On the afternoon of the day on which her father had been buried, she brought to him a letter, asking him to read it, and tell her what she should do. The letter was from Lady Aylmer, and contained an invitation to Aylmer Castle. It had been accompanied, as the reader may possibly remember, by a letter from Captain Aylmer himself. Of this she of course informed her cousin; but she did not find it to be necessary to show the letter of one rival to the other. Lady Aylmer's letter was cold in its expression of welcome, but very dictatorial in pointing out the absolute necessity that Clara should accept the invitation so given. 'I think you will not fail to agree with me, dear Miss Amedroz,' the letter said, 'that under these strange and perplexing circumstances, this is the only roof which can, with any propriety, afford you a shelter.' 'And why not the poor-house?' she said, aloud to her cousin, when she perceived that his eye had descended so far on the page. He shook his head angrily, but said nothing; and when he had finished the letter he folded it and gave it back still in silence. 'And what am I to do?' she said. 'You tell me that I am to come to you for advice in everything.'

'You must decide for yourself here.'

'And you won't advise me.. You won't tell me whether she is right?'

'I suppose she is right.'

'Then I had better go?'

'If you mean to marry Captain Aylmer, you had better go.'

'I am engaged to him.'

'Then you had better go.'

'But I will not submit myself to her tyranny.'

'Let the marriage take place at once, and you will have to submit only to his. I suppose you are prepared for that?'

'I do not know. I do not like tyranny.'

Again he stood silent for awhile, looking at her, and then he answered: 'I should not tyrannize over you, Clara.'

'Oh, Will, Will, do not speak like that. Do not destroy everything.'

'What am I to say?'

'What would you say if your sister, your real sister, asked advice in such a strait? If you had a sister, who came to you, and told you all her difficulty, you would advise her. You would not say words to make things worse for her.'

'It would be very different.'

'But you said you would be my brother.'

'How am I to know what you feel for this man? It seems to me that you half hate him, half fear him, and sometimes despise him.'

'Hate him! No I never hate him.'

'Go to him, then, and ask him what you had better do. Don't ask me.' Then he hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind him. But before he had half gone down the stairs he remembered the ceremony at which he had just been present, and how desolate she was in the world, and he returned to her. 'I beg your pardon, Clara,' he said, 'I am passionate; but I must be a beast to show my passion to you on such a day as this. If I were you I should accept Lady Aylmer's invitation merely thanking her for it in the ordinary way. I should then go and see how the land lay. That is the advice I should give my sister.'

'And I will if it is only because you tell me.'

'But as for a home tell her you have one of your own at Belton Castle, from which no one can turn you out, and where no one can intrude on you. This house belongs to you.' Then, before she could answer him, he had left the room and she listened to his heavy quick footsteps as he went across the hall and out of the front door.

He walked across the park and entered the little gate of Colonel Askerton's garden, as though it were his habit to go to the cottage when he was at Belton. There had been various matters on which the two men had been brought into contact concerning the old squire's death and the tenancy of the cottage, so that they had become almost intimate. Belton had nothing new that he specially desired to say to Colonel Askerton, whom, indeed, he had seen only a short time before at the funeral; but he wanted the relief of speaking to some one before he returned to the solitude of the inn at Redicote. On this occasion, however, the colonel was out, and the maid asked him if he would see Mrs Askerton. When he said something about not troubling her, the girl told him that her mistress wished to speak to him, and then he had no alternative but to allow himself to be shown into the drawing-room.

'I want to see you a minute,' said Mrs Askerton, bowing to him without putting out her hand, 'that I might ask you how you find your cousin.'

'She is pretty well, I think.'

'Colonel Askerton has seen more of her than I have since her father's death, and he says that she does not bear it well. He thinks that she is ill.'

'I do not think her ill. Of course she is not in good spirits.'

'No; exactly. How should she be? But he thinks she seems so worn. I hope you will excuse me, Mr Belton, but I love her so well that I cannot bear to be quite in the dark as to her future. Is anything settled yet?'

'She is going to Aylmer Castle.'

'To Aylmer Castle! Is she indeed? At once?'

'Very soon. Lady Aylmer has asked her.'

'Lady Aylmer! Then I suppose—'

'You suppose what?' Will Belton asked.

'I did not think she would have gone to Aylmer Castle though I dare say it is the best thing she could do She seemed to me to dislike the Aylmers that is, Lady Aylmer so much! But I suppose she is right?'

'She is right to go if she likes it.'

'She is circumstanced so cruelly! Is she not? Where else could she go? I do so feel for her. I believe I need hardly tell you, Mr Belton, that, she would be as welcome here as flowers in May but that I do not dare to ask her to come to us.' She said this in a low voice, turning her eyes away from him, looking first upon the ground, and then again up at the window but still not daring to meet his eye.

'I don't exactly know about that,' said Belton awkwardly.

'You know, I hope, that I love her dearly.'

'Everybody does that,' said Will.

'You do, Mr Belton.'

'Yes I do; just as though she were my sister.'

'And as your sister would you let her come here to us?' He sat silent for awhile, thinking, and she waited patiently for his answer. Bat she spoke again before he answered her. 'I am well aware that you know all my history, Mr Belton.'

'I shouldn't tell it her, if you mean that, though she were my sister. If she were my wife I should tell her.'

'And why your wife?'

'Because then I should be sure it would do no harm.'

'Then I find that you can be generous, Mr Belton. But she knows it all as well as you do.'

'I did not tell her.'

'Nor did I but I should have done so had not Captain Aylmer been before me. And now tell me whether I could ask her to come here.'

'It would be useless, as she is going to Aylmer Castle'.

'But she is going there simply to find a home having no other.'

'That is not so, Mrs Askerton. She has a home as perfectly her own as any woman in the land. Belton Castle is hers, to do what she may please with it. She can live here if she likes it, and nobody can say a word to her. She need not go to Aylmer Castle to look for a home.'

'You mean you would lend her the house?'

'It is hers.'

'I do not understand you, Mr Belton.'

'It does not signify we will say no more about it.'

'And you think she likes going to Lady Aylmer's?'

'How should I say what she likes?'

Then there was another pause before Mrs Askerton spoke again. 'I can tell you one thing,' she said: 'she does not like him.'

'That is her affair.'

'But she should be taught to know her own mind before she throws herself away altogether. You would not wish your cousin to marry a man whom she does not love because at one time she had come to think that she loved him. That is the truth of it, Mr Belton. If she goes to Aylmer Castle she will marry him and she will be an unhappy woman always afterwards. If you would sanction her coming here for a few days, I think all that would be cured. She would come in a moment, if you advised her.'

Then he went away, allowing himself to make no further answer at the moment, and discussed the matter with himself as he walked back to Redicote, meditating on it with all his mind, and all his heart, and all his strength. And, as he meditated, it came on to rain bitterly a cold piercing February rain and the darkness of night came upon him, and he floundered on through the thick mud of the Somersetshire lanes, unconscious of the weather and of the darkness. There was a way open to him by which he might even yet get what he wanted. He thought he saw that there was a way open to him through the policy of this woman, whom he perceived to have become friendly to him. He saw, or thought that he saw, it all. No day had absolutely been fixed for this journey to Yorkshire; and if Clara were induced to go first to the cottage, and stay there with Mrs Askerton, no such journey might ever be taken. He could well understand that such a visit on her part would give a mortal offence to all the Aylmers. That tyranny of which Clara spoke with so much dread would be exhibited then without reserve, and so there would be an end altogether of the Aylmer alliance. But were she once to start for Aylmer Park, then there would be no hope for him. Then her fate would be decided,—and his. As far as he could see, too,—as far as he could see then, there would be no dishonesty in this plan. Why should Clara not go to Mrs Askerton's house? What could be more natural than such a visit at such a time? If she were in truth his sister he would not interfere to prevent it if she wished it. He had told himself that the woman should be forgiven her offence, and had thought that that forgiveness should be complete. If the Aylmers were so unreasonable as to quarrel with her on this ground, let them quarrel with her. Mrs Askerton had told him that Clara did not really like Captain Aylmer. Perhaps it was so; and if so, what greater kindness could he do her than give her an opportunity for escaping such a union?

The whole of the next day he remained at Redicote, thinking, doubting, striving to reconcile his wishes and his honesty. It rained all day, and as he sat alone, smoking in the comfortless inn, he told himself that the rain was keeping him but in truth it was not the rain. Had he resolved to do his best to prevent this visit to Yorkshire, or had he resolved to further it, I think he would have gone to Belton without much fear of the rain. On the second day after the funeral he did go, and he had then made up his mind. Clara, if she would listen to him, should show her independence of Lady Aylmer by staying a few days with the Askertons before she went to Yorkshire, and by telling Lady Aylmer that such was her intention. 'If she really loves the man,' he said to himself, 'she will go at once, in spite of anything that I can say. If she does not, I shall be saving her.'

'How cruel of you not to come yesterday!' Clara said, as soon as she saw him.

'It rained hard,' he answered.

'But men like you care so little for rain; but that is when you have business to take you out or pleasure.'

'You need not be so severe. The truth is I had things to trouble me.'

'What troubled you, Will. I thought all the trouble was mine.'

'I suppose everybody thinks that his own shoe pinches the hardest.'

'Your shoe can't pinch you very bad, I should think. Sometimes when I think of you it seems that you are an embodiment of prosperity and happiness.'

'I don't see it myself that's all. Did you write to Lady Aylmer, Clara?'

'I wrote; but I didn't send it. I would not send any letter till I had shown it to you, as you are my confessor and adviser. There; read it. Nothing, I think, could be more courteous or less humble.' He took the letter and read it. Clara had simply expressed herself willing to accept Lady Aylmer's invitation, and asked her ladyship to fix a day. There was no mention of Captain Aylmer's name in the note.

'And you think this is best?' he said. His voice was hardly like his own as he spoke. There was wanting to it that tone of self-assurance which his voice almost always possessed, even when self-assurance was lacking to his words.

'I thought it was your own advice,' she said.

'Well yes; that is, I don't quite know. You couldn't go for a week or so yet, I suppose.'

'Perhaps in about a week.'

'And what will you do till then?'

'What will I do!'

'Yes where do you mean to stay?'

'I thought, Will, that perhaps you would let me remain here.'

'Let you! Oh, heavens! Look here, Clara.'

'Before heaven I want what may be the best for you without thinking of you, if I could only help it.'

'I have never doubted you. I never will doubt you. I believe in you next to my God. I do, Will; I do.' He walked up and down the room half-a-dozen times before he spoke again, while she stood by the table watching him. 'I wish,' she said, 'I knew what it is that troubles you.' To this he made no answer, but went on walking till she came up to him, and putting both her hands upon his arm said, 'It will be better, Will, that I should go will it not? Speak to me, and say so. I feel that it will be better.' Then he stopped in his walk and looked down upon her, as her hands still rested upon his shoulder. He gazed upon her for some few seconds, remaining quite motionless, and then, opening his arms, he surrounded her with his embrace, and pressing her with all his strength close to his bosom, kissed her forehead, and her cheeks, and her lips, and her eyes. His will was so masterful, his strength so great, and his motion so quick, that she was powerless to escape from him till he relaxed his hold. Indeed she hardly struggled, so much was she surprised and so soon released. But the moment that he left her he saw that her face was burning red, and that the tears were streaming from her eyes. She stood for a moment trembling, with her hands clenched, and with a look of scorn upon her lips and brow that he had never seen before; and then she threw herself on a sofa, and, burying her face, sobbed aloud; while her whole body was shaken as with convulsions. He leaned over her repentant, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to speak. All ideas of his scheme had gone from him now. He had offended her for ever past redemption. What could be the use now of any scheme? And as he stood there he hated himself because of his scheme. The utter misery and disgrace of the present moment had come upon him because he had thought more of himself than of her. It was but a few moments since she had told him that she trusted him next to her God; and yet in those few moments, he had shown himself utterly unworthy of that trust, and had destroyed all her confidence. But he could not leave, her without speaking to her. 'Clara!' he said 'Clara.' But she did not answer him. 'Clara; will you not speak to me? Will you not let me ask you to forgive me?' But still she only sobbed. For her, at that moment, we may say that sobbing was easier than speech. How was she to pardon so great an offence? How was she to resent such passionate love?

But he could not continue to stand there motionless, all but speechless, while she lay with her face turned away from him. He must at any rate in some manner take himself away out of the room; and this he could not do, even in his present condition of unlimited disgrace, without a word of farewell. 'Perhaps I had better go and leave you,' he said.

Then at last there came a voice, 'Oh, Will, why have you done this? Why have you treated me so badly?' When he had last seen her face her mouth had been full of scorn, but, there was, no scorn now in her voice. 'Why why why?'

Why indeed except that it was needful for him that she should know the depth of his passion. 'If you will forgive me, Clara, I will not offend you so again,' he said.

'You have offended me. What am I to say? What am I to do? I have no other friend.'

'I am a wretch. I know that I am a wretch.'

'I did not suspect that you would be so cruel. Oh, Will!'

But before he went she told him that she had forgiven him, and she had preached to him a solemn, sweet sermon on the wickedness of yielding, to momentary impulses. Her low, grave words sank into his ears as though they were divine; and when she said a word to him, blushing as she spoke, of the sin of his passion and of what her sin would be, if she were to permit it, he sat by her weeping like an infant, tears which were certainly tears of innocence. She had been very angry with him; but I think she loved him better when, her sermon was finished than she had ever loved him before.

There was no further question as to her going to Aylmer Castle, nor was any mention made of Mrs Askerton's invitation to the cottage. The letter for Lady Aylmer was sent, and it was agreed between them that Will should remain at Redicote till the answer from Yorkshire should come, and should then convey Clara as far as London on her journey. And when he took leave of her that afternoon, she was able to give him her hand in her old hearty, loving way, and to call him Will with the old hearty, loving tone. And he,—he was able to accept these tokens of her graciousness, as though they were signs of a pardon which she had been good to give, but which he certainly had not deserved.

As he went back to Redicote, he swore to himself that he would never love any woman but her,—even though she must be the wife of Captain Aylmer.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST DAY AT BELTON

In course of post there came an answer from Lady Aylmer, naming a day for Clara's journey to Yorkshire, and also a letter from Captain Aylmer, in, which he stated that he would meet her in London and convey her down to Aylmer Park. 'The House is sitting,' he said, 'and therefore I shall be a little troubled about my time; but I cannot allow that your first meeting with my mother should take place in my absence.' This was all very well, but at the end of the letter there was a word of caution that was not so well. 'I am sure, my dear Clara, that you will remember how much is due to my mother's age, and character, and position. Nothing will be wanted to the happiness of our marriage, if you can succeed in gaining her affection, and therefore I make it my first request to you, that you should endeavour to win her good opinion.' There was nothing perhaps really amiss, certainly nothing unreasonable, in such words from a future husband to his future wife; but Clara, as she read them, shook her head and pressed her foot against the ground in anger. It would not do. Sorrow would come and trouble and disappointment. She did not say so, even to herself in words; but the words, though not spoken, were audible enough to herself. She could not, would not, bend to Lady Aylmer, and she knew that trouble would come of this visit.

I fear that many ladies will condemn Miss Amedroz when I tell them that she showed this letter to her Cousin Will. It does not promise well for any of the parties concerned when a young woman with two lovers can bring herself to show the love-letters of him to whom she is engaged to the other lover whom she has refused! But I have two excuses to put forward in Clara's defence. In the first place, Captain Aylmer's love-letters were not in truth love-letters, but were letters of business; and in the next place, Clara was teaching herself to regard Will Belton as her brother, and to forget that he had ever assumed the part of a lover.

She was so teaching herself, but I cannot say that the lesson was one easily learned; nor had the outrage upon her of which Will had been guilty, and which was described in the last chapter, made the teaching easier. But she had determined, nevertheless, that it should be so. When she thought of Will her heart would become very soft towards him; and sometimes, when she thought of Captain Aylmer, her heart would become anything but soft towards him. Unloving feelings would be very strong within her bosom as she re-read his letters, and remembered that he had not come to her, but had sent her seventy-five pounds to comfort her in her trouble! Nevertheless, he was to be her husband, and she would do her duty. What might have happened had Will Belton come to Belton Castle before she had known Frederic Aylmer of that she stoutly resolved that she would never think at all; and consequently the thought was always intruding upon her.

'You will sleep one night in town, of course?' said Will.

'I suppose so. You know all about it. I shall do as I'm told.'

'You can't go down to Yorkshire from here in one day. Where would you like to stay in London?'

'How on earth should I know? Ladies do sleep at hotels in London sometimes, I suppose?'

'Oh yes. I can write and have rooms ready for you.'

'Then that difficulty is over,' said Clara.

But in Belton's estimation the difficulty was not exactly over. Captain Aylmer would, of course, be in London that night, and it was a question with Will whether or no Clara was not bound in honour to tell the—accursed beast, I am afraid Mr Belton called him in his soliloquies—where she would lodge on the occasion. Or would it suffice that he, Will, should hand her over to the enemy at the station of the Great Northern Railway on the following morning? All the little intricacies of the question presented themselves to Will's imagination. How carefully he would be with her, that the inn accommodation should suffice for her comfort! With what pleasure would he order a little dinner for them two, making something of a gentle fete of the occasion! How sedulously would he wait upon her with those little attentions, amounting almost to worship, with which such men as Will Belton are prone to treat all women in exceptionable circumstances when the ordinary routine of life has been disturbed! If she had simply been his cousin, and if he had never regarded her otherwise, how happily could he have done all this! As things now were, if it was left to him to do, he should do it, with what patience and grace might be within his power; he would do it, though he would be mindful every moment of the bitterness of the transfer which he would so soon be obliged to make; but he doubted whether it would not be better for Clara's sake that the transfer should be made overnight. He would take her up to London, because in that way he could be useful; and then he would go away and hide himself. 'Has Captain Aylmer said where he would meet you?' he asked after a pause.

'Of course I must write and tell him.'

'And is he to come to you when you reach London?'

'He has said nothing about that. 'He will probably be at the House of Commons, or too busy somewhere to come to me then. But why do you ask? Do you wish to hurry through town?'

'Oh dear, no.'

'Or perhaps you have friends you want to see. Pray don't let me be in your way. I shall do very well, you know.'

Belton rebuked her by a look before he answered her. 'I was only thinking,' he said, 'of what would be most convenient for yourself. I have nobody to see, and nothing to do, and nowhere to go to.' Then Clara understood it all, and said that she would write to Captain Aylmer and ask him, to join them at the hotel.

She determined that she would see Mrs Askerton before she went; and as that lady did not come to the Castle, Clara called upon her at the cottage. This she did the day before she left, and she took her cousin with her. Belton had been at the cottage once or twice since the day on which Mrs Askerton had explained to him how the Aylmer alliance might be extinguished, but Colonel Askerton had always been there, and no reference had been made to the former conversation. Colonel Askerton was not there now, and Belton was almost afraid that words would be spoken to which he would hardly know how to listen.

'And so you are really going?' said Mrs Askerton.

'Yes; we start tomorrow,' said Clara.

'I am not thinking of the journey to London,' said Mrs Askerton, 'but of the danger and privations of your subsequent progress to the North.'

'I shall do very well. I am not afraid that any one will eat me.'

'There are so many different ways of eating people! Are there not, Mr Belton?'

'I don't know about eating, but there are a great many ways of boring people,' said he.

'And I should think they will be great at that kind of thing at Aylmer Castle. One never hears of Sir Anthony, but I can fancy Lady Aylmer to be a terrible woman.'

'I shall manage to hold my own, I dare say,' said Clara.

'I hope you will; I do hope you will,' said Mrs Askerton. 'I don't know whether you will be powerful to do so, or whether you will fail; my heart is not absolute; but I do know what will be the result if you are successful.'

'It is much more then than I know myself.'

'That I can believe too. Do you travel down to Yorkshire alone?'

'No; Captain Aylmer will meet me in town.'

Then Mrs Askerton looked at Mr Belton, but made no immediate reply; nor did she say anything further about Clara's journey. She looked at Mr Belton, and Will caught her eye, and understood that he was being rebuked for not having carried out that little scheme which, had been prepared for him. But he had come to hate the scheme, and almost hated Mrs Askerton for proposing it. He had declared to himself that her welfare, Clara's welfare, was the one thing which the should regard; and he had told himself that he was not strong enough, either in purpose or in wit, to devise schemes for her welfare. She was better able to manage things for herself than he was to manage them for her. If she loved this 'accursed beast,' let her marry him; only for that was now his one difficulty only he could not bring himself to think it possible that she should love him.

'I suppose you will never see this place again?' said Mrs Askerton after a long pause.

'I hope I shall, very often,' said Clara. 'Why should I not see it again? It is not going out of the family.'

'No not exactly out of the family. That is, it will belong to your cousin.'

'And cousins may be as far apart as strangers, you mean; but Will and I are not like that; are we, Will?'

'I hardly know what we are like,' said he.

'You do not mean to say that you will throw me over? But the truth is, Mrs Askerton, that I do not mean to be thrown over. I look upon him as my brother, and I intend to cling to him as sisters do cling.'

'You will hardly come back here before you are married,' said Mrs Askerton. It was a terrible speech for her to make, and could only be excused on the ground that the speaker was in truth desirous of doing that which she thought would benefit both of those whom she addressed.

'Of course you are going to your wedding now?'

'I am doing nothing of the kind,' said Clara. 'How can you speak in that way to me so soon after my father's death? It is a rebuke to me for being here at all.'

'I intend no rebuke, as you well know. What I mean is this; if you do not stay in Yorkshire till you are married, let the time be when it may, where do you intend to go in the meantime?'

'My plans are not settled yet.'

'She will have this house if she pleases,' said Will. 'There will be no one else here. It will be her own, to do as she likes with it.'

'She will hardly come here to be alone.'

'I will not be inquired into, my dear,' said Clara, speaking with restored good-humour. 'Of course I am an unprotected female, and subject to disadvantages. Perhaps I have no plans for the future; and if I have plans, perhaps I do not mean to divulge them.'

'I had better come to the point at once,' said Mrs Askerton. 'If if if it should ever suit you, pray come here to us. Flowers shall not be more welcome in May. It is difficult to speak of it all, though you both understand everything as well as I do. I cannot press my invitation as another woman might.'

'Yes, you can,' said Clara with energy. 'Of course you can.'

'Can I? Then I do. Dear Clara, do come to us.' And then as she spoke Mrs Askerton knelt on the ground at her visitor's knees. 'Mr Belton, do tell her that when she is tired with the grandeur of Aylmer Park she may come to us here.'

'I don't know anything about the grandeur of Aylmer Park,' said Will, suddenly.

'But she may come here may she not?'

'She will not ask my leave,' said he.

'She says that you are her brother. Whose leave should she ask?'

'He knows that I should ask his rather than that of any living person,' said Clara.

'There, Mr Belton. Now you must say that she may come or that she may not.'

'I will say nothing. She knows what to do much better than I can tell her.'

Mrs Askerton was still kneeling, and again appealed to Clara. 'You hear what he says. What do you say yourself? Will you come to us? that is, if such a visit will suit you in point of convenience?'

'I will make no promise; but I know no reason why I should not.'

'And I must be content with that? Well: I will be content.' Then she got up. 'For such a one as I am, that is a great deal. And, Mr Belton, let me tell you this I can be grateful to you, though you cannot be gracious to me.'

'I hope I have not been ungracious,' said he.

'Upon my word, I cannot compliment you. But there is something so much better than grace, that I can forgive you. You know, at any rate, how thoroughly I wish you well.'

Upon this Clara got up to take her leave, and the demonstrative affection of an embrace between the two women afforded a remedy for the awkwardness of the previous conversation.

'God bless you, dearest,' said Mrs Askerton. 'May I write to you?'

'Certainly,' said Clara.

'And you will answer my letters?'

'Of course I will. You must tell me everything about the place and especially as to Bessy. Bessy is never to be sold is she, Will? Bessy was the cow which Belton had given her.

'Not if you choose to keep her.'

'I will go down and see to her myself,' said Mrs Askerton, and will utter little prayers of my own over her horns that certain events that I desire may come to pass. Good-bye, Mr Belton. You may be as ungracious as you please, but it will not make any difference.'

When Clara and her cousin left the cottage they did not return to the house immediately, but took a last walk round the park, and through the shrubbery, and up to the rocks on which a remarkable scene bad once taken place between them. Few words were spoken as they were walking, and there had been no agreement as to the path they would take. Each seemed to understand that there was much of melancholy in their present mood, and that silence was more fitting than speech. But when they reached the rocks Belton sat himself down, asking Clara's leave to stop there for a moment. 'I don't suppose I shall ever come to this place again,' said he.

'You are as bad as Mrs Askerton,' said Clara.

'I do not think I shall ever come to this place again,' said he, repeating his words very solemnly. At any rate, I will never do so willingly, unless—'

'Unless what?'

'Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so.'

'Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible.'

'Then it is impossible that I should come here again.'

'You know that I am engaged to another man.'

'Of course I do. I am not asking you to break your engagement. I am simply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you as well as I did love you before you had made it. I have a right to let you know the truth.' As if she had not known it without his telling it to her now! 'It was here that I told you that I loved you. I now repeat it here; and will never come here again unless I may say the same thing over and over and over. That is all. We might as well go on now.' But when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling to leave the spot. It was still winter, and the rock was damp with cold drippings from the trees, and the moss around was wet, and little pools of water had formed themselves in the shallow holes upon the surface. She did not speak as she seated herself; but he was of course obliged to wait till she should be ready to accompany him. 'It is too cold for you to sit there,' he said. 'Come, Clara; I will not have you loiter here. It is cold and wet.'

'It is not colder for me than for you.'

'You are not used to that sort of thing as I am.'

'Will,' she said, 'you must never speak to me again as you spoke just now. Promise me that you will not.'

'Promises will do no good in such a matter.'

'It is almost a repetition of what you did before though of course it is not so bad as that.'

'Everything I do is bad.'

'No, Will dear Will! Almost everything you do is good. But of what use can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that which can never be? Cannot you think of me as your sister and only as your sister?

'No; I cannot.'

'Then it is not right that we should be together.'

'I know nothing of right. You ask me a question, and I suppose you don't wish that I should tell you a lie.'

'Of course I do not wish that.'

'Therefore I tell you the truth. I love you as any other man loves the girl that he does love; and, as far as I know myself now, I never can be happy unless you are my own.'

'Oh, Will, how can that be when I am engaged to marry another man?'

'As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as I love you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, why does he let his mother ill-use you, and treat you with scorn? If he loves you as I love you, how could he write to you as he does write? Would I write to you such a letter as that? Would I let you be here without coming to you to be looked after by any one else? If you had said that you would be my wife, would I leave you in solitude and sorrow, and then send you seventy-five pounds to console you? If you think he loves you, Clara—'

'He thought he was doing right when he sent me the money.'

'But he shouldn't have thought it right. Never mind. I don't want to accuse him; but this I know,—and you know; he does not love you as I love you.'

'What can I say to answer you?'

'Say that you will wait till you have seen him. Say that I may have a hope,—a chance; that if he is cold, and hard, and,—and,—and, just what we know he is, then I may have a chance.'

'How can I say that when I am engaged to him? Cannot you understand that I am wrong to let you speak of him as you do?'

'How else am I to speak of him? Tell me this. Do you love him?' 'Yes I do.'

'I don't believe it!'

'Will!'

'I don't believe it. Nothing on earth shall make me believe it. It is impossible;—impossible!'

'Do you mean to insult me, Will?'

'No; I do not mean to insult you, but I mean to tell you the truth. I do not think you love that man as you ought to love the man whom you are going to marry. I should tell you just the same thing if I were really your brother. Of course it isn't that I suppose you love any one else me for instance. I'm not such a fool as that. But I don't think you love him; and I'm quite sure he doesn't love you. That's just what I believe; and if I do believe it, how am I to help telling you?'

'You've no right to have such beliefs.'

'How am I to help it? Well;—never mind. I won't let you sit there any longer. At any rate you'll be able to understand now that I shall never come to this place any more.' Clara, as she got up to obey him, felt that she also ought never to see it again;—unless, indeed,—unless—

They passed that evening together without any reference to the scene on the rock, or any allusion to their own peculiar troubles. Clara, though she would not admit to Mrs Askerton that she was going away from the place for ever, was not the less aware that such might very probably be the case. She had no longer any rights of ownership at Belton Castle, and all that had taken place between her and her cousin tended to make her feel that under no circumstances could she again reside there. Nor was it probable that she would be able to make to Mrs Askerton the visit of which they had been talking. If Lady Aylmer were wise so Clara thought there would be no mention of Mrs Askerton at Aylmer Park; and, if so, of course she would not outrage her future husband by proposing to go to a house of which she knew that he disapproved. If Lady Aylmer were not wise if she should take upon herself the task of rebuking Clara for her friendship then, in such circumstances as those, Clara believed that the visit to Mrs Askerton might be possible.

But she determined that she would leave the home in which she had been born, and had passed so many happy and so many unhappy days, as though she were never to see it again. All her packing had been done, down to the last fragment of an old letter that was stuffed into her writing-desk; but, nevertheless, she went about the house with a candle in her hand, as though she were still looking that nothing had been omitted, while she was in truth saying farewell in her heart to every corner which she knew so well. When at last she came down to pour out for her desolate cousin his cup of tea, she declared that everything was done. 'You may go to work now, Will,' she said, and do what you please with the old place. My jurisdiction is over.'

'Not altogether,' said he. He no longer spoke like a despairing lover. Indeed there was a smile round his mouth, and his voice was cheery.

'Yes altogether. I give over my sovereignty from this moment and a dirty dilapidated sovereignty it is.'

'That's all very well to say.'

'And also very well to do. What best pleases me in going to Aylmer Castle just now is the power it gives me of doing at once that which otherwise I might have put off till the doing of it had become much more unpleasant. Mr Belton, there is the key of the cellar which I believe gentlemen always regard as the real sign of possession. I don't advise you to trust much to the contents.' He took the key from her, and without saying a word chucked it across the room on to an old sofa. 'If you won't take it, you had better, at any rate, have it tied up with the others,' she said.

'I dare say you'll know where to find it when you want it,' he answered.

'I shall never want it.'

'Then it's as well there as anywhere else.'

'But you won't remember, Will.'

'I don't suppose I shall have occasion for remembering.' Then he paused a moment before he went on. 'I have told you before that I do not intend to take possession of the place. I do not regard it as mine at all.'

'And whose is it, then?'

'Yours.'

'No, dear Will; it is not mine. You know that.'

'I intend that it shall be so, and therefore you might as well put the keys where you will know how to find them.'

Alter he had gone she did take up the key, and tied it with sundry others, which she intended to give to the old servant who was to be left in charge of the house. But after a few moments' consideration she took the cellar key again off the bunch, and put it back upon the sofa in the place to which he had thrown it.

On the following morning they started on their journey. The old fly from Redicote was not used on this occasion, as Belton had ordered a pair of post-horses and a comfortable carriage from Taunton. 'I think it such a shame,' said Clara, 'going away for the last time without having Jerry and the grey horse.' Jerry was the man who had once driven her to Taunton when the old horse fell with her on the road. 'But Jerry and the grey horse could not have taken you and me too, and all our luggage,' said Will. 'Poor Jerry! I suppose not,' said Clara; 'but still there is an injury done in going without him.'

There were four or five old dependents of the family standing round the door to bid her adieu, to all of whom she gave her hand with a cordial pressure. They, at least, seemed to regard her departure as final. And of course it was final. She had assured herself of that during the night. And just as they were about to start, both Colonel and Mrs Askerton walked up to the door. 'He wouldn't let you go without bidding you farewell,' said Mrs Askerton. 'I am so glad to shake hands with him,' Clara answered. Then the colonel spoke a word to her, and, as he did so, his wife contrived to draw Will Belton for a moment behind the carriage. 'Never give it up, Mr Belton,' said she eagerly. 'If you persevere she'll be yours yet.' 'I fear not,' he said. 'Stick to her like a man,' said she, pressing his hand in her vehemence. 'If you do, you'll live to thank me for having told you so.' Will had not a word to say for himself, but he thought that he would stick to her. Indeed, he thought that he had stuck to her pretty well.

At last they were off, and the village of Belton was behind them; Will, glancing into his cousin's face, saw that her eyes were laden with tears, and refrained from speaking. As they passed the ugly red-brick rectory-house, Clara for a moment put her face to the window, and then withdrew it. 'There is nobody there,' she said, 'who will care to see me. Considering that I have lived here all my life, is it not odd that there should be so few to bid me good-bye?'

'People do not like to put themselves forward on such occasions,' said Will.

'People there are no people. No one ever had so few to care for them as I have. And now But never mind; I mean to do very well, and I shall do very well.' Belton would not take advantage of her in her sadness, and they reached the station at Taunton almost without another word.

Of course they had to wait there for half an hour, and of course the waiting was very tedious. To Will it was very tedious indeed, as he was not by nature good at waiting. To Clara, who on this occasion sat perfectly still in the waiting-room, with her toes on the fender before the fire, the evil of the occasion was not so severe. 'The man would take two hours for the journey, though I told him an hour and a half would be enough,' said Will, querulously.

'But we might have had an accident.'

'An accident! What accident? People don't have accidents every day.'

At last the train came and they started. Clara, though she had with her her best friend I may almost say the friend whom in the world she loved the best did not have an agreeable journey. Belton would not talk; but as he made no attempt at reading, Clara did not like to have recourse to the book which she had in her travelling-bag. He sat opposite to her, opening the window and shutting it as he thought she might like it, but looking wretched and forlorn. At Swindon he brightened up for a moment under the excitement of getting her something to eat, but that relaxation lasted only for a few minutes. Alter that he relapsed again into silence till the train had passed Slough and he knew that in another half-hour they would be in London. Then he leant over her and spoke.

'This will probably be the last opportunity I shall have of saying a few words to you alone.'

'I don't know that at all, Will.'

'It will be the last for a long time at any rate. And as I have got something to say, I might as well say it now. I have thought a great deal about the property the Belton estate, I mean; and I don't intend to take it as mine.'

'That is sheer nonsense, Will. You must take it, as it is yours, and can't belong to any one else.'

'I have thought it over, and I am quite sure that all the business of the entail was wrong radically wrong from first to last. You are to understand that my special regard for you has nothing whatever to do with it. I should do the same thing if I felt that I hated you.'

'Don't hate me, Will!'

'You know what I mean. I think the entail was all wrong, and I shan't take advantage of it. It's not common sense that I should have everything because of poor Charley's misfortune.'

'But it seems to me that it does not depend upon you or upon me, or upon anybody. It is yours by law, you know.'

'And therefore it won't be sufficient for me to give it up without making it yours by law also which I intend to do. I shall stay in town tomorrow and give instructions to Mr Green. I have thought it proper to tell you this now, in order that you may mention it to Captain Aylmer.'

They were leaning over in the carriage one towards the other; her face had been slightly turned away from him; but now she slowly raised her eyes till they met his, and looking into the depth of them, and seeing there all his love and all his suffering, and the great nobility of his nature, her heart melted within her. Gradually, as her tears came,—would come, in spite of all her constraint, she again turned her face towards the window. 'I can't talk now,' she said, 'indeed I can't.'

'There is no need for any more talking about it,' he replied. And there was no more talking between them, on that subject or on any other, till the tickets bad been taken and the train was again in motion. Then he referred to it again for a moment. 'You will tell Captain Aylmer, my dear.'

'I will tell him what you say, that he may know your generosity. But of course he will agree with me that no such offer can be accepted. It is quite,—quite,—quite out of the question.'

'You had better tell him and say nothing more; or you can ask him to see Mr Green after tomorrow. He, as a man who understands business, will know that this arrangement must be made, if I choose to make it. Come; here we are. Porter, a four-wheeled cab. Do you go with him, and I'll look after the luggage.'

Clara, as she got into the cab, felt that she ought to have been more stout in her resistance to his offer. But it would be better, perhaps, that she should write to him from Aylmer Park, and get Frederic to write also.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY HOTEL

At the door of the hotel of the Great Northern Railway Station they met Captain Aylmer. Rooms had been taken there because they were to start by an early train on that line in the morning, and Captain Aylmer had undertaken to order dinner. There was nothing particular in the meeting to make it unpleasant to our friend Will. The fortunate rival could do no more in the hall of the inn than give his hand to his affianced bride, as he might do to any other lady, and then suggest to her that she should go upstairs and see her room. When he had done this, he also offered his hand to Belton; and Will, though he would almost sooner have cut off his own, was obliged to take it. In a few minutes the two men were standing alone together in the sitting-room.

'I suppose you found it cold coming up?' said the captain.

'Not particularly,' said Will.

'It's rather a long journey from Belton.'

'Not very long,' said Will.

'Not for you, perhaps; but Miss Amedroz must be tired.'

Belton was angry at having his cousin called Miss Amedroz feeling that the reserve of the name was intended to keep him at a distance. But he would have been equally angry had Aylmer called her Clara.

'My cousin,' said Will, stoutly, 'is able to bear slight fatigue of that kind without suffering.'

'I didn't suppose she suffered; but journeys are always tedious, especially where there is so much roadwork. I believe you are twenty miles from the station?'

'Belton Castle is something over twenty miles from Taunton.'

'We are seven from our station at Aylmer Park, and we think that a great deal.'

'I'm more than that at Plaistow,' said Will.

'Oh, indeed. Plaistow is in Norfolk, I believe?'

'Yes Plaistow is in Norfolk.'

'I suppose you'll leave it now and go into Somersetshire,' suggested Captain Aylmer.

'Certainly not. Why should I leave it?'

'I thought, perhaps as Belton Castle is now your own'

'Plaistow Hall is more my own than Belton Castle, if that signifies anything which it doesn't.' This he said in an angry tone, which, as he became conscious of it, he tried to rectify. 'I've a deal of stock and all that sort of thing at Plaistow, and couldn't very well leave it, even if I wished it,' he said.

'You've pretty good shooting too, I suppose,' said Aylmer.

'As far as partridges go I'll back it against most properties of the same extent in any county.'

'I'm too busy a man myself,' said the captain, 'to do much at partridges. We think more of pheasants down with us.'

'I dare say.'

'But a Norfolk man like you is of course keen about birds.'

'We are obliged to put up with what we've got, you know not but what I believe there is a better general head of game in Norfolk than in any other county in England.'

'That's what makes your hunting rather poor.'

'Our hunting poor! Why do you say it's poor?'

'So many of you are against preserving foxes.'

'I'll tell you what, Captain Aylmer; I don't know what pack you hunt with, but I'll bet you a five-pound note that we killed more foxes last year than you did;—that is, taking three days a week. Nine-and-twenty brace and a half in a short season I don't call poor at all.'

Captain Aylmer saw that the man was waxing angry, and made no further allusion either to the glories or deficiencies of Norfolk. As he could think of no other subject on which to speak at the spur of the moment, he sat himself down and took up a paper; Belton took up another, and so they remained till Clara made her appearance. That Captain Aylmer read his paper is probable enough. He was not a man easily disconcerted, and there was nothing in his present position to disconcert him. But I feel sure that Will Belton did not read a word. He was angry with this rival, whom he hated, and was angry with himself for showing his anger. He would have wished to appear to the best advantage before this man, or rather before Clara in this man's presence; and he knew that in Clara's absence he was making such a fool of himself that he would be unable to recover his prestige. He had serious thoughts within his own breast whether it would not be as well for him to get up from his seat and give Captain Aylmer a thoroughly good thrashing: 'Drop into him and punch his head,' as he himself would have expressed it. For the moment such an exercise would give him immense gratification. The final results would, no doubt, be disastrous; but then, all future results, as far as he could see them, were laden with disaster. He was still thinking of this, eyeing the man from under the newspaper, and telling himself that the feat would probably be too easy to afford much enjoyment, when Clara re-entered the room. Then he got up, acting on the spur of the moment got up quickly and suddenly, and began to bid her adieu.

'But you are going to dine here, Will?' she said.

'No; I think not.'

'You promised you would. You told me you had nothing to do to-night.' Then she turned to Captain Aylmer. 'You expect my cousin to dine with us today?'

'I ordered dinner for three,' said Captain Aylmer.

'Oh, very well; it's all the same thing to me,' said Will.

'And to me,' said Captain Aylmer.

'It's not all the same thing to me,' said Clara. 'I don't know when I may see my cousin again. I should think it very bad of you, Will, if you went away this evening.'

'I'll go out just for half an hour,' said he, 'and be back to dinner.'

'We dine at seven,' said the captain. Then Belton took his hat and left the two lovers together.

'Your cousin seems to be a rather surly sort of gentleman.' Those were the first words which Captain Aylmer spoke when he was alone with the lady of his love. Nor was he demonstrative of his affection by any of the usual signs of regard which are permitted to accepted lovers. He did not offer to kiss her, nor did he attempt to take her hand with a warmer pressure now that he was alone with her. He probably might have gone through some such ceremony had he first met Clara in a position propitious to such purposes; but, as it was, he had been a little ruffled by Will Belton's want of good breeding, and had probably forgotten that any such privileges might have been his. I wonder whether any remembrance flashed across Clara's mind at this moment of her Cousin Will's great iniquity in the sitting-room at Belton Castle. She thought of it very often, and may possibly have thought of it now.

'I don't believe that he is surly, Frederic,' she said. 'He may, perhaps, be out of humour.'

'And why should he be out of humour with me? I only suggested to him that it might suit him to live at Belton instead of at that farm of his, down in Norfolk.'

'He is very fond of Plaistow, I fancy.'

'But that's no reason why he should be cross with me. I don't envy him his taste, that's all. If he can't understand that he, with his name, ought to live on the family property which belongs to him, it isn't likely that anything that I can say will open his eyes upon the subject.'

'The truth is, Frederic, he has some romantic notion about the Belton estate.'

'What romantic notion?'

'He thinks it should not be his at all.'

'Whose then? Who does he think should have it?'

'Of course there can be nothing in it, you know; of course, it's all nonsense.'

'But what is his idea? Who does he think should be the owner?'

'He means that it should be mine. But of course, Frederic, it is all nonsense; we know that.'

It did not seem to be quite clear at the moment that Frederic had altogether made up his mind upon the subject. As he heard those tidings from Clara there came across his face a puzzled, dubious look, as though he did not quite understand the proposition which had been suggested to him as though some consideration were wanted before he could take the idea home to himself and digest it, so as to enable himself to express an opinion upon it. There might be something in it some show of reason which did not make itself clear to Clara's feminine mind. 'I have never known what was the precise nature of your father's marriage settlement,' said he.

Then Clara began to explain with exceeding eagerness that there was no question as to the accuracy of the settlement, or the legality of the entail that indeed there was no question as to anything. Her Cousin Will was romantic, and that was the end of it. Of course quite as a matter of course, this romance would lead to nothing; and she had only mentioned the subject now to show that her cousin's mind might possibly be disturbed when the question of his future residence was raised. 'I quite feel with you,' she said, 'that it will be much nicer that he should live at the old family place; but just at present I do not speak about it.'

'If he is thinking of not claiming Belton, it is quite another thing,' said Aylmer.

'It is his without any claiming,' said Clara.

'Ah, well; it will all be settled before long,' said Aylmer.

'It is settled already,' said Clara.

At seven the three met again, and when the dinner was on the table there was some little trouble as to the helping of the fish. Which of the two men should take the lead on the occasion? But Clara decided the question by asking her cousin to make himself useful. There can be little doubt but that Captain Aylmer would have distributed the mutton chops with much more grace, and have carved the roast fowl with much more skill; but it suited Clara that Will should have the employment, and Will did the work. Captain Aylmer, throughout the dinner, endeavoured to be complaisant, and Clara exerted herself to talk as though all matters around them were easy. Will, too, made his effort, every now and then speaking a word, and restraining himself from snapping at his rival; but the restraint was in itself evident, and there were symptoms throughout the dinner that the untamed man was longing to fly at the throat of the man that was tamed.

'Is it supposed that I ought to go away for a little while?' said Clara, as soon as she had drunk her own glass of wine.

'Oh dear, no,' said the captain. 'We'll have a cup of coffee that is, if Mr Belton likes it.'

'It's all the same to me,' said Will.

'But won't you have some more wine?' Clara asked.

'No more for me,' said Captain Aylmer. 'Perhaps Mr Belton—'

'Who; I? No; I don't want any more wine,' said Will; and then they were all silent.

It was very hard upon Clara. After a while the coffee came, and even that was felt to be a comfort. Though there was no pouring out to be done, no actual employment enacted, still the manoeuvring of the cups created a diversion. 'If either of you like to smoke,' she said, 'I shan't mind it in the least.' But neither of them would smoke. 'At what hour shall we get to Aylmer Park tomorrow?' Clara asked.

'At half-past four,' said the captain.

'Oh, indeed;—so early as that.' What was she to say next? Will, who had not touched his coffee, and who was sitting stiffly at the table as though he were bound in duty not to move, was becoming more and more grim every moment. She almost repented that she had asked him to remain with them. Certainly there was no comfort in his company, either to them or to himself. 'How long shall you remain in town, Will, before you go down to Plaistow?' she asked.

'One day,' he replied.

'Give my kind love,—my very kindest love to Mary. I wish I knew her. I wish I could think that I might soon know her.'

'You'll never know her,' said Belton. The tone of his voice was actually savage as he spoke so much so that Aylmer turned in his chair to look at him, and Clara did not dare to answer him. But now that he had been made to speak, it seemed that he was determined to persevere. 'How should you ever know her? Nothing will ever bring you into Norfolk, and nothing will ever take her out of it.'

'I don't quite see why either of those assertions should be made.'

'Nevertheless they're both true. Had you ever meant to come to Norfolk you would have come now.' He had not even asked her to come, having arranged with his sister that in their existing circumstances any such asking would not be a kindness; and yet he rebuked her now for not coming!

'My mother is very anxious that Miss Amedroz should pay her a visit at Aylmer Park,' said the captain.

'And she's going to Aylmer Park, so your mother's anxiety need not disturb her any longer.'

'Come, Will, don't be out of temper with us,' said Clara. 'It is our last night together. We, who are so dear to each other, ought not to quarrel.'

'I'm not quarrelling with you, said he.

'I can hardly suppose that Mr Belton wants to quarrel with me,' said Captain Aylmer, smiling.

'I'm sure he does not,' said Clara. Belton sat silent, with his eyes fixed upon the table, and with a dark frown upon his brow. He did long to quarrel with Captain Aylmer; but was still anxious, if it might be possible, to save himself from what he knew would be a transgression.

'To use a phrase common with us down in Yorkshire,' said Aylmer, 'I should say that Mr Belton had got out of bed the wrong side this morning.'

'What the d—— does it matter to you, sir, what side I got out of bed?' said Will, clenching both his fists. Oh—if he might have only been allowed to have a round of five minutes with Aylmer, he would have been restored to good temper for that night, let the subsequent results have been what they might. He moved his feet impatiently on the floor, as though he were longing to kick something; and then he pushed his coffee-cup away from him, upsetting half the contents upon the table, and knocking down a wineglass, which was broken.

'Will;—Will!' said Clara, looking at him with imploring eyes.

'Then he shouldn't talk to me about getting out of bed on the wrong side; I didn't say anything to him.'

'It is unkind of you, Will, to quarrel with Captain Aylmer because he is my friend.'

'I don't want to quarrel with him; or, rather, as I won't quarrel with him because you don't wish it, I'll go away. I can't do more than that. I didn't want to dine with him here. There's my cousin Clara, Captain Aylmer; I love her better than all the world besides. Love her! It seems to me that there's nothing else in the world for me to love. I'd give my heart for her this minute. All that I have in the world is hers. Oh love her! I don't believe that it's in you to know what I mean when I say that I love her! She tells me that he's going to be your wife. You can't suppose that I can be very comfortable under those circumstances or that I can be very fond of you. I'm not very fond of you. Now I'll go away, and then I shan't trouble you any more. But look here if ever you should ill-treat her, whether you marry her or whether you don't, I'll crush every bone in your skin.' Having so spoken he went to the door, but stopped himself before he left the room. 'Good-bye, Clara. I've got a word or two more to say to you, but I'll write you a line down-stairs. You can show it to him if you please. It'll only be about business. Good-night.'

She had got up and followed him to the door, and he had taken her by the hand. 'You shouldn't let your passion get the better of you in this way,' she said; but the tone of her voice was very soft, and her eyes were full of love.

'I suppose not,' said he.

'I can forgive him,' said Captain Aylmer.

'D—— your forgiveness,' said Will Belton. Then Clara dropped the hand and started back, and the door was shut, and Will Belton was gone.

'Your cousin seems to be a nice sort of young man,' said Aylmer.

'Cannot you understand it all, Frederic, and pardon him?'

'I can pardon him easily enough; but one doesn't like men who are given to threatening. He's not the sort of man that I took him to be.'

'Upon my word I think he's as nearly perfect as a man can be.'

'Then you like men to swear at you, and to swagger like Bobadils and to misbehave themselves, so that one has to blush for them if a servant chances to hear them. Do you really think that he has conducted himself today like a gentleman?'

'I know that he is a gentleman,' said Clara.

'I must confess I have no reason for supposing him to be so but your assurance.'

'And I hope that is sufficient, Frederic.'

Captain Aylmer did not answer her at once, but sat for awhile silent, considering what he would say. Clara, who understood his moods, knew that he did not mean to drop the subject, and resolved that she would defend her cousin, let Captain Aylmer attack him as he would.

'Upon my word, I hardly know what to say about it,' said Aylmer.

'Suppose then, that we say nothing more. Will not that be best?'

'No, Clara. I cannot now let the matter pass by in that way. You have asked me whether I do not think Mr Belton to be a gentleman, and I must say that I doubt it. Pray hear me out before you answer me. I do not want to be harder upon him than I can help; and I would have borne, and I did bear from him, a great deal in silence. But he said that to me which I cannot allow to pass without notice. He had the bad taste to speak to me of his his regard for you.'

'I cannot see what harm he did by that except to himself.'

'I believe that it is understood among gentlemen that one man never speaks to another man about the lady the other man means to marry, unless they are very intimate friends indeed. What I mean is, that if Mr Belton had understood how gentlemen live together he would never have said anything to me about his affection for you. He should at any rate have supposed me to be ignorant of it. There is something in the very idea of his doing so that is in the highest degree in-delicate. I wonder, Clara, that you do not see this yourself.'

'I think he was indiscreet.'

'Indiscreet! Indiscreet is not the word for such conduct. I must say, that as far as my opinion goes, it was ungentlemanlike.'

'I don't believe that there is a nobler-minded gentleman in all London than my Cousin Will.'

'Perhaps it gratified you to hear from him the assurance of his love?' said Captain Aylmer.

'If it is your wish to insult me, Frederic, I will leave you'.

'It is my wish to make you understand that your judgment has been wrong.'

'That is simply a matter of opinion, and as I do not wish to argue with you about it, I had better go. At any rate I am very tired. Goodnight, Frederic.' He then told her what arrangements he had made for the morrow, and what hour she would be called, and when she would have her breakfast. After that he let her go without making any further allusion to Will Belton.

It must be admitted that the meeting between the lovers had not been auspicious; and it must be acknowledged, also, that Will Belton had behaved very badly. I am not aware of the existence of that special understanding among gentlemen in respect to the ladies they are going to marry which Captain Aylmer so eloquently described; but, nevertheless, I must confess that Belton would have done better had he kept his feelings to himself. And when he talked of crushing his rival's bones, he laid himself justly open to severe censure. But, for all that, he was no Bobadil. He was angry, sore, and miserable; and in his anger, soreness, and misery, he had allowed himself to be carried away. He felt very keenly his own folly, even as he was leaving the room, and as he made his way out of the hotel he hated himself for his own braggadocio. 'I wish some one would crush my bones,' he said to himself almost audibly. 'No one ever deserved to be crushed better than I do.'

Clara, when she got to her own room, was very serious and very sad. What was to be the end of it all? This had been her first meeting after her father's death with the man whom she had promised to marry; indeed, it was the first meeting after her promise had been given; and they had only met to quarrel. There had been no word of love spoken between them. She had parted from him now almost in anger, without the slightest expression of confidence between them almost as those part who are constrained by circumstances to be together, but who yet hate each other and know that they hate each other. Was there in truth any love between him and her? And if there was none, could there be any advantage, any good either to him or to her, in this journey of hers to Aylmer Park? Would it not be better that she should send for him and tell him that they were not suited for each other, and that thus she should escape from all the terrors of Lady Aylmer? As she thought of this, she could not but think of Will Belton also. Not a gentleman! If Will Belton was not a gentleman, she desired to know nothing further of gentlemen. Women are so good and kind that those whom they love they love almost the more when they commit offences, because of the offences so committed. Will Belton had been guilty of great offences,—of offences for which Clara was prepared to lecture him in the gravest manner should opportunities for such lectures ever come;—but I think that they had increased her regard for him rather than diminished it. She could not, however, make up her mind to send for Captain Aylmer, and when she went to bed she had resolved that the visit to Yorkshire must be made.

Before she left the room the following morning, a letter was brought to her from her cousin, which had been written that morning. She asked the maid to inquire for him, and sent down word to him that if he were in the house she specially wished to see him; but the tidings came from the hall porter that he had gone out very early, and had expressly said that he should not breakfast at the inn.

The letter was as follows:—

'Dear Clara,

'I meant to have handed to you the enclosed in person, but I lost my temper last night like a fool as I am and so I couldn't do it. You need not have any scruple about the money which I send,L100 in ten, ten-pound notes,—as it is your own. There is the rent due up to your father's death, which is more than what I now enclose, and there will be a great many other items, as to all of which you shall have a proper account. When you want more, you had better draw on me, till things are settled. It shall all be done as soon as possible. It would not be comfortable for you to go away without money of your own, and I suppose you would not wish that he should pay for your journeys and things before you are married.

'Of course I made a fool of myself yesterday. I believe that I usually do. It is not any good my begging your pardon, for I don't suppose I shall ever trouble you any more. Good-bye, and God bless you.

'Your affectionate Cousin,

'WILLIAM BELTON.

'It was a bad day for me when I made up my mind to go to Belton Castle last summer.'

Clara, when she had read the letter, sat down and cried, holding the bundle of notes in her hand. What would she do with them? Should she send them back? Oh no she would do nothing to displease him, or to make him think that she was angry with him. Besides, she had none of that dislike to taking his money which she had felt as to receiving money from Captain Aylmer. He had said that she would be his sister, and she would take from him any assistance that a sister might properly take from a brother.

She went down-stairs and met Captain Aylmer in the sitting-room. He stepped up to her as soon as the door was closed, and she could at once see that he had determined to forget the unpleasantness of the previous evening. He stepped up to her, and gracefully taking her by one hand, and passing the other behind her waist, saluted her in a becoming and appropriate manner. She did not like it. She especially disliked it, believing in her heart of hearts that she would never become the wife of this man whom she had professed to love and whom she really had once loved. But she could only bear it. And, to say the truth, there was not much suffering of that kind to be borne.

Their journey down to Yorkshire was very prosperous. He maintained his good humour throughout the day, and never once said a word about Will Belton. Nor did he say a word about Mrs Askerton. 'Do your best to please my mother, Clara,' he said, as they were driving up from the park lodges to the house. This was fair enough, and she therefore promised him that she would do her best.



CHAPTER XXV

MISS AMEDROZ HAS SOME HASHED CHICKEN

Clara felt herself to be a coward as the Aylmer Park carriage, which had been sent to meet her at the station, was drawn up at Sir Anthony Aylmer's door. She had made up her mind that she would not bow down to Lady Aylmer, and yet she was afraid of the woman. As she got out of the carriage, she looked up, expecting to see her in the hall; but Lady Aylmer was too accurately acquainted with the weights and measures of society for any such movement as that. Had her son brought Lady Emily to the house as his future bride, Lady Aylmer would probably have been in the hall when the arrival took place; and had Clara possessed ten thousand pounds of her own, she would probably have been met at the drawing-room door; but as she had neither money nor title as she in fact brought with her no advantages of any sort Lady Aylmer was found stitching a bit of worsted, as though she had expected no one to come to her. And Belinda Aylmer was stitching also by special order from her mother. The reader will remember that Lady Aylmer was not without strong hope that the engagement might even yet be broken off. Snubbing, she thought, might probably be efficacious to this purpose, and so Clara was to be snubbed.

Clara, who had just promised to do her best to gain Lady Aylmer's opinion, and who desired to be in some way true to her promise, though she thoroughly believed that her labour would be in vain, put on her pleasantest smile as she entered the room. Belinda, under the pressure of the circumstances, forgetting somewhat of her mother's injunctions, hurried to the door to welcome the stranger. Lady Aylmer kept her chair, and even maintained her stitch, till Clara was half across the room. Then she got up, and with great mastery over her voice, made her little speech.

'We are delighted to see you, Miss Amedroz,' she said, putting out her hand of which Clara, however, felt no more than the finger.

'Quite delighted,' said Belinda, yielding a fuller grasp. Then there were affectionate greetings between Frederic and his mother and Frederic and his sister, during which Clara stood by, ill at ease. Captain Aylmer said not a word as to the footing on which his future wife had come to his father's house. He did not ask his mother to receive her as another daughter, or his sister to take his Clara to her heart as a sister. There had been no word spoken of recognized intimacy. Clara knew that the Aylmers were cold people. She had learned as much as that from Captain Aylmer's words to herself, and from his own manner. But she had not expected to be so frozen by them as was the case with her now. In ten minutes she was sitting down with her bonnet still on, and Lady Aylmer was again at her stitches.

'Shall I show you your room?' said Belinda.

'Wait a moment, my dear,' said Lady Aylmer. 'Frederic has gone to see if Sir Anthony is in his study.'

Sir Anthony was found in his study, and now made his appearance.

'So this is Clara Amedroz,' he said. 'My dear, you are welcome to Aylmer Park.' This was so much better, that the kindness expressed though there was nothing special in it brought a tear into Clara's eye, and almost made her love Sir Anthony.

'By the by, Sir Anthony, have you seen Darvel? Darvel was wanting to see you especially about Nuggins. Nuggins says that he'll take the bullocks now.' This was said by Lady Aylmer, and was skilfully arranged by her to put a stop to anything like enthusiasm on the part of Sir Anthony. Clara Amedroz had been invited to Aylmer Park, and was to be entertained there, but it would not be expedient that she should be made to think that anybody was particularly glad to see her, or that the family was at all proud of the proposed connexion. Within five minutes after this she was up in her room, and had received from Belinda tenders of assistance as to her lady's maid. Both the mother and daughter had been anxious to learn whether Clara would bring her own maid. Lady Aylmer, thinking that she would do so, had already blamed her for extravagance. 'Of course Fred will have to pay for the journey and all the rest of it,' she had said. But as soon as she had perceived that Clara had come without a servant, she had perceived that any young woman who travelled in that way must be unfit to be mated with her son. Clara, whose intelligence in such matters was sharp enough, assured Belinda that she wanted no assistance. 'I dare say you think it very odd,' she said, 'but I really can dress myself.' And when the maid did come to unpack the things, Clara would have sent her away at once had she been able. But the maid, who was not a young woman, was obdurate. 'Oh no, miss; my lady wouldn't be pleased. If you please, miss, I'll do it.' And so the things were unpacked.

Clara was told that they dined at half-past seven, and she remained alone in her room till dinner-time, although it had not yet struck five when she had gone upstairs. The maid had brought her up a cup of tea, and she seated herself at her fire, turning over in her mind the different members of the household in which she found herself. It would never do. She told herself over and over again that it would never come to pass that that woman should be her mother-in-law, or that that other woman should be her sister. It was manifest to her that she was distasteful to them; and she had not lost a moment in assuring herself that they were distasteful to her. What purpose could it answer that she should strive not to like them, for no such strife was possible but to appear to like them? The whole place and everything about it was antipathetic to her. Would it not be simply honest to Captain Aylmer that she should tell him so at once, and go away? Then she remembered that Frederic had not spoken to her a single word since she had been under his father's roof. What sort of welcome would have been accorded to her had she chosen to go down to Plaistow Hall?

At half-past seven she made her way by herself downstairs. In this there was some difficulty, as she remembered nothing of the rooms below, and she could not at first find a servant. But a man at last did come to her in the hall, and by him she was shown into the drawing-room. Here she was alone for a few minutes. As she looked about her, she thought that no room she had ever seen had less of the comfort of habitation. It was not here that she had met Lady Aylmer before dinner. There had, at any rate, been in that other room work things, and the look of life which life gives to a room. But here there was no life. The furniture was all in its place, and everything was cold and grand and comfortless. They were making company of her at Aylmer Park!

Clara was intelligent in such matters, and understood it all thoroughly.

Lady Aylmer was the first person to come to her. 'I hope my maid has been with you,' said she to which Clara muttered something intended for thanks. 'You'll find Richards a very clever woman, and quite a proper person.'

'I don't at all doubt that.'

'She has been here a good many years, and has perhaps little ways of her own but she means to be obliging.'

'I shall give her very little trouble, Lady Aylmer. I am used to dress myself.' I am afraid this was not exactly true as to Clara's past habits; but she could dress herself, and intended to do so in future, and in this way justified the assertion to herself.

'You had better let Richards come to you, my dear, while you are here,' said Lady Aylmer, with a slight smile on her countenance which outraged Clara more even than the words. 'We like to see young ladies nicely dressed here.' To be told that she was to be nicely dressed because she was at Aylmer Park! Her whole heart was already up in rebellion. Do her best to please Lady Aylmer! It would be utterly impossible to her to make any attempt whatever in that direction. There was something in her ladyship's eye a certain mixture of cunning, and power, and hardness in the slight smile that would gather round her mouth, by which Clara was revolted. She already understood much of Lady Aylmer, but in one thing she was mistaken. She thought that she saw simply the natural woman; but she did, in truth, see the woman specially armed with an intention of being disagreeable, made up to give offence, and prepared to create dislike and enmity. At the present moment nothing further was said, as Captain Aylmer entered the room, and his mother immediately began to talk to him in whispers.

The first two days of Clara's sojourn at Aylmer Park passed by without the occurrence of anything that was remarkable. That which most surprised and annoyed her, as regarded her own position, was the coldness of all the people around her, as connected with the actual fact of her engagement. Sir Anthony was very courteous to her, but had never as yet once alluded to the fact that she was to become one of his family as his daughter-in-law. Lady Aylmer called her Miss Amedroz using the name with a peculiar emphasis, as though determined to show that Miss Amedroz was to be Miss Amedroz as far as any one at Aylmer Park was concerned and treated her almost as though her presence in the house was intrusive. Belinda was as cold as her mother in her mother's presence; but when alone with Clara would thaw a little. She, in her difficulty, studiously avoided calling the new-corner by any name at all. As to Captain Aylmer, it was manifest to Clara that he was suffering almost more than she suffered herself. His position was so painful that she absolutely pitied him for the misery to which he was subjected by his own mother. They still called each other Frederic and Clara, and that was the only sign of special friendship which manifested itself between them. And Clara, though she pitied him, could not but learn to despise him. She had hitherto given him credit at any rate for a will of his own. She had believed him to be a man able to act in accordance with the dictates of his own conscience. But now she perceived him to be so subject to his mother that he did not dare to call his heart his own. What was to be the end of it all? And if there could only be one end, would it not be well that that end should be reached at once, so that she might escape from her purgatory?

But on the afternoon of the third day there seemed to have come a change over Lady Aylmer. At lunch she was especially civil,—civil to the extent of picking out herself for Clara, with her own fork, the breast of a hashed fowl from a dish that was before her. This she did with considerable care,—I may say, with a show of care; and then, though she did not absolutely call Clara by her Christian name, she did call her 'my dear'. Clara saw it all, and felt that the usual placidity of the afternoon would be broken by some special event. At three o'clock, when the carriage as usual came to the door, Belinda was out of the way, and Clara was made to understand that she and Lady Aylmer were to be driven out without any other companion. 'Belinda is a little busy, my dear. So, if you don't mind, we'll go alone.' Clara of course assented, and got into the carriage with a conviction that now she would hear her fate. She was rather inclined to think that Lady Aylmer was about to tell her that she had failed in obtaining the approbation of Aylmer Park, and that she must be returned as goods of a description inferior to the order given. If such were the case, the breast of the chicken had no doubt been administered as consolation. Clara had endeavoured, since she had been at Aylmer Park, to investigate her own feelings in reference to Captain Aylmer; but had failed, and knew that she had failed. She wished to think that she loved him, as she could not endure the thought of having accepted a man whom she did not love. And she told herself that he had done nothing to forfeit her love. A woman who really loves will hardly allow that her love should be forfeited by any fault. True love breeds forgiveness for all faults. And, after all, of what fault had Captain Aylmer been guilty? He had preached to her out of his mother's mouth. That had been all! She had first accepted him, and then rejected him, and then accepted him again; and now she would fain be firm, if firmness were only possible to her. Nevertheless, if she were told that she was to be returned as inferior, she would hold up her head under such disgrace as best she might, and would not let the tidings break her heart.

'My dear,' said Lady Aylmer, as soon as the trotting horses and rolling wheels made noise enough to prevent her words from reaching the servants on the box. 'I want to say a few words to you and I think that this will be a good opportunity.'

'A very good opportunity,' said Clara.

'Of course, my dear, you are aware that I have heard of something going on between you and my son Frederic.' Now that Lady Aylmer had taught herself to call Clara 'my dear', it seemed that she could hardly call her so often enough.

'Of course I know that Captain Aylmer has told you of our engagement. But for that, I should not be here.'

'I don't know how that might be,' said Lady Aylmer; 'but at any rate, my dear, he has told me that since the day of my sister's death there has been—in point of fact, a sort of engagement.'

'I don't think Captain Aylmer has spoken of it in that way.'

'In what way? Of course he has not said a word that was not nice and lover-like, and all that sort of thing. I believe he would have done anything in the world that his aunt had told him; and as to his—'

'Lady Aylmer!' said Clara, feeling that her voice was almost trembling with anger,' I am sure you cannot intend to be unkind to me?'

'Certainly not.'

'Or to insult me?'

'Insult you, my dear! You should not use such strong words, my dear; indeed you should not. Nothing of the kind is near my thoughts.'

'If you disapprove of my marrying your son, tell me so at once, and I shall know what to do.'

'It depends, my dear it depends on circumstances, and that is just why I want to speak to you.'

'Then tell me the circumstances though indeed I think it would have been better if they could have been told to me by Captain Aylmer himself.'

'There, my dear, you must allow me to judge. As a mother, of course I am anxious for my son. Now Frederic is a poor man. Considering the kind of society in which he has to live, and the position which he must maintain as a Member of Parliament, he is a very poor man.'

This was an argument which Clara certainly had not expected that any of the Aylmer family would condescend to use. She had always regarded Captain Aylmer as a rich man since he had inherited Mrs Winterfield's property, knowing that previously to that he had been able to live in London as rich men usually do live. 'Is he?' said she. 'It may seem odd to you, Lady Aylmer, but I do not think that a word has ever passed between me and your son as to the amount of his income.'

'Not odd at all, my dear. Young ladies are always thoughtless about those things, and when they are looking to be married think that money will come out of the skies.'

'If you mean that I have been looking to be married—'

'Well;—expecting. I suppose you have been expecting it.' Then she paused; but as Clara said nothing, she went on. 'Of course, Frederic has got my sister's moiety of the Perivale property;—about eight hundred a year, or something of that sort, when all deductions are made. He will have the moiety when I die, and if you and he can be satisfied to wait for that event,—which may not perhaps be very long—'. Then there was another pause, indicative of the melancholy natural to such a suggestion, during which Clara looked at Lady Aylmer, and made up her mind that her ladyship would live for the next twenty-five years at least. 'If you can wait for that,' she continued, it may be all very well, and though you will be poor people, in Frederic's rank of life, you will be able to live.'

'That will be so far fortunate,' said Clara.

'But you'll have to wait,' said Lady Aylmer, turning upon her companion almost fiercely. 'That is, you certainly will have to do so if you are to depend upon Frederic's income alone.'

'I have nothing of my own as he knows; absolutely nothing.'

'That does not seem to be quite so clear,' said Lady Aylmer, speaking now very cautiously or rather with a purpose of great caution; 'I don't think that that is quite so clear. Frederic has been telling me that there seems to be some sort of a doubt about the settlement of the Belton estate.'

'There is no sort of doubt whatsoever no shadow of a doubt. He is quite mistaken.'

'Don't be in such a hurry, my dear. It is not likely that you yourself should be a very good lawyer.'

'Lady Aylmer, I must be in a hurry lest there should be any mistake about this. There is no question here for lawyers. Frederic must have been misled by a word or two which I said to him with quite another purpose. Everybody concerned knows that the Belton estate goes to my cousin Will. My poor father was quite aware of it.'

'That is all very well; and pray remember, my dear, that you need not attack me in this way. I am endeavouring, if possible, to arrange the accomplishment of your own wishes. It seems that Mr Belton himself does not claim the property.'

'There is no question of claiming. Because he is a man more generous than any other person in the world,—romantically generous he has offered to give me the property which was my father's for his lifetime; but I do not suppose that you would wish, or that Captain Aylmer would wish, that I should accept such an offer as that.' There was a tone in her voice as she said this, and a glance in her eye as she turned her face full upon her companion, which almost prevailed against Lady Aylmer's force of character.

'I really don't know, my dear,' said Lady Aylmer. 'You are so violent.'

'I certainly am eager about this. No consideration on earth would induce me to take my cousin's property from him.'

'It always seemed to me that that entail was a most unfair proceeding.'

'What would it signify even if it were which it was not? Papa got certain advantages on those conditions. But what can all that matter? It belongs to Will Belton.'

Then there was another pause, and Clara thought that that subject was over between them. But Lady Aylmer had not as yet completed her purpose. Shall I tell you, my dear, what I think you ought to do?'

'Certainly, Lady Aylmer; if you wish it.'

'I can at any rate tell you what it would become any young lady to do under such circumstances. I suppose you will give me credit for knowing as much as that. Any young lady placed as you are would be recommended by her friends if she had friends able and fit to give her advice to put the whole matter into the hands of her natural friends and her lawyer together. Hear me out, my dear, if you please. At least you can do that for me, as I am taking a great deal of trouble on your behalf. You should let Frederic see Mr Green. I understand that Mr Green was your father's lawyer. And then Mr Green can see Mr Belton. And so the matter can be arranged. It seems to me, from what I hear, that in this way, and in this way only; something can be done as to the proposed marriage. In no other way can anything be done.'

Then Lady Aylmer had finished her argument, and throwing herself back into the carriage, seemed to intimate that she desired no reply. She had believed and did believe that her guest was so intent upon marrying her son, that no struggle would be regarded as too great for the achievement of that object. And such belief was natural on her part. Mothers always so think of girls engaged to their sons, and so think especially when the girls are penniless and the sons are well-to-do in the world. But such belief, though it is natural, is sometimes wrong and it was altogether wrong in this instance. 'Then,' said Clara, speaking very plainly,' nothing can be done.'

'Very well, my dear.'

After that there was not a word said between them till the carriage was once more within the park. Then Lady Aylmer spoke again. 'I presume you see, my dear, that under these circumstances any thought of marriage between you and my son must be quite out of the question at any rate for a great many years.'

'I will speak to Captain Aylmer about it, Lady Aylmer.'

'Very well, my dear. So do. Of course he is his own master. But he is my son as well, and I cannot see him sacrificed without an effort to save him.'

When Clara came down to dinner on that day she was again Miss Amedroz, and she could perceive from Belinda's manner quite as plainly as from that of her ladyship that she was to have no more tit-bits of hashed chicken specially picked out for her by Lady Aylmer's own fork. That evening and the two next days passed, just as had passed the two first days, and everything was dull, cold, and uncomfortable. Twice she had walked out with Frederic, and on each occasion had thought that he would refer to what his mother had said; but he did not venture to touch upon the subject. Clara more than once thought that she would do so herself; but when the moment came she found that it was impossible. She could not bring herself to say anything that should have had the appearance of a desire on her part to hurry on a marriage. She could not say to him, 'If you are too poor to be married or even if you mean to put forward that pretence say so at once.' He still called her Clara, and still asked her to walk with him, and still talked, when they were alone together, in a distant cold way, of the events of their future combined life. Would they live at Perivale? Would it be necessary to refurnish the house? Should he keep any of the land on his own hands? These are all interesting subjects of discussion between an engaged man and the girl to whom he is engaged; but the man, if he wish to make them thoroughly pleasant to the lady, should throw something of the urgency of a determined and immediate purpose into the discussion. Something should be said as to the actual destination of the rooms. A day should be fixed for choosing the furnishing. Or the gentleman should declare that he will at once buy the cows for the farm. But with Frederic Aylmer all discussions seemed to point to some cold, distant future, to which Clara might look forward as she did to the joys of heaven. Will Belton would have bought the ring long since, and bespoken the priest, and arranged every detail of the honeymoon, tour and very probably would have stood looking into a cradle shop with longing eyes.