplessness, its desolation, with only such a broken reed asAustin Lovel to lean upon, she would turn to him naturally for comfort andsuccour, as the fledgling flies back to its nest. 

But if in the meantime Daniel Granger should relent and pursue her, andtake her back to his heart with pardon and love? There was the possibilityof that event; yet to press matters too persistently would be foolish, perilous even. Better to let her have her own way for a little, since heknew that she loved him. 

He went to look for the depressed waiter, whom he dispatched in quest of avehicle, and then returned to the rustic shelter, where Clarissa sat like astatue, watching the rain pouring down monotonously in a perpetual drizzle. They heard the wheels of the carriage almost immediately. Mr. Fairfaxoffered his arm to Clarissa, and led her out of the garden; the obsequiouswaiter on the other side holding an umbrella over her head. 

"Where shall I tell the man to drive?" he asked. 

"To St. Gudule. "

"But you don't live in the cathedral, like Hugo's Esmeralda. Am I not toknow your address?"

"It is better not. Austin knows that you were the cause of my leavingParis. If you came, there might be some misunderstanding. "

"I am not afraid of facing Austin. "

"But I am afraid of any meeting between you. I cannot tell you where I amliving, Mr. Fairfax. "

"That seems rather hard upon me. But you will let me see you again, won'tyou, Clary? Meet me here to-morrow at dusk--say at six o'clock. Promise todo that, and I will let you off. "

She hesitated, looking nervously to the right and left, like a huntedanimal. 

"Promise, Clary; it is not very much to ask. "

"Very well, then, I promise. Only please let the man drive off to St. Gudule, and pray don't follow me. "

Mr. Fairfax grasped her hand. "Remember, you have promised, " he said, andthen gave the coachman his orders. And directly the fly containing Clarissahad rattled off, he ran to the nearest stand and chartered another. 

"Drive to St. Gudule, " he said to the man, "and when you see a carriagegoing that way, keep behind it, but not too near. "

It happened, however, that the first driver had the best horse, and, beingeager to earn his fare quickly, had deposited Clarissa in the Place Gudulebefore George Fairfax's charioteer could overtake him. She had her moneyready to slip into the man's hand, and she ran across the square and intothe narrow street where Austin lived, and vanished, before Mr. Fairfaxturned the corner of the square. 

He met the empty vehicle, and dismissed his own driver thereupon in a rage. "Your horse ought to be suppressed by the legal authorities, " he said, ashe gave the man his fare. 

She must live very near the cathedral, he concluded, and he spent a drearyhour patrolling the narrow streets round about in the wet. In which ofthose dull-looking houses has she her dwelling? He could not tell. Hewalked up and down, staring up at all the windows with a faint hope ofseeing her, but in vain; and at last went home to his hotel crestfallen anddisappointed. 

"She escapes me at every turn, " he said to himself. "There is a kind offatality. Am I to grow old and gray in pursuing her, I wonder? I feel tenyears older already, since that night when she and I travelled together. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLVI. 

ON THE WING. 

Clarissa hung over her baby with all manner of fond endearments. 

"My darling! my darling!" she sobbed; "is it a hard thing to resisttemptation for your sake?"

She had shed many bitter tears since that interview with George Fairfax, alone in the dreary room, while Level slept the after-dinner sleep ofinfancy, and while Mrs. Level and Jane Target gossipped sociably in thegeneral sitting-room. Austin was out playing dominoes at the café of aThousand Columns, with some Bohemianishly-disposed Bruxellois. 

She had wept for the life that might have been, but which never could be. On that point she was decided. Not under the shadow of dishonour could shespend her days. She had her son. If she had been alone, utterly desolate, standing on some isolated rock, with nothing but the barren sea around her, she might perhaps have listened to that voice which was so very sweet toher, and yielded. But to take this dreadful leap which she was asked totake, alone, was one thing; to take it with her child in her arms, another. Her fancy, which was very vivid, made pictures of what her boy's futuremight be, if she were to do this thing. She thought of him stung by themention of his mother's name, as if it were the foulest insult. She thoughtof his agony when he heard other men talk of their mothers, and rememberedthe blackness of darkness that shrouded his. She thought of the boyishintellect opening little by little, first with vague wonder, then fearfulcuriosity, to receive this fatal knowledge; and then the shame for thatyoung innocent soul!

"O, not for worlds!" she cried, "O, not for worlds! God keep me from anymore temptation!"

Not with mere idle prayers did she content herself. She knew her danger;that man was resolute, unscrupulous, revengeful even: and she loved him. She determined to leave Brussels. She would go and lose herself in the wideworld of London; and then, after a little while, when all possibility ofher movements being traced was over, she would take her child to somesecluded country place, where there were woods and meadows, and where thelittle dimpled hands could gather bright spring flowers. She announced herintention to her brother that evening, when he came home at a latish hourfrom the Thousand Columns, elated by having won three francs and a half atdominoes--an amount which he had expended on cognac and syphons for himselfand his antagonist. 

He was surprised, vexed even, by Clarissa's decision. Why had she come tohim, if she meant to run away directly? What supreme folly to make such ajourney for nothing! Why did she not go from Paris to London at once?

"I did not think of that, Austin; I was almost out of my senses that day, Ithink, after Daniel told me he was going to separate me from my boy; and itseemed natural to me to fly to you for protection. "

"Then why run away from me? Heaven knows, you are welcome to such a homeas I can give. The quarters are rough, I know; but we shall improve that, by-and-by. "

"No, no, Austin, it is not that. I should be quite happy with you, only--only--I have a particular reason for going to London. "

"Clarissa!" cried her brother sternly, "has that man anything to do withthis? Has he tried to lure you away from here, to your destruction?"

"No, no, no! you ought to know me better than that. Do you think I wouldbring dishonour upon my boy?"

Her face told him that she was speaking the truth. 

"Very well, Clary, " he said with a sigh of resignation; "you must do as youplease. I suppose your reason is a good one, though you don't choose totrust me. "

So, by an early train next morning, Clarissa, with her nurse and child, left Brussels for Ostend--a somewhat dreary place wherein to arrive inearly spring-time, with March winds blowing bleak across the sandy dunes. 

They had to spend a night here, at a second-rate hotel on the Quay. 

"We must go to humble-looking places, you know, Jane, to make our moneylast, " Clarissa said on the journey. They had travelled second-class; butshe had given a five-pound note to her brother, by way of recompense forthe brief accommodation he had given her, not telling him how low her stockwas. Faithful Jane's five-and-twenty pounds were vanishing. Clarissa lookedat the two glittering circlets on her wedding finger. 

"We cannot starve while we have these, " she thought; and once in London, she could sell her drawings. Natural belief of the school-girl mind, thatwater-coloured sketches are a marketable commodity!

Again in the dismal early morning--that sunrise of which poets write sosweetly, but which to the unromantic traveller is wont to seem a drearything--mother and nurse and child went their way in a great black steamer, redolent of oil and boiled mutton; and at nine o'clock at night--a starlessMarch night--Clarissa and her belongings were deposited on St. Katharine'sWharf, amidst a clamour and bustle that almost confused her senses. 

She had meditated and debated and puzzled herself all through the day'svoyage, sitting alone on the windy deck, brooding over her troubles, whileJane kept young Lovel amused and happy below. Inexperienced in the ways ofevery-day life as a child--knowing no more now than she had known in herschool-girl days at Belforêt--she had made her poor little plan, such as itwas. 

Two or three times during her London season she had driven throughSoho--those weird dreary streets between Soho Square and Regent Street--andhad contemplated the gloomy old houses, with a bill of lodgings to lethere and there in a parlour-window; anon a working jeweller's humble shopbreaking out of a private house; here a cheap restaurant, there a Frenchlaundress; everywhere the air of a life which is rather a struggle tolive than actual living. In this neighbourhood, which was the only humblequarter of the great city whereof she had any knowledge, Clarissa fanciedthey might find a temporary lodging--only a temporary shelter, for all herhopes and dreams pointed to some fair rustic retreat, where she might livehappily with her treasure. Once lodged safely and obscurely, where it wouldbe impossible for either her husband or George Fairfax to track her, shewould spend a few shillings in drawing-materials, and set to work toproduce a set of attractive sketches, which she might sell to a dealer. Sheknew her brother's plan of action, and fancied she could easily carry itout upon a small scale. 

"So little would enable us to live happily, Jane, " she said, when sherevealed her ideas to her faithful follower. 

"But O, mum, to think of you living like that, with such a rich husband asMr. Granger, and him worshipping the ground you walk upon, as he did up tothe very last; and as to his anger, I'm sure it was only tempory, and he'ssorry enough he drove you away by this time, I'll lay. "

"He wanted to take away my child, Jane. "

They took a cab, and drove from Thames-street to Soho. Clarissa had neverbeen through the City at night before, and she thought the streets wouldnever end. They came at last into that quieter and dingier region; but itwas past ten o'clock, and hard work to find a respectable lodging at suchan hour. Happily the cabman was a kindly and compassionate spirit, anddid his uttermost to help them, moving heaven and earth, in the way ofpolicemen and small shopkeepers, until, by dint of much inquiry, he founda decent-looking house in a _cul-de-sac_ out of Dean-street--a littleout-of-the-way quadrangle, where the houses were large and stately, and hadbeen habitations of sweetness and light in the days when Soho was young, and Monmouth the young man of the period. 

To one of these houses the cabman had been directed by a good-naturedcheesemonger, at a corner not far off; and here Clarissa found asecond-floor--a gaunt-looking sitting-room, with three windows andoaken window-seats, sparsely furnished, but inexorably clean; a bedroomadjoining--at a rent which seemed moderate to this inexperiencedwayfarer. The landlady was a widow--is it not the normal state oflandladies?--cleanly and conciliating, somewhat surprised to see travellerswith so little luggage, but reassured by that air of distinction which wasinseparable from Mrs. Granger, and by the presence of the maid. 

The cabman was dismissed, with many thanks and a princely payment; and soClarissa began life alone in London. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLVII. 

IN TIME OF NEED. 

It was a dreary habitation, that London lodging, after the gardens andwoods of Arden, the luxurious surroundings and innumerable prettinesseswhich Mr. Granger's wealth had provided for the wife of his love; drearyafter the holiday brightness of Paris; dreary beyond expression toClarissa in the long quiet evenings when she sat alone, trying to face thefuture--the necessity for immediate action being over, and the world allbefore her. 

She had her darling. That was the one fact which she repeated to herselfover and over again, as if the words had been a charm--an amulet to driveaway guilty thoughts of the life that might have been, if she had listenedto George Fairfax's prayer. 

It was not easy for her to shut _that_ image out of her heart, even withher dearest upon earth beside her. The tender pleading words, the earnestface, came back to her very often. She thought of him wandering aboutthose hilly streets in Brussels, disappointed and angry: thought of hisreproaches, and the sacrifices he had made for her. 

And then from such weak fancies she was brought suddenly back by thenecessities of every-day life Her money was very nearly gone; the journeyshad cost so much, and she had been obliged to buy clothing for Jane andLovel and herself at Brussels. She had spent a sovereign on coloursand brushes and drawing-paper at Winsor and Newton's--her littlestock-in-trade. She looked at her diamond rings meditatively as she satbrooding in the March twilight, with as vague an idea of their value as achild might have had. The time was very near when she would be obliged toturn them into money. 

Fortunately the woman of the house was friendly, and the rooms were clean. But the airs of Soho are not as those breezes which come blowing overYorkshire wolds and woods, with the breath of the German Ocean; nor hadthey the gay Tuileries garden and the Bois for Master Lovel's airings. JaneTarget was sorely puzzled where to take the child. It was a weary longway to St. James's Park on foot; and the young mother had a horror ofomnibuses--in which she supposed smallpox and fever to be continuallyraging. Sometimes they had a cab, and took the boy down to feed the ducksand stare at the soldiers. But in the Park Clarissa had an ever-presentterror of being seen by some one she knew. Purposeless prowlings with babyin the streets generally led unawares into Newport-market, from which busymart Mrs. Granger fled aghast, lest her darling should die of the odour ofred herrings and stale vegetables. In all the wider streets Clarissa wasafflicted by that perpetual fear of being recognised; and during theairings which Lovel enjoyed with Jane alone the poor mother enduredunspeakable torments. At any moment Mr. Granger, or some one employed byMr. Granger, might encounter the child, and her darling be torn from her;or some accident might befall him. Clarissa's inexperience exaggerated theperils of the London streets, until every paving-stone seemed to bristlewith dangers. She longed for the peace and beauty of the country; but notuntil she had found some opening for the disposal of her sketches could shehope to leave London. She worked on bravely for a fortnight, painting halfa dozen hours a day, and wasting the rest of her day in baby worship, orin profound plottings and plannings about the future with Jane Target. Thegirl was thoroughly devoted, ready to accept any scheme of existence whichher mistress might propose. The two women made their little picture of thelife they were to lead when Clarissa had found a kindly dealer to give herconstant employment: a tiny cottage, somewhere in Kent or Surrey, amonggreen fields and wooded hills, furnished ever so humbly, but with a gardenwhere Lovel might play. Clarissa sketched the ideal cottage one evening--abower of roses and honeysuckle, with a thatched roof and steep gables. Alas, when she had finished her fortnight's work, and carried half a dozensketches to a dealer in Rathbone-place, it was only to meet with a crushingdisappointment. The man admitted her power, but had no use for anything ofthat kind. Chromolithographs were cheap and popular--people would ratherbuy a lithograph of some popular artist's picture than a namelesswater-colour. If she liked to leave a couple of her sketches, he would tryto dispose of them, but he could not buy them--and giving her permanentemployment was quite out of the question. 

"Do you know anything about engraving?" he asked. 

Clarissa shook her head sadly. 

"Can you draw on the wood?"

"I have never tried, but I daresay I could do that. "

"I recommend you to turn your attention that way. There's a larger fieldfor that sort of thing. You might exhibit some of your sketches at the nextWater-Colour Exhibition. They would stand a chance of selling there. "

"Thanks. You are very good, but I want remunerative employmentimmediately. "

She wandered on--from dealer to dealer, hoping against hope always with thesame result--from Rathbone-place to Regent-street, and on to Bond-street, and homewards along Oxford-street, and then back to her baby, broken-hearted. 

"It is no use, Jane, " she sobbed. "I can understand my brother's life now. Art is a broken reed. We must get away from this dreadful London--how palemy Lovel is looking!--and go into some quiet country-place, where we canlive very cheaply. I almost wish I had stayed in Belgium--in one of thesmall out-of-the-way towns, where we might have been safely hidden. We mustgo down to the country, Jane, and I must take in plain needle-work. "

"I'm a good un at that, you know, mum, " Jane cried with a delighted grin. 

And then they began to consider where they should go. That was rathera difficult question. Neither of them knew any world except the regionsurrounding Arden Court. At last Clarissa remembered Beckenham. She haddriven through Beckenham once on her way to a garden-party. Why should theynot go to Beckenham?--the place was so near London, could be reached withso little expense, and yet was rustic. 

"We must get rid of one of the rings, Jane, " Clarissa said, looking at itdoubtfully. 

"I'll manage that, mum--don't you fidget yourself about that. There's apawnbroker's in the next street. I'll take it round there in the evening, if you like, mum. "

Clarissa shuddered. Commerce with a pawnbroker seemed to her inexperience akind of crime--something like taking stolen property to be melted down. 

But Jane Target was a brave damsel, and carried the ring to the pawnbrokerwith so serene a front, and gave her address with so honest an air, thatthe man, though at first inclined to be doubtful, believed her story;namely, that the ring belonged to her mistress, a young married lady whohad suffered a reverse of fortune. 

She went home rejoicing, having raised fifteen pounds upon a ring thatwas worth ninety. The pawnbroker had a notice that it would never beredeemed--young married ladies who suffer reverse of fortune rarely recovertheir footing, but generally slide down, down, down to the uttermost deepsof poverty. 

They were getting ready for that journey to Beckenham, happy in the idea ofescaping from the monotonous unfriendly streets, and the grime and mireand general dinginess of London life, when an unlooked-for calamity befellthem, and the prospect of release had, for the time at least, to be givenup. Young Lovel fell ill. He was "about his teeth, " the woman of the housesaid, and tried to make light of the evil. These innocents are subject tomuch suffering in this way. He had a severe cold, with a tiresome hackingcough which rent Clarissa's heart. She sent for a doctor immediately--aneighbouring practitioner recommended by the landlady--and he came and sawthe child lying in his mother's lap, and the mother young and beautifuland unhappy, and was melted accordingly, and did all he could to treat thematter lightly. Yet he was fain, after a few visits, and no progress forthe better, to confess that these little lives hang by a slender thread. 

"The little fellow has a noble frame and an excellent constitution, " hesaid; "I hope we shall save him. "

Save him! An icy thrill went through Clarissa's veins. Save him! Was thereany fear of losing him? O God, what would her life be without that child?She looked at the doctor, white to the lips and speechless with horror. 

"I don't wish to alarm you, " he said gently, "but I am compelled to admitthat there is danger. If the little one's father is away, " he addeddoubtfully, "and you would like to summon him, I think it would be as wellto do so. "

"O, my flower, my angel, my life!" she cried, flinging herself down besidethe child's bed; "I cannot lose you!"

"I trust in God you will not, " said the surgeon. "We will make everyeffort to save him. " And then he turned to Jane Target, and murmured hisdirections. 

"Is there any one else, " said Clarissa in a hoarse voice, looking up at themedical man--"anyone I can send for besides yourself--any one who can curemy baby?"

"I doubt whether it would be of any use. The case is such a simple one. Ihave fifty such in a year. But if you would like a physician to seethe little fellow, there is Dr. Ormond, who has peculiar experience inchildren's cases. You might call him in, if you liked. "

"I will send for him this minute. --Jane, dear, will you go?"

"I don't think it would be any use, just now. He will be out upon hisrounds. There is no immediate danger. If you were to send to him thisevening--a note would do--asking him to call to-morrow--that would be thebest way. Remember, I don't for a moment say the case is hopeless. Only, ifyou have any anxiety about the little one's father, and if he is within aday's journey, I would really advise you to send for him. "

Clarissa did not answer. She was hanging over the bed, watching everydifficult breath with unutterable agony. The child had only begun to droopa week ago, had been positively ill only four days. 

All the rest of that day Clarissa was in a kind of stupor. She watched thechild, and watched Jane administering her remedies, and the landlady comingin now and then to look at the boy, or to ask about him with a friendlyanxiety. She tried to help Jane sometimes, in a useless tremulous way, sometimes sat statue-like, and could only gaze. She could not evenpray--only now and then, she whispered with her dry lips, "Surely God willnot take away my child!"

At dusk the doctor came again, but said very little. He was leaving theroom, when Clarissa stopped him with a passionate despairing cry. Untilthat moment she had seemed marble. 

"Tell me the truth, " she cried. "Will he be taken away from me? He is allthe world to me--the only thing on earth I have to love. Surely God willnot be so pitiless! What difference can one angel more make in heaven? andhe is all the world to me. "

"My dear lady, these things are ordered by a Wisdom beyond ourcomprehension, " the doctor answered gently. That picture of a disconsolatemother was very common to him--only Clarissa was so much lovelier than mostof the mothers, and her grief had a more romantic aspect and touched him alittle more than usual. "Believe me, I shall make every effort to pull thelittle fellow through, " he added with the professional air of hopefulness. "Have you written to Dr. Ormond?"

"Yes, my letter was posted an hour after you called. "

"Then we shall hear what he says to-morrow. You can have no higher opinion. And now pray, my dear Mrs. Graham"--Clarissa had called herself Graham inthese Soho lodgings--"pray keep up your spirits; remember your own healthwill suffer if you give way--and I really do not think you are strong. "

He looked at her curiously as he spoke. She was deadly pale, and had ahaggard look which aged her by ten years: beauty less perfect in itsoutline would have been obscured by that mental anguish--hers shone throughall, ineffaceable. 

"Do not forget what I said about the little one's father, " urged thedoctor, lingering for a minute on the threshold. "There is really too greata responsibility in keeping him ignorant of the case, if he is anywherewithin reach. "

Clarissa smiled for the first time since her boy's illness--a strangewan smile. She was thinking how Daniel Granger had threatened her withseparation from her child; and now Death had come between them to snatchhim from both. 

"My son!" She remembered the proud serenity, the supreme sense ofpossession, with which she had pronounced those words. 

And the child would die perhaps, and Daniel Granger never look upon hisface again. A great terror came into her mind at that thought. What wouldher husband say to her if he came to claim his boy, and found him dead? Forthe first time since she had left him--triumphant in the thought of havingsecured this treasure--the fact that the boy belonged to him, as well as toherself, came fully home to her. From the day of the baby's birth she hadbeen in the habit of thinking of him as her own--hers by a right divinealmost--of putting his father out of the question, as it were--onlyjust tolerating to behold that doating father's fond looks andcaresses--watching all communion between those two with a lurking jealousy. 

Now all at once she began to feel what a sacred bond there was between thefather and son, and how awful a thing it would be, if Daniel Granger shouldfind his darling dead. Might he not denounce her as the chief cause of hisboy's death? Those hurried journeys by land and sea--that rough shifting toand fro of the pampered son and heir, whose little life until that timehad been surrounded with such luxurious indulgences, so guarded from thefaintest waft of discomfort--who should say that these things had notjeopardised the precious creature? And out of her sin had this arisen. Inthat dread hour by her darling's sick-bed, what unutterably odiouscolours did her flirtation with George Fairfax assume--her dalliance withtemptation, her weak hankering after that forbidden society! She saw, aswomen do see in that clear after-light which comes with remorse, all theguilt and all the hatefulness of her sin. 

"God gave me my child for my redemption, " she said to herself, "and I wenton sinning. "

What was it the doctor had said? Again and again those parting words cameback to her. The father should be summoned. But to summon him, to revealher hiding-place, and then have her darling taken from her, saved from thegrasp of death only to be torn from her by his pitiless unforgiving father!No thought of what Daniel Granger had been to her in all the days of hermarried life arose to comfort or reassure her. She only thought of him ashe had been after that fatal meeting in her brother's painting-room; andshe hoped for no mercy from him. 

"And even if I were willing to send for him, I don't know where he is, " shesaid at last helplessly. 

Jane Target urged her to summon him. 

"If you was to send a telegraft to the Court, mum, Miss Granger is prettysure to be there, and she'd send to her pa, wherever he was. "

Clarissa shivered. Send to Miss Granger! suffer those cold eyes to seethe depth of her humiliation! That would be hard to endure. Yet what didanything in the world matter to her when her boy was in jeopardy?

"We shall save him, Jane, " she said with a desperate hopefulness, claspingher hands and bending down to kiss the troubled little one, who had briefsnatches of sleep now and then in weary hours of restlessness. "We shallsave him. The doctor said so. "

"God grant we may, mum! But the doctor didn't say for certain--he only saidhe _hoped_; and it would be so much better to send for master. It seemsa kind of crime not to let him know; and if the poor dear should growworse--"

"He will not grow worse!" cried Clarissa hysterically. "What, Jane! are youagainst me? Do you want me to be robbed of him, as his father would robme without mercy? No, I will keep him, I will keep him! Nothing but deathshall take him from me. "

Later in the evening, restless with the restlessness of a soul tormentedby fear, Clarissa began to grow uneasy about her letter to Dr. Ormond. Itmight miscarry in going through the postoffice. She was not quite sure thatit had been properly directed, her mind had been so bewildered when shewrote it. Or Dr. Ormond might have engagements next morning, and might notbe able to come. She was seized with a nervous anxiety about this. "

"If there were any one I could send with another note, " she said. 

Jane shook her head despondently. In that house there was no messenger tobe procured. The landlady was elderly, and kept no servant--employing onlya mysterious female of the charwoman species, who came at daybreak, dyedherself to the elbows with blacking or blacklead before breakfast, and soremained till the afternoon, when she departed to "do for" a husband andchildren--the husband and children passing all the earlier part of the dayin a desolate and un-"done-for" condition. 

"There's no one to take a letter, mum, " said Jane, looking wistfully at hermistress, who had been watching without rest or slumber for three days andthree nights. "But why shouldn't you go yourself, mum? Cavendish Squareisn't so very far. Don't you remember our going there one morning withbaby? It's a fine evening, and a little fresh air would do you good. "

Clarissa was quite willing to go on the errand herself. It would be doingsomething at least. She might see the physician, and obtain his promise tocome to her early next day; and beside that sick-bed she was of so littleuse. She could only hold her darling in her lap, when he grew weary of hisbed, or carry him up and down the room sometimes. Jane, whose nerves wereas steady as a rock, did all the rest. 

She looked at the bed. It was hard to leave that tender little sufferereven for half an hour. 

"If he should grow worse while I am away?" she said doubtfully. 

"No fear of that, " replied Jane. "He's sleeping better now than he hasslept for ever so long. God grant he's upon the turn!"

"God grant it! And you won't forget the medicine at half-past eight?"

"Lor', mum, as if I should forget!"

"Then I'll go, " said Clarissa. 

She put on her bonnet and shawl, startled a little by the white face thatlooked at her from the glass. The things she had worn when she left Pariswere the darkest and plainest in her wardrobe. They had grown shabby bythis time, and had a very sombre look. Even in these garments the tall slimfigure had a certain elegance; but it was not a figure to be remarked atnightfall, in the London streets. The mistress of Arden Court might havebeen easily mistaken for a sempstress going home from her work. 

Just at first the air made her giddy, and she tottered a little on thebroad pavement of the quiet _cul-de-sac_. It seemed as if she had not beenout of doors for a month. But by degrees she grew more accustomed to thekeen March atmosphere and the noise of Oxford-street, towards which she washastening, and so hurried on, thinking only of her errand. She made her waysomehow to Cavendish-square. How well she remembered driving through it inthe summer gloaming, during the brief glory of her one season, on her wayto a commercial magnate's Tusculum in the Regent's-park! It had seemedremote and out of the world after Mayfair--a locality which one might bedriven by reverse of fortune to inhabit, not otherwise. But to-night thegrave old square had an alarming stateliness of aspect after slipshod Soho. 

She found Dr. Ormond's house, and saw his butler, a solemn bald-headedpersonage, who looked wise enough to prescribe for the most reconditediseases of humanity. The doctor himself was dining out, but the butlerpledged himself for his master's appearance at Clarissa's lodgings betweeneleven and two to-morrow. 

"He never disappints; and he draws no distinctions, " said the official, with an evident reference to the humility of the applicant's social status. "There's not many like him in the medical perfession. "

"And you think he is sure to come?" urged Clarissa anxiously. 

"Don't you be afraid, mum. I shall make a particular pint of it myself. Youmay be quite easy about his comin'. "

Clarissa thanked the man, and surprised him with half-a-crown gentlyslipped into his fat palm. She had not many half-crowns now; but the butlerseemed to pity her, and might influence his master to come to her a littlesooner than he would come in the ordinary way. 

Her errand being done, she turned away from the house with a strangesinking at the heart. An ever-present fear of his illness coming to a fatalend, and a guilty sense of the wrong she was doing to Daniel Granger, oppressed her. She walked in a purposeless way, took the wrong turningafter coming out of the square, and so wandered into Portland-place. Shecame to a full stop suddenly in that wide thoroughfare, and lookingabout her like an awakened sleep-walker, perceived that she had goneastray--recognised the place she was in, and saw that she was within a fewdoors of Lady Laura Armstrong's house. 

Although the London season had begun, there was an air of stillness andsolitude in this grave habitation of splendours that have for the most partvanished. At one door there was a carriage waiting; here and there lightedwindows shone out upon the night; but the general aspect was desolation. Ifthere were gaiety and carousing anywhere, closed shutters hid the festivalfrom the outer world. The underground world of Egypt could scarcely haveseemed more silent than Portland-place. 

Clarissa went on to the familiar corner house, which was made conspicuousto the stranger by encaustic tiled balconies, or glass fern and flowercases at every available window, and by a certain colour and glitter whichseemed almost a family likeness to Lady Laura herself. There were lightsburning dimly in the two last windows on the drawing-room floor lookinginto the side street. Clarissa remembered the room very well--it wasLady Laura's own especial sanctum, the last and smallest of fourdrawing-rooms--a nest lined with crimson silk, and crowded with everythingfoolish in the way of ebony and ormolu, Venetian glass and Sèvres china, and with nothing sensible in it except three or four delicious easy-chairsof the _pouff_ species, immortalised by Sardou. Alas for that age of pouffwhich he satirised with such a caustic pen! To what dismal end has it come!End of powder and petroleum, and instead of beauty, burning!

The lonely wanderer, so sorely oppressed with cares and perplexities, looked wistfully up at those familiar windows. How often she had loiteredaway the twilight with Lady Laura, talking idly in that flower-ladenbalcony! As she looked at it to-night, there came into her mind a foolishwonder that life could have had any interest for her in those days, beforethe birth of her son. 

"If I were to lose him now, I should be no poorer than I was then, " shethought; and then, after a moment's reflection, "O yes, yes, a thousandtimes poorer, once having had him. "

She walked a little way down the street, and then came back again andlingered under those two-windows, with an unspeakable yearning to castherself upon her friend in this hour of shipwreck. She had such bitterneed of sympathy from some one nearer her own level than the poor honestfaithful Yorkshire girl. 

"She was once my friend, " she said to herself, still hovering thereirresolute, "and seemed very fond of me. She could advise me, knowing theworld so well as she does; and I do not think she would betray me. She owesme something, too. But for my promise to her, I might have been GeorgeFairfax's wife, and all this trouble might have been avoided. "

George Fairfax's wife! What a strange dreamlike fancy it seemed! And yet itmight have been; it had needed only one little word from herself to makethe dream a fact. 

"I tried to do my duty, " she thought, "and yet ruin and sorrow have comeupon me. " And then the small still voice whispered, "Tried to do your duty, but not always; sometimes you left off trying, and dared to be happy inyour own way. Between the two roads of vice and virtue, you tried to make adevious pathway of your own, not wholly on one side or the other. "

Once having seen that light, feeling somehow that there was sympathy andcomfort near, she could not go away without making some attempt to see herfriend. She thought with a remorseful pang of times and seasons during herwedded life when Laura Armstrong's too solicitous friendship had seemed toher something of a bore. How different was it with her now!

She summoned up resolution at last, and in a half desperate mood, wentround to the front door and knocked--a tremulous conscience-stricken knock, as of some milliner's apprentice bringing home a delayed bonnet. The manwho opened the door; looked involuntarily for her basket. 

"What is it?" he asked dubiously, scenting a begging-letter writer in thetall slim figure and closely-veiled face, and being on principle aversefrom gentility that did not ride in its carriage. "What is it, youngwoman?"

"Can I see Lady Laura Armstrong? I want to see her very particularly. "

"Have you got an appointment?"

"No; but I wish to see her. "

"You're from Madame Lecondre's, I suppose. You can see my lady's maid; butit's quite out of the question for you to see my lady herself, at this timeof night. "

"Will you take a message to her, on a slip of paper? I am almost sure shewill see me. " And again Clarissa opened her slender purse, and slipped aflorin into the man's hand, by way of bribe. 

He was somewhat melted by this, but yet had an eye to the portable propertyin the hall. 

"You can come in, " he said, pointing with a lofty air to a table whereonwere pens and paper, "and write your message. " And then rang an electricbell, which summons brought a second powdered footman, who was, as it were, a Corsican Brother or Siamese Twin, without the ligature, to the first. 

Clarissa scrawled a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper, and folded it. 

"Be so kind as to take that to your mistress, " she said. "I am sure shewill see me. "

The second footman was that superior young man, Norris, whom Hannah Warmanhad praised. He stared aghast, recognising Mrs. Granger's voice andbearing, in spite of the thick veil folded over her face, in spite of hershabby garments. 

"My lady shall have your note immediately, ma'am, " he said with profoundrespect, and sped off as if to carry the message of a cabinet minister, much to the bewilderment of his brother officer, who did not know Mrs. Granger. 

He reappeared in about two minutes, and ushered Clarissa duly up the broadstaircase--dimly lighted to-night, the family being in Portland-place, ina kind of semi-state, only newly arrived, and without so much as ahall-porter--through the corridor, where there were velvet-cushioned divansagainst the walls, whereon many among Lady Laura's guests considered it aprivilege to sit on her great reception nights, content to have penetratedso far, and with no thought of struggling farther, and on to thewhite-and-gold door at the farther end, which admitted the elect into mylady's boudoir. 

Laura Armstrong was sitting at an ebony writing-table, with innumerablelittle drawers pulled out to their utmost extent, and all running over withpapers, a chaotic mass of open letters before her, and a sheet of foolscapscrawled over with names. She had been planning her campaign for theseason--so many dinners, so many dances, alternate Thursdays in May andJune; and a juvenile fancy ball, at which a Pompadour of seven years ofage could lead off the Lancers with a Charles the Twelfth of ten, with aneight-year-old Mephistopheles and a six-year-old Anna Boleyn for their_vis-à-vis_. 

As the footman opened the door, and ushered in Mrs. Granger, there was afaint rustling of silk behind the _portière_ dividing Lady Laura's roomfrom the next apartment; but Clarissa was too agitated to notice this. 

Laura Armstrong received her with effusion. 

"My dearest girl, " she exclaimed, rising, and grasping both Clarissa'shands, as the man closed the door, "how glad I am to see you! Do you know, something told me you would come to me? Yes, dear; I said to myself ever somany times, 'That poor misguided child will come to me. ' O, Clary, Clary, what have you been doing! Your husband is like a rock. He was at Ardenfor a few days, about a fortnight ago, and I drove over to see him, andentreated him to confide in me; but he would tell nothing. My poor, poorchild! how pale, how changed!"

She had thrown back Clarissa's veil, and was scrutinising the haggard facewith very womanly tenderness. 

"Sit down, dear, and tell me everything. You know that you can trust me. Ifyou had gone ever so wrong--and I don't believe it is in you to do that--Iwould still be your friend. "

Clarissa made a faint effort to speak, and then burst into tears. Thisloving welcome was quite too much to bear. 

"He told me he was going to take my boy away from me, " she sobbed, "so Iran away from him, with my darling--and now my angel is dying!"

And then, with many tears, and much questioning and ejaculation from LadyLaura, she told her pitiful story--concealing nothing, not even her weakyielding to temptation, not even her love for George Fairfax. 

"I loved him always, " she said; "yes--always, always, always--from thatfirst night when we travelled together! I used to dream of him sometimes, never hoping to see him again, till that summer day when he came suddenlyupon me in Marley Wood. But I kept my promise; I was true to you, LadyLaura; I kept my promise. "

"My poor Clary, how I wish I had never exacted that promise! It did nogood; it did not save Geraldine, and it seems to have made you miserable. Good gracious me, " cried Lady Laura with sudden impetuosity, "I have nopatience with the man! What is one man more than another, that there shouldbe so much fuss about him?"

"I must go home to Lovel, " Clarissa said anxiously. "I don't know how longI have been away from him. I lost my head, almost; and I felt that I _must_come to you. "

"Thank God you did come, you poor wandering creature! Wait a few minutes, Clary, while I send for a cab, and put on my bonnet. I am coming with you. "

"You, Lady Laura?"

"Yes, and I too, " said a calm voice, that Clarissa remembered very well;and looking up at the door of communication between the two rooms, she sawthe _portière_ pushed aside, and Geraldine Challoner on the threshold. 

"Let me come and nurse your baby, Mrs. Granger, " she said gently; "I havehad a good deal of experience of that sort of thing. "

"You do not know what an angel she is to the poor round Hale, " said LadyLaura; "especially to the children. And she nursed three of mine, Maud, Ethel, and Alick--no; Stephen, wasn't it?" she asked, looking at her sisterfor correction--"through the scarlatina. Nothing but her devotion couldhave pulled them through, my doctor assured me. Let her come with us, Clary. "

"O, yes, yes! God bless you, Lady Geraldine, for wanting to help mydarling!"

"Norris, tell Fosset to bring me my bonnet and shawl, and fetch a cabimmediately; I can't wait for the carriage. "

Five minutes afterwards, the three women were seated in the cab, and ontheir way to Soho. 

"You have sent for Mr. Granger, of course, " said Lady Laura. 

"No, not yet. I trust in God there may be no necessity; my darling will getwell; I know he will! Dr. Ormond is to see him to-morrow. "

"What, Clarissa! you have not sent for your husband, although you say thathis boy is in danger?"

"If I let Mr. Granger know where I am, he will come and take my son awayfrom me. "

"Nonsense, Clary; he can't do that. It is very shameful of you to keep himin ignorance of the child's state. " And as well as she could, amidst therattling of the cab, Lady Laura tried to awaken Clarissa to a sense of thewrong she was doing. Jane Target stared in amazement on seeing her mistressreturn with these two ladies. 

"O, ma'am, I've been, so frightened!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't think whatwas come of you. "

Clarissa ran to the bed. 

"He has been no worse?" she asked eagerly. 

"No, ma'am. I do think, if there's any change, it is for the better. "

"O thank God, thank God!" cried Clarissa hysterically, falling on her kneesby the bed. "Death shall not rob me of him! Nobody shall take him from me!"And then, turning to Laura Armstrong, she said, "I need not send for myhusband, you see; my darling will recover. "

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

"STRANGERS YET. "

Lady Laura went back to Portland-place in an hour; but Geraldine Challonerstayed all night with the sick child. God was very merciful to Clarissa;the angel of death passed by. In the night the fever abated, if only everso little; and Dr. Ormond's report next day was a cheering one. He did notsay the little one was out of danger; but he did say there was hope. 

Lady Geraldine proved herself an accomplished nurse. The sick child seemedmore tranquil in her arms than even in his mother's. The poor mother felta little pang of jealousy as she saw that it was so; but bore the trialmeekly, and waited upon Geraldine with humble submission. 

"How good you are!" she murmured once, as she watched the slim white handsthat had played chess with George Fairfax adjusting poultices--"how goodyou are!"

"Don't say that, my dear Mrs. Granger. I would do as much for anycottager's child within twenty miles of Hale; it would be hard if Icouldn't do it for my sister's friend. "

"Have you always been fond of the poor?" Clarissa asked wonderingly. 

"Yes, " Geraldine answered, with a faint blush; "I was always fond of them. I can get on with poor people better than with my equals sometimes, Ithink; but I have visited more amongst them lately, since I have gone lessinto society--since papa's death, in fact. And I am particularly fond ofchildren; the little things always take to me. "

"My baby does, at any rate. "

"Have you written or telegraphed to Mr. Granger?" Lady Geraldine askedgravely. 

"No, no, no; there can be no necessity now. Dr. Ormond says there is hope. "

"Hope, yes; but these little lives are so fragile. I implore you to send tohim. It is only right. "

"I will think about it, by and by, perhaps, if he should grow any worse;but I know he is getting better. O, Lady Geraldine, have some pity upon me!If my husband finds out where I am, he will rob me of my child. "

The words were hardly spoken, when there was a loud double-knock at thedoor below, a delay of some two minutes, and then a rapid step on thestair--a step that set Clarissa's heart beating tumultuously. She sat downby the bed, clinging to it like an animal at bay, guarding her cub from thehunter. 

The door was opened quickly, and Daniel Granger came into the room. He wentstraight to the bed, and bent down to look at his child. 

The boy had been light-headed in the night, but his brain was clear enoughnow. He recognised his father, and smiled--a little wan smile, that went tothe strong man's heart. 

"My God, how changed he is!" exclaimed Mr. Granger. "How long has he beenill?"

"Very little more than a week, sir, " Jane Target faltered from thebackground. 

"More than a week! and I am only told of his illness to-day, by a telegramfrom Lady Laura Armstrong! I beg your pardon, Lady Geraldine; I did not seeyou till this moment. I owe it to your sister's consideration that I amhere in time to see my boy before he dies. "

"We have every hope of saving him, " said Geraldine. 

"And what a place I find him in! He has had some kind of doctor attendinghim, I suppose?"

"He has had a surgeon from the neighbourhood, who seems both kind andclever, and Dr. Ormond. "

Mr. Granger seated himself at the foot of the bed, a very little way fromClarissa, taking possession of his child, as it were. 

"Do you know, Mrs. Granger, that I have scarcely rested night or day sinceyou left Paris, hunting for my son?" he said. And this was the first timehe acknowledged his wife's presence by word or look. 

Clarissa was silent. She had been betrayed, she thought--betrayed by herown familiar friend; and Daniel Granger had come to rob her of her child. Come what might, she would not part with him without a struggle. 

After this, there came a weary time of anxious care and watching. Thelittle life trembled in the balance; there were harassing fluctuations, afortnight of unremitting care, before a favourable issue could be safelycalculated upon. And during all that time Daniel Granger watched his boywith only the briefest intervals for rest or refreshment. Clarissa watchedtoo; nor did her husband dispute her right to a place in the sick-room, though he rarely spoke to her, and then only with the coldest courtesy. 

Throughout this period of uncertainty, Geraldine Challoner was faithfulto the duty she had undertaken; spending the greatest part of her life atClarissa's lodgings, and never wearying of the labours of the sick-room. The boy grew daily fonder of her; but, with a womanly instinct, shecontrived that it should be Clarissa who carried him up and down the roomwhen he was restless--Clarissa's neck round which the wasted little armtwined itself. 

Daniel Granger watched the mother and child sometimes with haggard eyes, speculating on the future. If the boy lived, who was to have him? Themother, whose guilt or innocence was an open question--who had owned tobeing at heart false to her husband--or the father, who had done nothing toforfeit the right to his keeping? And yet to part them was like pluckingasunder blossom and bud, that had grown side by side upon one common stem. In many a gloomy reverie the master of Arden Court debated this point. 

He could never receive his wife again--upon that question there seemed tohim no room for doubt. To take back to his home and his heart the woman whohad confessed her affection for another man, was hardly in Daniel Granger'snature. Had he not loved her too much already--degraded himself almost byso entire a devotion to a woman who had given him nothing, who had kept herheart shut against him?

"She married Arden Court, not me, " he said to himself; "and then she triedto have Arden Court and her old lover into the bargain. Would she have runaway with him, I wonder, if he had had time to persuade her that day? _Can_any woman be pure, when a man dares ask her to leave her husband?"

And then the locket that man wore--"From Clarissa"--was not that damningevidence?

He thought of these things again and again, with a weary iteration--thoughtof them as he watched the mother walking slowly to and fro with her babyin her arms. _That_ picture would surely live in his mind for ever, hethought. Never again, never any more, in all the days to come, could hetake his wife back to his heart; but, O God, how dearly he had loved her, and how desolate his home would be without her! Those two years of theirmarried life seemed to be all his existence; looking back beyond that time, his history seemed, like Viola's, "A blank, my lord. " And he was to livethe rest of his life without her. But for that ever-present anxiety aboutthe child, which was in some wise a distraction, the thought of thesethings might have driven him mad. 

At last, after those two weeks of uncertainty, there came a day when Dr. Ormond pronounced the boy out of danger--on the very high-road to recovery, in fact. 

"I would say nothing decided till I could speak with perfect certainty, " hesaid. "You may make yourselves quite happy now. "

Clarissa knelt down and kissed the good old doctor's hand, raining tearsupon it in a passion of gratitude. He seemed to her in that momentsomething divine, a supernal creature who, by the exercise of his power, had saved her child Dr. Ormond lifted her up, smiling at her emotion. 

"Come, come, my dear soul, this is hysterical, " he said, in his soothingpaternal way, patting her shoulder gently as he spoke; "I always meant tosave the little fellow; though it has been a very severe bout, I admit, andwe have had a tussle for it. And now I expect to see your roses come backagain. It has been a hard time for you as well as for baby. "

When Mr. Granger went out of the room with the physician presently, Dr. Ormond said gravely, --

"The little fellow is quite safe, Mr. Granger; but you must look to yourwife now. "

"What do you mean?"

"She has a nasty little hacking cough--a chest cough--which I don't like;and there's a good deal of incipient fever about her. "

"If there is anything wrong, for God's sake see to her at once!" criedDaniel Granger. "Why didn't you speak of this before?"

"There was no appearance of fever until to-day. I didn't wish to worry herwith medicines while she was anxious about the child; indeed, I thought thebest cure for her would be the knowledge of his safety. But the cough isworse to-day; and I should certainly like to prescribe for her, if you willask her to come in here and speak to me for a few minutes. "

So Clarissa went into the dingy lodging-house sitting-room to see thedoctor, wondering much that any one could be interested in such aninsignificant matter as _her_ health, now that her treasure was safe. Shewent reluctantly, murmuring that she was well enough--quite well now; andhad hardly tottered into the room, when she sank down upon the sofa in adead faint. 

Daniel Granger looked on aghast while they revived her. 

"What can have caused this?" he asked. 

"My dear sir, you are surely not surprised, " said Dr. Ormond. "Your wifehas been sitting up with her child every night for nearly a month--thestrain upon her, bodily and mental, has been enormous, and the reactionis of course trying. She will want a good deal of care, that is all. Comenow, " he went on cheerfully, as Clarissa opened her eyes, to find her headlying on Jane Target's shoulder, and her husband standing aloof regardingher with affrighted looks--"come now, my dear Mrs. Granger, cheer up; yourlittle darling is safely over his troubles. "

She burst into a flood of tears. 

"They will take him away from me!" she sobbed. 

"Take him away from you--nonsense! What are you dreaming of?"

"Death has been merciful; but you will be more cruel, " she cried, lookingat her husband. "You will take him away. "

"Come, come, my dear lady, this is a delusion; you really must not give wayto this kind of thing, " murmured the doctor, rather complacently. He hada son-in-law who kept a private madhouse at Wimbledon, and began to thinkMrs. Granger was drifting that way. It was sad, of course, a sweet youngwoman like that; but patients are patients, and Daniel Granger's wife wouldbe peculiarly eligible. 

He looked at Mr. Granger, and touched his forehead significantly. "Thebrain has been sorely taxed, " he murmured, confidentially; "but we shallset all that right by-and-by. " This with as confident an air as if thebrain had been a clock. 

Daniel Granger went over to his wife, and took her hand--it was thefirst time those two hands had met since the scene in Austin'spainting-room--looking down at her gravely. 

"Clarissa, " he said, "on my word of honour, I will not attempt to separateyou from your son. "

She gave a great cry--a shriek, that rang through the room--and castherself upon her husband's breast. 

"O, God bless you for that!" she sobbed; "God bless--" and stopped, strangled by her sobs. 

Mr. Granger put her gently back into her faithful hand-maiden's arms. _That_ was different. He might respect her rights as a mother; he couldnever again accept her as his wife. 

But a time came now in which all thought of the future was swept away bya very present danger. Before the next night, Clarissa was raving inbrain-fever; and for more than a month life was a blank to her--or not ablank, an age of confused agony rather, to be looked back upon with horrorby-and-by. 

They dared not move her from the cheerless rooms in Soho. Lovel was sentdown to Ventnor with Lady Geraldine and a new nurse. It could do no harm totake him away from his mother for a little while, since she was past theconsciousness of his presence. Jane Target and Daniel Granger nursed her, with a nursing sister to relieve guard occasionally, and Dr. Ormond inconstant attendance. 

The first thing she saw, when sense came back to her, was her husband'sfigure, sitting a little way from-the bed, his face turned towards her, gravely watchful. Her first reasonable words--faintly murmured in awondering tone--moved him deeply; but he was strong enough to hide allemotion. 

"When she has quite recovered, I shall go back to Arden, " he said tohimself; "and leave her to plan her future life with the help of LadyGeraldine's counsel. That woman is a noble creature, and the best friendmy wife can have. And then we must make some fair arrangement about theboy--what time he is to spend with me, and what with his mother. I cannotaltogether surrender my son. In any case he is sure to love her best. "

When Clarissa was at last well enough to be moved, her husband took herdown to Ventnor, where the sight of her boy, bright and blooming, and thesound of his first syllables--little broken scraps of language, that areso sweet to mothers' ears--had a better influence than all Dr. Ormond'smedicines. Here, too, came her father, from Nice, where he had beenwintering, having devoted his days to the pleasing duty of taking care ofhimself. He would have come sooner, immediately on hearing of Clarissa'sillness, he informed Mr. Granger; but he was a poor frail creature, and tohave exposed himself to the north-cast winds of this most uncertain climateearly in April would have been to run into the teeth of danger. It wasthe middle of May now, and May this year had come without her accustomedinclemency. 

"I knew that my daughter was in good hands, " he said. Daniel Grangersigned, and answered nothing. 

Mr. Lovel's observant eyes soon perceived that there was something amiss;and one evening, when he and Mr. Granger were strolling on the sandsbetween Ventnor and Shanklin, he plainly taxed his son-in-law with thefact. 

"There is some quarrel between Clary and you, " he said; "I can see that ata glance. Why, I used to consider you a model couple--perfectly Arcadian inyour devotion--and now you scarcely speak to each other. "

"There is a quarrel that must last our lives, " Daniel Granger answeredmoodily, and then told his story, without reservation. 

"Good heavens!" cried Mr. Lovel, at the end, "there is a curse upon thatman and his race. "

And then he told his own story, in a very few words, and testified to hisundying hatred of all the house of Fairfax. 

After this there came a long silence, during which Clarissa's father wasmeditative. 

"You cannot, of course, for a moment suppose that I can doubt my daughter'sinnocence throughout this unfortunate business, " he said at last. "I knowthe diabolical persistency of that race too well. It was like a Fairfax toentangle my poor girl in his net--to compromise her reputation, in the hopeof profiting by his treachery. I do not attempt to deny, however, thatClarissa was imprudent. We have to consider her youth, and that naturallove of admiration which tempts women to jeopardise their happiness andcharacter even for the sake of an idle flirtation. I do not pretend that mydaughter is faultless; but I would stake my life upon her purity. Atthe same time I quite agree with you, Granger, that under existingcircumstances, a separation--a perfectly amicable separation, my daughterof course retaining the society of her child--would be the wiser course forboth parties. "

Mr. Granger had a sensation as of a volume of cold water dashed suddenly inhis face. This friendly concurrence of his father-in-law's took himutterly by surprise. He had expected that Mr. Lovel would insist upon areconciliation, would thrust his daughter upon her husband at the point ofthe sword, as it were. He bowed acquiescence, but for some moments couldfind no words to speak. 

"There is no other course open to me, " he said at last. "I cannot tell youhow I have loved your daughter--God alone knows that--and how my everyscheme of life has been built up from that one foundation. But that is allover now. I know, with a most bitter certainty, from her own lips, that Ihave never possessed her heart. "

"I can scarcely imagine that to be the case, " said Mr. Lovel, "even thoughClarissa may have been betrayed into some passionate admission to thateffect. Women will say anything when they are angry. "

"This was not said in anger. "

"But at the worst, supposing her heart not to have been yours hitherto, itmight not be too late to win it even now. Men have won their wives aftermarriage. "

"I am too old to try my hand at that, " replied Mr. Granger, with a bittersmile. He was mentally comparing himself with George Fairfax, the handsomesoldier, with that indescribable charm of youth and brightness about him. 

"If you were a younger man, I would hardly recommend such a separation, "Mr. Lovel went on coolly; "but at your age--well, existence is quitetolerable without a wife; indeed there is a halcyon calm which descendsupon a man when a woman's influence is taken out of his life, that is, perhaps, better than happiness. You have a son and heir, and that, I shouldimagine, for a man of your position, is the chief end and aim of marriage. My daughter can come abroad with me, and we can lead a pleasant drowsy lifetogether, dawdling about from one famous city or salubrious watering-placeto another. I shall, as a matter of course, surrender the income you havebeen good enough to allow me; but, _en revanche_, you will no doubt makeClarissa an allowance suitable to her position as your wife. "

Mr. Granger laughed aloud. 

"Do you think there can ever be any question of money between us?" heasked. "Do you think that if, by the surrender of every shilling Ipossess, I could win back my faith in my wife, I should hold the loss aheavy one?"

Mr. Lovel smiled, a quiet, self-satisfied smile, in the gloaming. 

"He will make her income a handsome one, " he said to himself, "and I shallhave my daughter--who is really an acquisition, for I was beginning to findlife solitary--and plenty of ready money. Or he will come after her inthree months' time. That is the result I anticipate. "

They walked till a late moon had risen from the deep blue waters, and whenthey went back to the house everything was settled. Mr. Lovel answered forhis daughter as freely as if he had been answering for himself. He was totake her abroad, with his grandson and namesake Lovel, attended by JaneTarget and the new nurse, vice Mrs. Brobson, dismissed for neglect ofher charge immediately after Clarissa's flight. If the world asked anyquestions, the world must be told that Mr. And Mrs. Granger had partedby mutual consent, or that Mrs. Granger's doctor had ordered continentaltravel. Daniel Granger could settle that point according to his ownpleasure; or could refuse to give the world any answer at all, if hepleased. 

Mr. Lovel told his daughter the arrangement that he had made for her nextmorning. 

"I am to have my son?" she asked eagerly. 

"Yes, don't I tell you so? You and Lovel are to come with me. You can liveanywhere you please; you will have a fair income, a liberal one, I daresay. You are very well off, upon my word, Clarissa, taking into considerationthe fact of your supreme imprudence--only you have lost your husband. "

"And I have lost Arden Court. Does not there seem a kind of retribution inthat? I made a false vow for the love of Arden Court--and--and for yoursake, papa. "

"False fiddlestick!" exclaimed Mr. Lovel, impatiently; "any reasonablewoman might have been happy in your position, and with such a man asGranger; a man who positively worshipped you. However, you have lost allthat. I am not going to lecture you--the penalty you pay is heavy enough, without any sermonising on my part. You are a very lucky woman to retaincustody of your child, and escape any public exposure; and I consider thatyour husband has shown himself most generous. "

Daniel Granger and his wife parted soon after this; parted without any signof compunction--there was a dead wall of pride between them. Clarissa feltthe burden of her guilt, but could not bring herself to make any avowal ofher repentance to the husband who had put her away from him, --so easily, asit seemed to her. _That_ touched her pride a little. 

On that last morning, when the carriage was waiting to convey thetravellers to Ryde, Mr. Granger's fortitude did almost abandon him atparting with his boy. Clarissa was out of the room when he took the childup in his arms, and put the little arms about his neck. He had madearrangements that the boy was to spend so many weeks in every year withhim--was to be brought to him at his bidding, in fact; he was not going tosurrender his treasure entirely. 

And yet that parting seemed almost as bitter as if it had been for ever. Itwas such an outrage upon nature; the child who should have been so strong alink to bind those two hearts, to be taken from him like this, and forno sin of his. Resentment against his wife was strong in his mind at alltimes, but strongest when he thought of this loss which she had broughtupon him. And do what he would, the child would grow up with a dividedallegiance, loving his mother best. 

One great sob shook him as he held the boy in that last embrace, and thenhe set him down quietly, as the door opened, and Clarissa appeared in hertravelling-dress, pale as death, but very calm. 

Just at the last she gave her hand to her husband, and said gently, --"I amvery grateful to you for letting me take Lovel. I shall hold him always atyour disposal. "

Mr. Granger took the thin cold hand, and pressed it gently. 

"I am sorry there is any necessity for a divided household, " he saidgravely. "But fate has been stronger than I. Good-bye. "

And so they parted; Mr. Granger leaving Ventnor later in the day, purposeless and uncertain, to moon away an evening at Ryde, trying toarrive at some decision as to what he should do with himself. 

He could not go back to Arden yet awhile, that was out of the question. Farming operations, building projects, everything else, must go on withouthim, or come to a standstill. Indeed, it seemed to him doubtful whether heshould ever go back to the house he had beautified, and the estate he hadexpanded: to live there alone--as he had lived before his marriage, that isto say, in solitary state with his daughter--must surely be intolerable Hislife had been suddenly shorn of its delight and ornament He knew now, eventhough their union had seemed at its best so imperfect, how much his wifehad been to him. 

And now he had to face the future without her. Good heavens! what a blankdismal prospect it seemed! He went to London, and took up his abode atClaridge's, where his life was unspeakably wearisome to him. He did notcare to see people he knew, knowing that he would have to answer friendlyinquiries about his wife. He had nothing to do, no interest in life;letters from architect and builder, farm-bailiff and steward, were only abore to him; he was too listless even to answer them promptly, but let themlie unattended to for a week at a time. He went to the strangers' gallerywhen there was any debate of importance, and tried to give his mind topolitics, with a faint idea of putting himself up for Holborough at thenext election. But, as Phèdre says, "Quand ma bouche implorait le nom de ladéesse, j'adorais Hippolyte;" so Mr. Granger, when he tried to think of theIrish-Church question, or the Alabama claims, found himself thinking ofClarissa. He gave lip the idea at last, convinced that public life was, forthe most part, a snare and a delusion; and that there were plenty of men inthe world better able to man the great ship than he. Two years ago hehad been more interested in a vestry meeting than he was now in the moststirring question of the day. 

Finally, he determined to travel; wrote a brief letter to Sophia, announcing his intention; and departed unattended, to roam the world;undecided whether he should go straight to Marseilles, and then to Africa, or whether he should turn his face northwards, and explore Norway andSweden. It ended by his doing neither. He went to Spa to see his boy, fromwhom he had been separated something over two months. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER XLIX. 

BEGINNING AGAIN. 

Mr. Lovel had taken his daughter to Spa, finding that she was quiteindifferent whither she went, so long as her boy went with her. It was apleasant sleepy place out of the season, and he liked it; having a fancythat the mineral waters had done wonders for him. He had a villa on theskirts of the pine-wood, a little way beyond the town; a villa in whichthere was ample room for young Lovel and his attendants, and from whichfive minutes' walk took them into shadowy deeps of pine, where the boymight roll upon the soft short grass. 

By and by, Mr. Lovel told Clarissa they could go farther afield, travelwherever she pleased, in fact; but, for the present, perfect rest and quietwould be her best medicine. She was not quite out of the doctor's handsyet; that fever had tried her sorely, and the remnant of her cough stillclung to her. At first she had a great terror of George Fairfax discoveringher retreat. He had found her at Brussels; why should he not find herat Spa? For the first month of her residence in the quiet inlandwatering-place she hardly stirred out of doors without her father, and satat home reading or painting day after day, when she was longing to be outin the wood with her baby and nurse. 

But when the first four weeks had gone by, and left her unmolested, Mrs. Granger grew bolder, and wandered out every day with her child, and saw theyoung face brighten daily with a richer bloom, as the boy gained strength, and was almost happy. The pine-wood was very pretty; but those slendertrees, shooting heavenwards, lacked the grandeur of the oaks and beeches ofArden, and very often Clarissa thought of her old home with a sigh. Afterall, it was lost to her; twice lost, by a strange fatality, as it seemed. 

In these days she thought but seldom of George Fairfax. In very truth shewas well-nigh cured of her guilty love for him. Her folly had cost her toodear; "almost the loss of my child, " she said to herself sometimes. 

There are passions that wear themselves out, that are by their very natureself-destroying--a lighted candle that will burn for a given time, and thendie out with ignominious smoke and sputtering, not the supernal lamp thatshines on, star-like, for ever. Solitude and reflection brought this facthome to Clarissa, that her love, fatal as it had been, was not eternal. Awoman's heart is scarcely wide enough to hold two great affections; and nowbaby reigned supreme in the heart of Clarissa. She had plenty of money nowat her disposal; Mr. Granger having fixed her allowance at three thousanda year, with extensive powers should that sum prove insufficient; sothe Bohemian household under the shadow of St. Gudule profited by herindependence. She sent her brother a good deal of money, and received verycheery letters in acknowledgment of her generosity, with sometimes a littleill-spelt scrawl from Bessie, telling her that Austin was much steadier inBrussels than he had been in Paris, and was working hard for the dealers, with whom he was in great favour. English and American travellers, strolling down the Montagne de la Cour, were caught by those bright"taking" bits, which Austin Lovel knew so well how to paint. An elderlyRussian princess had bought his Peach picture, and given him a commissionfor portraits of a brood of Muscovian bantlings. In one way and anotherhe was picking up a good deal of money; and, with the help of Clarissa'sremittances, had contrived to arrange some of those awkward affairs inParis. 

"Indeed, there is very little in this world that money won't settle, "he wrote to his sister; "and I anticipate that enlightened stage of ourcriminal code when wilful murder will be a question of pounds, shillings, and pence. I fancy it in a police report: 'The fine was immediately paid, and Mr. Greenacre left the court with his friends. ' I have some invitationto go back to my old quarters in the only city I love; there is a Flemishbuffet in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard that was a fortune to me in mybackgrounds; but the little woman pleads so earnestly against our return, that I give way. Certainly, Paris is a dangerous place for a man of mytemperament, who has not yet mastered the supreme art of saying no at theright moment. I am very glad to hear you are happy with your father and thelittle one. I wish I had him here for a model; my own boys are nothing butangles. Yet I would rather hear of you in your right position with yourhusband. That fellow Fairfax is a scoundrel; I despise myself for everhaving asked him to put his name to a bill; and, still more, for beingblind to his motives when he was hanging about my painting-room lastwinter. You have had a great escape, Clary; and God grant you wisdom toavoid all such perilous paths in time to come. Preachment of any kind comeswith an ill grace from me, I know; but I daresay you remember what Portiasays: 'If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels hadbeen churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces;' and every man, however fallen, has a kind of temple in his breast, wherein is enshrinedthe image of his nearest and dearest. Let my garments be never sobesmirched and bedraggled, my sister's robes must be spotless. "

There was comfort in these good tidings of her brother--comfort for whichClarissa was very grateful to Providence. She would have been glad to go toBrussels to see him, but had that ever-present terror of coming athwart thepathway of George Fairfax; nor could she go on such an errand without somekind of explanation with her father. She was content to abide, therefore, among the quiet pine-woods and umbrageous avenues, which the holiday worldhad not yet invaded, and where she was almost as free to wander with herboy as amidst the beloved woods of Arden Court. 

Life thus spent was very peaceful--peaceful, and just a little monotonous. Mr. Lovel sipped his chocolate, and trifled with his maintenon cutlet, at11 A. M. , with an open volume of Burton or Bentley beside his cup, just asin the old days of Clarissa's girlhood. It was just like the life at MillCottage, with that one ever fresh and delicious element--young Lovel. That baby voice lent a perpetual music to Clarissa's existence; thesweet companionship of that restless clambering infant seemed to her theperfection of happiness. 

And yet--and yet--there were times when she felt that her life was afailure, and lamented somewhat that she had so wrecked it. She was not hardof heart; and sometimes she thought of Daniel Granger with a remorsefulpang, that cams upon her sharply in the midst of her maternal joys; thoughtof all that he had done for love of her--the sublime patience wherewithhe had endured her coldness, the generous eagerness he had shown in theindulgence of her caprices; in a word, the wealth of wasted love he hadlavished on an ungrateful woman. 

"It is all over now, " she said to herself sadly. "It is not every woman whoin all her lifetime can win so great a love as I have lost. "

The tranquil sensuous life went on. There were hours in it which her childcould not fill--long hours, in which that marvellous blossom folded itspetals, slumbering sweetly through the summer noontide, and was no bettercompany than a rose-bud. Clarissa tried to interest herself in her oldstudies; took up her Italian, and read Dante with her father, who wasa good deal more painstaking in his explanations of obscure idioms andirregular verbs for the benefit of Mrs. Granger with a jointure of threethousand per annum, than he had been wont to show himself for the behoofof Miss Lovel without a sixpence. She drew a great deal; but somehow thesefavourite pursuits had lost something of their charm. They could not fillher life; it seemed blank and empty in spite of them. 

She had her child--the one blessing for which she had prayed--about whichshe had raved with such piteous bewailings in her delirium; but there wasno sense of security in the possession. She was full of doubts and fearsabout the future. How long would Daniel Granger suffer her to keep hertreasure? Must not the day come when he would put forth his stronger claim, and she would be left bereaved and desolate?

Scarcely could she dare to think of the future; indeed, she did heruttermost to put away all thought of it, so fraught was it with terror andperplexity; but her dreams were made hideous by scenes of parting--weirdand unnatural situations, such as occur in dreams; and her health sufferedfrom these shadowy fears. Death, too, had been very near her boy; and shewatched him with a morbid apprehension, fearful of every summer breeze thatruffled his flaxen hair. 

She was tired of Spa, and secretly anxious to cross the frontier, andwander through Germany, away to the further-most shores of the Danube; butwas fain to wait patiently till her father's medical adviser--an Englishphysician, settled at Spa--should pronounce him strong enough to travel. 

"That hurried journey to the Isle of Wight sent me back prodigiously, " Mr. Lovel told his daughter. "It will take me a month or two to recover theeffects of those abominable steamers. The Rhine and the Danube will keep, my dear Clary. The castled crag of Drachenfels can be only a littlemouldier for the delay, and I believe the mouldiness of these things istheir principal charm. "

So Clarissa waited. She had not the courage to tell her father of thoseshapeless terrors that haunted her by day, and those agonising dreams thatvisited her by night, which she fancied might be driven away by movementand change of scene; she waited, and went on suffering, until at lastthat supreme egotist, Marmaduke Lovel, was awakened to the fact, thathis daughter was looking no better than when he first brought her toBelgium--worse rather, incontestably worse. He took alarm immediately. The discovery moved him more than he could have supposed anything outsidehimself could have affected him. 

"What?" he asked himself. "Is my daughter going to languish and fade, as mywife faded? Is she too to die of a Fairfax?"

The English physician was consulted; hummed and ha'd a little, prescribed anew tonic; and finding, after a week or two, that this produced no result, and that the pulse was weaker and more fitful, recommended change of airand scene, --a remedy which common-sense might have suggested in the firstinstance. 

"We will start for Cologne to-morrow morning. Tell Target to pack, Clary. You shall sleep under the shadow of the great cathedral to-morrow night. "

Clarissa thanked her father warmly, and then burst into tears. 

"Hysteria, " murmured the physician. 

"I shall get away from that dreadful room, " she sobbed, "where I have suchhideous dreams;" and then went away to set Jane Target to work. 

"I don't quite like the look of that, " the doctor said gravely, when shewas gone. "Those distressing dreams are a bad sign. But Mrs. Granger is yetvery young, and has an excellent constitution, I believe. Change of scene, and the amusement of travelling, may do all we want. "

He left Mr. Lovel very thoughtful. 

"If she doesn't improve very speedily, I shall telegraph to Granger, " hesaid to himself. 

He had no occasion to do this. Daniel Granger, after going half way toMarseilles, with a notion of exploring Algiers and Morocco, had stoppedshort, and made his way by road and rail--through sirocco, clouds of dust, and much inconvenience--to Liége, where he had lingered to recover and calmhimself down a little before going to see his child. 

Going to see his child--that was the sole purpose of his journey; not for amoment would he have admitted that it mattered anything to him that he wasalso going to see his wife. 

It was between seven and eight o'clock, on a bright June evening--a flushof rosy light behind the wooded hills--and Clarissa was sitting on somefelled timber, with her boy asleep in her arms. He had dropped off to sleepin the midst of his play; and she had lingered, unwilling to disturb him. If he went on sleeping, she would be able to carry him home presently, andput him to bed without awaking him. The villa was not a quarter of a mileaway. 

She was quite alone with her darling, the nurse being engaged in the grandbusiness of packing. They were all to start the next morning after a veryearly breakfast. She was looking down at the young sleeper, singing to himsoftly--a commonplace picture perhaps, but a very fair one--a _Madonna auxchamps_. 

So thought Daniel Granger, who had arrived at Spa half an hour ago, madehis inquiries at the villa, and wandered into the wood in quest of his onlyson. The mother's face, with its soft smile of ineffable love, lips halfparted, breathing that fragment of a tender song, reminded him of a pictureby Raffaelle. She was nothing to him now; but he could not the lessappreciate her beauty, spiritualised by sorrow, and radiant with the gloryof the evening sunlight. 

He came towards the little group silently, his footfall making no soundupon the moss-grown earth. He did not approach quite near, however, insilence, afraid of startling her, but stopped a little way off, and saidgently, --

"They told me I should most likely find you somewhere about here, withLovel. "

His wife gave a little cry, and looked up aghast. 

"Have you come to take him away from me?" she asked, thinking that herdreams had been prophetic. 

"No, no, I am not going to do that; though you told me he was to be at mydisposal, remember, and I mean to claim him sometimes. I can't allow himto grow up a stranger to me. --God bless him, how well he is looking! Praydon't look so frightened, " he went on, in an assuring voice, alarmed bythe dead whiteness of Clarissa's face; "I have only come to see my boybefore----. The fact is, I have some thoughts of travelling for a year ortwo. There is a rage for going to Africa nowadays, and I am not withoutinterest in that sort of thing. "

Clarissa looked at him wonderingly. This sudden passion for foreignwanderings seemed to her very strange in him. She had been accustomedto suppose his mind entirely absorbed by new systems of irrigation, andmodel-village building, and the extension of his estate. His very dreams, she had fancied, were of the hedgerows that bounded his lands--boundariesthat vanished day by day, as the lands widened, with now a whole farmadded, and now a single field. Could he leave Arden, and the kingdom thathe had created for himself, to roam in sandy deserts, and hob-and-nob withKaffir chiefs under the tropic stars?

Mr. Granger seated himself upon the timber by his wife's side, and bentdown to look at his son, and to kiss him gently without waking him. Afterthat fond lingering kiss upon the little one's smooth cheek, he sat forsome minutes in silence, looking at his wife. 

It was only her profile he could see; but he saw that she was looking ill, worse than she had looked when they parted at Ventnor. The sight of thepale face, with a troubled look about the mouth, touched him keenly. Justin that moment he forgot that there was such a being as George Fairfax uponthis earth; forgot the sin that his wife had sinned against him; longed toclasp her to his breast; was only deterred by a kind of awkward shyness--towhich such strong men as he are sometimes liable--from so doing. 

"I am sorry to see that you are not looking very well, " he said at last, with supreme stiffness, and with that peculiarly unconciliating air whichan Englishman is apt to put on, when he is languishing to hold out theolive-branch. 

"I have not been very well; but I daresay I shall soon be better, now weare going to travel. "

"Going to travel!"

"Yes, papa has made up his mind to move at last. We go to Cologneto-morrow. I thought they would have told you that at the house. "

"No; I only waited to ask where you--where the boy was to be found. I didnot even stop to see your father. "

After this there came a dead silence--a silence that lasted for about fiveminutes, during which they heard the faint rustle of the pine branchesstirred ever so lightly by the evening wind. The boy slept on, unconsciousand serene; the mother watching him, and Daniel Granger contemplating bothfrom under the shadow of his eyebrows. 

The silence grew almost oppressive at last, and Mr. Granger was the firstto break it. 

"You do not ask me for any news of Arden, " he said. 

Clarissa blushed, and glanced at him with a little wounded look. It washard to be reminded of the paradise from which she had been exiled. 

"I--I beg your pardon. I hope everything is going on as you wish; the homefarm, and all that kind of thing. Miss Granger--Sophia--is well, I hope?"

"Sophia is quite well, I believe. I have not seen her since I leftVentnor. "

"She has been away from Arden, then?"

"No; it is I who have not been there. Indeed, I doubt if I shall ever gothere again--without you, Clarissa. The place is hateful to me. "

Again and again, with infinite iteration, Daniel Granger had told himselfthat reconciliation with his wife was impossible. Throughout his journeyby road and rail--and above all things is a long journey conductive toprofound meditation--he had been firmly resolved to see his boy, and thengo on his way at once, with neither delay nor wavering. But the sight ofthat pale pensive face to-night had well-nigh unmanned him. Was this thegirl whose brightness and beauty had been the delight of his life? Alas, poor child, what sorrow his foolish love had brought upon her! He beganall at once to pity her, to think of her as a sacrifice to her father'sselfishness, his own obstinacy. 

"I ought to have taken my answer that day at the Court, when I first toldher my secret, " he said to himself. "That look of pained surprise, whichcame into her face when I spoke, might surely have been enough for me. YetI persisted, and was not man enough to face the question boldly--whethershe had any heart to give me. "

Clarissa rose, with the child still in her arms. 

"I am afraid the dew is beginning to fall, " she said; "I had better takeLovel home. "

"Let me carry him, " exclaimed Mr. Granger; and in the next moment the boywas in his father's strong arms, the flaxen head nestling in the paternalwaistcoat. 

"And so you are going to begin your travels to-morrow morning, " he said, asthey walked slowly homeward side by side. 

"Yes, the train leaves at seven. But you would like to see more of Lovel, perhaps, having come so far to see him. We can defer our journey for a dayor two. "

"You are very good. Yes, I should like you to do that. "

"And with regard to what you were saying just now, " Clarissa said, in a lowvoice, that was not quite steady, "I trust you will not let the memory ofany pain I may have given you influence your future life, or disgust youwith a place to which you were so much attached as I know you were toArden. Pray put me out of your thoughts. I am not worthy to be regretted byyou. Our marriage was a sad mistake on your part--a sin upon mine. I knownow that it was so. "

"A mistake--a sin! O, Clary, Clary, I could have been so happy, if you hadonly loved me a little--if you had only been true to me. 

"I never was deliberately false to you. I was very wicked; yes, Iacknowledge that. I did trifle with temptation. I ought to have avoided theremotest chance of any meeting with George Fairfax. I ought to have toldyou the truth, told you all my weakness; but--but I had not the courage todo that. I went to the Rue du Chevalier Bayard to see my brother. "

"Was that honest, Clarissa, to allow me to be introduced to your brother asa stranger?"

"That was Austin's wish, not mine. He would not let me tell you who he was;and I was so glad for you to be kind to him, poor fellow! so glad to beable to see him almost daily; and when the picture was finished, and Austinhad no excuse for coming to us any more, I went to see him very often, andsometimes met Mr. Fairfax in his painting-room; but I never went with anydeliberate intention of meeting him. "

"No, " interjected Mr. Granger bitterly; "you only went, knowing that he waslikely to be there!"

"And on that unhappy day when you found me there, " Clarissa went on, "I hadgone to see my brother, having no idea that he had left Paris. I wanted tocome away at once; but Mr. Fairfax detained me. I was very angry with him. "

"Yes, it appeared so, when he was asking you to run away with him. It is ahard thing for a man to believe in his wife's honour, when things have cometo such a pass as that, Clarissa. "

"I have told you the truth, " she answered gravely; "I cannot say any more. "

"And the locket--the locket I gave you, which I found on that man'sbreast?"

"I gave that locket to my sister-in-law, Bessie Lovel. I wished to give hersomething, poor soul; and I had given Austin all my money. I had so manygifts of yours, Daniel"--that sudden sound of his Christian name sent athrill through Mr. Granger's veins--"parting with one of them seemed not tomatter very much. "

There was a pause. They were very near the villa by this time. Mr. Grangerfelt as if he might never have an opportunity for speaking to his wifeagain, if he lost his chance now. 

"Clarissa, " he said earnestly, "if I could forget all that happened inParis, and put it out of my mind as if it had never been, could you forgetit too?"

"With all my heart, " she answered. 

"Then, my darling, we will begin the world again--we will begin life overagain, Clarissa!"

So they went home together reconciled. And Mr. Lovel, looking up from AiméMartin's edition of Molière, saw that what he had anticipated had come topass. His policy had proved as successful as it had been judicious. In lessthan three months Daniel Granger had surrendered. This was what came of Mr. Granger's flying visit to his boy. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER L. 

HOW SUCH THINGS END. 

After that reconciliation, which brought a wonderful relief and comfortto Clarissa's mind--and who shall say how profoundly happy it made herhusband?--Mr. And Mrs. Granger spent nearly a year in foreign travel. Forhis own part, Daniel Granger would have been glad to go back to Arden, nowthat the dreary burden was lifted off his mind, and his broken life piecedtogether again; but he did not want county society to see his wife tillthe bloom and brightness had come back to her face, nor to penetrate themystery of their brief severance. To remain away for some considerable timewas the surest way of letting the scandal, if any had ever arisen, die out. 

He wrote to his daughter, telling her briefly that he and his wife hadarranged all their little differences--little differences! Sophia gave ashrill scream of indignation as she went over this sentence in her father'sletter, scarcely able to believe her eyes at first--and they were goingthrough Germany together with the intention of wintering at Borne. AsClarissa was still somewhat of an invalid, it would be best for them to bealone, he thought; but he was ready to further any plans for his daughter'shappiness during his absence. 

Miss Granger replied curtly, that she was tolerably happy at Arden, withher "duties, " and that she had no desire to go roaming about the world inquest of that contented mind which idle and frivolous persons rarely found, go where they might. She congratulated her father upon the termination ofa quarrel which she had supposed too serious to be healed so easily, andtrusted that he would never have occasion to regret his clemency. Mr. Granger crushed the letter in his hand, and threw it over the side of theRhine steamer, on which he had opened his budget of English correspondence, on that particular morning. 

They had a very pleasant time of it in Germany, moving in a leisurelyway from town to town, seeing everything thoroughly without hurry orrestlessness. Young Lovel throve apace the new nurse adored him; andfaithful Jane Target was a happy as the day was long, amidst all theforeign wonders that surrounded her pathway. Daniel Granger was contentedand hopeful; happy in the contemplation of his wife's fair young face, which brightened daily; in the society of his boy, who, with increasingintelligence, developed an ever-increasing appreciation of his father--thestrong arms, that tossed him aloft and caught him so skilfully; thesonorous voice, that rang so cheerily upon his ear; the capacious pockets, in which there was wont to lurk some toy for his delectation. 

Towards the middle of November they took up their winter quarters inRome--not the November of fogs and drizzle, known to the denizens ofLondon, but serene skies and balmy air, golden sunsets, and late-lingeringflowers, that seemed loath to fade and vanish from a scene so beautiful. Clarissa loved this city of cities, and felt a thrill of delight atreturning to it. She drove about with her two-year-old son, showing him thewonders and glories of the place as fondly as if its classic associationshad been within the compass of his budding mind. She went on with herart-studies with renewed vigour, as if there had been a Raffaelle fever inthe very air of the place, and made plans for copying half the pictures inthe Vatican. There was plenty of agreeable society in the city, English andforeign; and Clarissa found herself almost as much in request as she hadbeen in Paris. There were art-circles in which she was happiest, and whereDaniel Granger held his own very fairly as a critic and connoisseur. Andthus the first two winter months slipped away very pleasantly, till theycame to January, in which month they were to return to Arden. 

They were to return there to assist at a great event--an event thecontemplation whereof was a source of unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Granger, and which was more than pleasing to Clarissa. Miss Granger wasgoing to be married, blest with her papa's consent and approval, of course, and in a manner becoming a damsel whose first consideration was duty. Afterrefusing several very fair offers, during the progress of her girlhood, shehad at last suffered herself to be subjugated by the constancy and devotionof Mr. Tillott, the curate of New Arden. 

It was not in any sense a good match. Mr. Tillott's professional income wasseventy-five pounds a year; his sole private means an allowance of fiftyfrom his brother, who, Mr. Tillott admitted, with a blush, was in trade. Hewas neither handsome nor accomplished. The most his best friends could sayof him was, that he was "a very worthy young man. " He was not an orator: hehad an atrocious delivery, and rarely got through the briefest epistle, or collect even, without blundering over a preposition. His demeanour inpulpit and reading-desk was that of a prisoner at the bar, without hope ofacquittal, and yet he had won Miss Granger--that prize in the matrimonialmarket, which many a stout Yorkshireman had been eager to win. 

He had flattered her; with a slavish idolatry he followed her footsteps, and ministered to her caprices, admiring, applauding, and imitating all herworks and ways, holding her up for ever as the pattern and perfection ofwomankind. Five times had Miss Granger rejected him; on some occasions withcontumely even, letting him know that there was a very wide gulf betweentheir social positions, and that although she might be spiritually hissister, she stood, in a worldly sense, on a very remote platform from thatwhich it was his mission to occupy. Mr. Tillott swallowed every humiliationwith a lowly spirit, that had in it some leaven of calculation, and boreup against every repulse; until at last the fair Sophia, angry with herfather, persistently opposed to her stepmother, and out of sorts withthe world in general, consented to accept the homage of this perseveringsuitor. He, at least, was true to her; he, at least, believed in herperfection. The stout country squires, who could have given her housesand lands, had never stooped to flatter her foibles; had shown themselvesheartlessly indifferent to her dragooning of the model villagers; had evenhinted their pity for the villagers under that martial rule. Tillott alonecould sympathise with her, trudging patiently from cottage to cottage inbleak Christmas weather, carrying parcels of that uncomfortable clothingwith which Miss Granger delighted to supply her pensioners. 

Nor was the position which this marriage would give her, humble as it mightappear, altogether without its charm. As Mr. Tillott's wife, she would bea very great lady amongst small people; and Mr. Tillott himself would beinvested with a reflected glory from having married an heiress. The curatestage would, of course, soon be past. The living of Arden was in Mr. Granger's gift; and no doubt the present rector could be bought outsomehow, after a year or so, and Mr. Tillott installed in his place. So, after due deliberation, and after the meek Tillott had been subjected to atrial of his faith which might have shaken the strongest, but which lefthim firm as a rock, Miss Granger surrendered, and acknowledged that shethought her sphere of usefulness would be enlarged by her union with ThomasTillott. 

"It is not my own feelings which, I consider, " remarked the maiden, in atone which was scarcely flattering to her lover; "I have always held dutyabove those. I believe that New Arden is my proper field, and that it is aProvidence that leads me to accept a tie which binds me more closely to theplace. I could never have remained in _this_ house after Mrs. Granger'sreturn. "

Upon this, the enraptured Tillott wrote a humble and explanatory letter toMr. Granger, stating the blessing which had descended upon him in the shapeof Sophia's esteem, and entreating that gentleman's approval of his suit. 

It came by return of post, in a few hearty words. 

 "MY DEAR TILLOTT, --Yes; with all my heart! I have always thought you a good fellow; and I hope and believe you will make my daughter a good husband. Mrs. Granger and I will be home in three weeks, in time to make all arrangements for the wedding. --Yours, &c. 

 "DANIEL GRANGER. "

"Ah, " said Miss Granger, when this epistle was shown her by her triumphantswain, "I expected as much. I have never been anything to papa since hismarriage, and he is glad to get rid of me. "

The Roman season was at its height, when there arose a good deal of talkabout a lady who did not belong to that world in which Mrs. Granger lived, but who yet excited considerable curiosity and interest therein. 

She was a Spanish dancer, known as Donna Rita, and had been creating a_furore_ in St. Petersburg, Paris, Vienna, all over the civilised world, infact, except in London, where she was announced as likely to appear duringthe approaching season. She had taken the world by storm by her beauty, which was exceptional, and by her dancing, which made up in _chic_ foranything it may have lacked in genius. She was not a Taglioni; she was onlya splendid dark-haired woman, with eyes that reminded one of Cleopatra, afigure that was simply perfection, the free grace of some wild creature ofthe forest, and the art of selecting rare and startling combinations ofcolour and fabric for her dress. 

She had hired a villa, and sent a small army of servants on before her totake possession of it--men and women of divers nations, who contrived tomake their mistress notorious by their vagaries before she arrived toastonish the city by her own eccentricities. One day brought two pair ofcarriage horses, and a pair of Arabs for riding; the next, a train ofcarriages; a week after came the lady herself; and all Rome--Englishand American Rome most especially--was eager to see her. There was anEnglishman in her train, people said. Of course, there was always someone--_elle en mange cinq comme ça tous les ans_, remarked a Frenchman. 

Clarissa had no curiosity about this person. The idle talk went by her likethe wind, and made no impression; but one sunny afternoon, when she wasdriving with her boy, Daniel Granger having an engagement to look at anew picture which kept him away from her, she met the Senora face toface--Donna Rita, wrapped in sables to the throat, with a coquettishlittle turban-shaped sable hat, a couple of Pomeranian dogs on herlap--half reclining in her barouche--a marvel of beauty and insolence. Shewas not alone. A gentleman--the Englishman, of course--sat opposite to her, and leant across the white bear-skin carriage-rug to talk to her. They wereboth laughing at something he had just said, which the Senora characterisedas "_pas si bête. _"

He looked up as the two carriages passed each other; for just one briefmoment looked Clarissa Granger in the face; then, pale as death, bent downto caress one of the dogs. 

It was George Fairfax. 

It was a bitter ending; but such stories are apt to end so; and a man withunlimited means, and nothing particular to do with himself, must findamusement somehow. Clarissa remained in Rome a fortnight after this, andencountered the Senora several times--never unattended, but never againwith George Fairfax. 

She heard the story afterwards from Lady Laura. He had been infatuated, andhad spent thousands upon "that creature. " His poor mother had been halfbroken-hearted about it. 

"The Lyvedon estate spoiled him, my dear, " Lady Laura said conclusively. "He was a very good fellow till he came into his property. "

Mr. Fairfax reformed, however, a couple of years later, and married afashionable widow with a large fortune; who kept him in a whirl of society, and spent their combined incomes royally. He and Clarissa meet sometimes insociety--meet, touch hands even, and know that every link between them isbroken. 

And is Clarissa happy? Yes, if happiness can be found in children's voicesand a good man's unchanging affection. She has Arden Court, and herchildren; her father's regard, growing warmer year by year, as withincreasing age he feels increasing need of some one to love him; herbrother's society now and then--for Mr. Granger has been lavish inhis generosity, and all the peccadilloes of Austin's youth have beenextinguished from the memories of money-lenders and their like by means ofMr. Granger's cheque-book. 

The painter can come to England now, and roam his native woods unburdenedby care; but though this is very sweet to him once in a way, he prefers aContinental city, with its _café_ life, and singing and dancing gardens, where he may smoke his in the gloaming. He grows steadier as he growsolder, paints better, and makes friends worth making; much to the joy ofpoor Bessie, who asks no greater privilege than to stand humbly by, gazingfondly while he puts on his white cravat, and sallies forth radiant, with ahot-house flower in his button-hole, to dine in the great world. 

But this is only a glance into the future. The story ends in the orthodoxmanner, to the sound of wedding bells--Miss Granger's--who swears to love, honour, and obey Thomas Tillott, with a fixed intention to keep the upperbaud over the said Thomas in all things. Yet these men who are so slavishas wooers are apt to prove of sterner mould as husbands, and life is allbefore Mrs. Tillott, as she journeys in chariot and posters to Scarboroughfor her unpretentious honeymoon, to return in a fortnight to a bran-newgothic villa on the skirts of Arden, where one tall tree is strugglingvainly to look at home in a barren waste of new-made garden. And in theservants' hall and housekeeper's room at Arden Court there is rejoicing, as when the elder Miss Pecksniff went away from the little village nearSalisbury. 

For some there are no marriage bells--for Lady Geraldine, for instance, whois content to devote herself unostentatiously to the care of her sister'sneglected children--neglected in spite of French and German governesses, Italian singing masters, Parisian waiting-maids, and half an acre or soof nursery and schoolroom--and to wider charities: not all unhappy, andthankful for having escaped that far deeper misery--the fate of an unlovedwife. 

THE END