pretty child of nineteen-he being eighty, if a day. Did you ever hear of anything more scandalous, more disgraceful ?"

"Than her conduct? The little mercenary wretch! No, certainly!" answered Mr. Smith, promptly, before any one else could speak. Mr. Smith was peculiarly out of humor to-day; perhaps he had some secret cause for exasperation.

"Than his conduct, sir, I mean," Mr. Stanner replied, almost fiercely. "Bringing disgrace, distress, contention into a noble family."

"Mean curs, whom it would give me the greatest satisfaction to horsewhip. By the by, Allan, in an article in that magazine you have in your hand, I saw an astounding statement. Give it me a moment, that I may read the passage. Here it is: 'It might be rash to marry a woman for her beauty and accomplishments, if she and her intended husband were both entirely without means; but a man would indeed be a wretched cur who preferred an ugly and vulgar woman with £30,000, to an accomplished and beautiful woman who had but £5,000' (so far so good, but observe this saving clause; evidently the writer felt alarmed at his own rash position, at his enthusiastic unworldliness), Perhaps, poor thing, she had great temp-supposing his own prospects to be reasona tations," said Mrs. Andrews-" to lift her bly good.' I do think this the very sublime family out of poverty, ennoble herself, of bathos." and-"

"Rather selfish conduct, certainly, at his age; he might have got through his few remaining years without the new toy; but others have done likewise, others will do likewise; no use to make a noise about it. The girl was what the world calls virtuous, of course, or he would not have needed to marry her. But it is, I hold, the girl whose conduct is really to be condemned-selling her youth and her beauty to an old—”

66

Clare had not dared to speak.

"Ennoble herself!"" scoffed Mr. Smith; then seeing that gentle little Mrs. Andrews, to whom he was always comparatively gentle, looked frightened at his vehemence, and remembering that she was not his adversay, he said, "Forgive my savageness, but I think that any woman who gives herself away for anything but mere and absolute love, under any circumstances, degrades herself beyond hope of redemption - becomes about the meanest and most pitiful thing on God's earth."

Clare's face blanched; the color fled even from her lips. Allan sprang up and was about to speak when Mr. Stanner interposed. "Gently, gently, Mr. Smith. Your language is rather too forcible for a gentleman to use in the presence of ladies."

"It certainly seems so much so that I should charitably suppose some misprint or misconception of the writer's meaning," said Allan. "The thing implied, of course, being that a man whose prospects are not 'reasonably good' is not to be condemned as a

wretched cur' if he takes the ugly and vulgar possessor of £30,000 instead of the beautiful and accomplished, but poverty-stricken, woman who has only £5,000. Of course, if a man worships Mammon and worldly success, if the writer recognizes these as the true gods who are to be served, there is nothing so monstrous in this

"Any woman, I am sure, would agree with us, that such a man, whether his prospects are reasonably good' or not, is a 'wretched cur.' No doubt any woman would theoretically agree with me that a woman who gives herself away for anything but love, as necessarily degrades herself as a woman, be she who or what she may, who gives herself away for love-let the man be who or what he may, prince or ploughman-ennobles herself."

"Perhaps then, sir, I am no gentleman.'" Mr. Smith's smile, as he added, "Indeed I often think that, with all my brain-culture, I remain as much a boor at heart as was my father before me," re-assured Mr. Stanner, who, at his first words, had a sudden and "Dear me, dear me," Mr. Stanner exdreadful vision, in which figured seconds, claimed, " your views are very extraordiand duelling-pistols, and his own corpse ly-nary, Mr. Smith; rather dangerous, too. ing in a certain little glade of the near forest, Would you have a peeress marry a peasant?

Do you hold that she would ennoble herself say. You would like to write here; I will by so doing?" Mr. Stanner smiled blandly, not disturb you." thinking those questions very neatly put, and quite unanswerable.

"If the peeress loved the peasant, certainly, yes. Why not? What is a peeress but a woman, a peasant but a man? and is not any man in some way superior to any woman? So I say, that if the peeress could love the peasant purely and truly, she would be ennobled by so loving. Love is a woman's only power and only glory. An unloving woman is an incomplete, most poor, and quite unharmonized creature-miserable in all senses."

Mr. Smith's eyes were on Clare's face as he finished-she felt them burning there; hers had been cast down; she had shrunk from speaking, feeling most unsafe even when silent, and as if a word might draw down upon her some intolerable avalanche. When he ended, she felt compelled to raise her eyes to his; he was startled at their expression. A new somewhat a want, a despair-had wakkened within her. It was dumb and blind. She was unconscious of it as yet; but it lent a new meaning to her face-gave it something of pathos he had not seen in it before. Nobody answered Mr. Smith: Mr. Stanner contented himself with a shrug and a look across at Mrs. Andrews, meant to express his fear that the poor fellow was not quite sane.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE longer the warfare lasted, the weaker grew one of the combatants; till at last it was little but silence and meekness with which Clare met the attacks of her adversary, while towards others she became more and more irritable, daily capable of less self-control.

One morning she grieved Allan by a rebuff more than usually harsh, for which her heart reproached her as soon as she had given it; his crime having been that he had asked her to ride alone with him, Mr. Smith professing that business would keep him in the house. Allan was gone-Clare sat alone in the library, occupied by bitter thoughts, when Mr. Smith came into the room. Clare's heart sank when she saw him seat himself at the table by which she sat.

She pushed the inkstand and blottingbook towards him and rose. Pushing them from him, he said,

"I did not come here to write my letters; I came here because I wished to speak to you."

Clare was forced to remain; as she sat down again, she sighed involuntarily, as with a premonition of weariness to come.

"You already think me savage-brutal," Mr. Smith began. "I am going to be even more so than usual, if plain speaking implies those amiable qualities. I warn you, therefore, to gather together all your forces, Miss Watermeyr."

"Indeed, I have none this morning. I am tired from our long ride yesterday—not well; I have a headache."

"You are dropping the Amazon's and taking to the woman's weapons, I see. If you will be as plain in your answer as I in my question, I shall not trouble you many moments. How long do you mean to play with Allan as a cat plays with a mouse? When will you make an end of your sport and his misery ?" "What right poor Clare began, but words failed her. Lashing himself into fiercer indignation with each word, Mr. Smith delivered a tirade, mostly of abuse of womankind, and of praise, that knew no measure or stint, of Allan. It was better, he ended by saying, that a thousand women should weep their souls out-if, indeed, women had souls, which he was inclined to to doubt-than that one tear should be wrung from such a heart as Allan's.

When he had finished, and looked at the beautiful woman before him-saw how she was moved and shaken-even Mr. Smith felt that perhaps he had said too much.

When Clare spoke, the words were the involuntary expression of thought.

"What is it in Allan that makes you love him so well?" Again that pathos of want and of despair looking out from Clare's face.

"I love him because" The look he had met had somewhat disturbed Mr. Smith

he spoke less vehemently, at first almost with hesitation. "I love him because he is worthy of love-generous, just, gentle, firm -because I have tried him and found him "You have letters to write, I heard you true: I love him because I have served him, THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 965.

and because, by being what he is, he has rendered me incalculable service."

"I wish I were dead and forgotten," said Clare. "If I were dead and forgotten, then this idol of yours might be happy. It is all bitterness and weariness-I wish I were dead and forgotten. For once you can wish as I wish. I could rest if I were dead and forgotten-if you had ceased to hate me and Allan to love me, I could rest. But," she added, after a pause, "if Allan is all you say, why cannot I love him?”

"Because you are not worthy of himnot worthy to love him. Allan's wife will not resemble you!"

dered what he could say or do, he heard the room door close: he looked round-Clare was gone.

Mr. Smith appeared to have a great deal to think about; as he thought, the expression of his face changed continually; once or twice a deep red flush crossed his brow. He certainly wrote no letters that morning, though he sat pen in hand and paper before him for some hours.

Clare was not visible again that day. The headache of the morning was much worse by dinner-time; she was suffering very acutely, Mrs. Andrews said, and seemed feverish. "If she is not better before night,

She felt humbled to the dust by his con- I shall send for the doctor. It is a great tempt.

What, then, am I?" she asked, with a sort of horror of the being who excited such

scorn.

"The most pitiable thing in creation, perhaps, if it were not for the mischief of which your kind are capable, a selfish, proud, heartless woman."

drawback to living so far from a town that one is so far from good medical aid. Clare cannot endure our village practitioner."

"Is Miss Watermeyr subject to attacks similar to this?" Mr. Smith asked.

"She used to be; but they were generally brought on by agitation and excitement of a painful kind-such as, poor child," Mrs. Andrews added, turning to Allan, "she used to have far too much of in her father's lifetime."

CHAPTER IX.

"You are cruel and unjust," Clare began, trembling like an aspen as she spoke, so that her words seemed rather shaken out than uttered. You know nothing of me, for from the first your eyes have been darkened by hateful prejudice. I am not heartless-I feel that I could love; and if I loved, I would rejoice to lose myself in what I loved-to have my pride trampled out of me. But how can I love Allan in this way-Allan, who is always at my feet, and has no will but mine? If I am a tyrant, he makes me one: if he were more manly, I could be more wo-wont-tormented by a perpetual restlessmanly."

"You could perhaps more easily (for instance) love me for hating you than Allan for loving you."

"Sir! this is too much! you go too far in injury and insult!" Clare spoke those few words after a wild struggle; then, hiding her face in her hands, burst into an irrepressible passion of tears.

Who was vanquished now?

CLARE was ill for a few days-not dangerously or seriously; but when she came downstairs again, everybody thought her wonderfully altered in so short a time-pale and thin, and altogether subdued in look and manner. During her illness, Allan did not find much consolation in Mr. Smith's society. Mr. Smith was moody and bitter beyond his

ness, which drove him out night and day.

"Allan!" he broke forth one morning, "when are you going to end this ?-to have your fate decided ?"

"Under all the circumstances, it would be most ungenerous to press matters, though, of course, the suspense is hard to bear. I believe that a struggle is going on in poor Clare's mind, between her old affection for me and her natural rebellion against the cruel and injurious way in which her father tried to insure our marriage. I feel that this is enough to make her dislike me; but I trust to time and patience to bring back the old happy state of things."

Mr. Smith found himself in an embarrassing position-perhaps he had never caused a woman to cry before: he made a hasty movement towards Clare, then he turned away to the window. He was ready to apologize, to humble himself, to do anything to stop that passionate weeping; but while he looked out on the terrace, and pon- trust."

"I am afraid you deceive yourself-beguile yourself with false hope and vain

"Perhaps. Time will show."

No one else can; they are all blinded by

"I begin to think that I had better be their preconceived ideas of what is for my off." good. May I ask your advice?"

"You will not leave us yet-not so suddenly-just as Clare is beginning to get over your ways-beginning, I do think, really to like you."

"Suppose I return the compliment, and begin really to like' Miss Watermeyr. What then?"

"My dear old fellow, I should be glad." Allan met his friend's look with such a clear brow, such a friendly eye, there was no possibility of doubting his sincerity.

66

Allan, you are a noble fellow!-grand and guileless as a knight of old. But, my dear boy, idleness for long is intolerable and impossible to me. I must go back to work

soon."

"People always think seriously when they are ill, I suppose, according to the old proverb," she smiled a twilight sort of smile. "I have been thinking seriously about my life-what the good of it is-how "Let it be an indefinite and receding soon, I can make it of any good to anybody. I then." Had Mr. Smith satisfied his con- feel now that I can never be happy, but I science by this light skirmish on the borders should like to make some one else happy. of confession? If so, it was easily satisfied. If I try with all my heart-give all my life It was on the afternoon of this same day to it-do you think I could make Allan that Mr. Smith came upon Clare unexpect-happy ?"

edly, where she sat with a book on her knee, "Why does she feel she can never be on one of the curiously contrived garden- happy ?" mused Mr. Smith. seats, in the profound shade of the yew-tree walk: her face, as he saw it in profile against the dark background, looked very white and meek.

"Perhaps if I free my conscience by making an honorable apology, I shall be more at ease," thought Mr. Smith, as he approached Clare. Concluding that she was weak and nervous still, he begged her pardon for having startled her when he saw that she trembled.

"I am not on hostile but on penitential thoughts intent,” he said. "Last time we spoke together I"

"Say nothing about that, if you please. Do not let us refer to the past."

"You cannot forgive me then ? " "Oh, yes, if I have anything to forgive" and she held out her hand.

66 If you have anything to forgive!-you have not only forgiven, but forgotten, then," he said, with a grave smile that was almost sweet, as he clasped the offered hand.

"Forgotten!" she repeated, with a vivid blush. "I have had so much to think of I am perplexed, driven about-I want counsel-I want help to do what is right. You could give it me if you would-will you ?

"By marrying and not loving him?" he asked, aloud.

"By marrying and relearning to love him. I did love him, dearly. Why should I not again? Will it be safe for him that I should try? Can I make him happy? You seemed to think I could not; but then you were angry with me, and not quite just. Do you say the same now ?"

It is as hard to some men to speak the truth, when truth and self-interest have but one voice, as to others to speak truth when truth speaks with one voice, self-interest with another.

"Miss Watermeyr, some demon-your evil genius or mine-has led you to me for counsel. There is only one way in which I can answer you, by showing you how fit an adviser you have chosen. I warned you not to try my endurance too far. I am not a man of iron or stone "-he possessed himself of her hand, and looked right into her eyes-his hand and his glance seemed to scorch her; she shrank from them inwardly, the more that he seemed to be in passionate earnest ; not taunting and mocking her, as she could almost have believed sooner than believe that he loved her. "Do you not

"Listen and judge. But Mr. Smith paused a while, choking down some pang of bitterness, before he continued. "I am just come from your Cousin Clare. I found her in the yew walk, and left her there. I love her; I have told her so." He looked in Allan's face-it whitened to the lips, and the features sharpened.

feel that you are tempting me beyond what | berly. What has occurred? Have you had a man can endure? Do you not know that bad news? To whom did you-who is the you are trying to deceive me and yourself? traitor ?" You cannot love Allan again—you know that you cannot. You know that you love me-yes, me! You do not dare deny it, Clare—you do not dare deny it. And I traitor as I am-I love you with a love that has burnt up the unselfish love of which I made my boast a love of which it is a shame for me to speak, and for you to hear: but I love you, Clare, I love you." Having wrung her hands in his till she could have screamed with agony, he threw them from him and left her left her literally stunned and breathless.

For a long time-she could not tell how long-she remained where he had left her; then, like one who has had a blow and got a great hurt-cold, sick, bewildered-she groped her way through the shade and the blinding sunshine till she gained her own

room.

He loved her! Well! Was the consciousness-either for hate's sake, as revenge-or for love's sake, as satisfactionsweet?

CHAPTER X.

ALLAN, meeting Mr. Smith just after his interview with Clare, could not help noticing the unusual excitement shown in his face and

manner.

To Allan's question as to what was the matter, Mr. Smith answered-"I have been tempted by the devil, and the devil had the better of me. Do not touch me, boy-let me go."

But Allan, who did not know if this were earnest or some bitter jest, passed his arm through his friend's, and held him fast. "What has happened? Something, I am Do not jest with me. Tell me what has happened?"

sure.

"A mere trifle-a most ordinary occurrence. A man who thought himself of stainless honor and disinterestedness, has proved himself a selfish traitor. A mere trifle. Quite a jesting matter."

"And Clare ?" was all Allan said. "Loves me. Beggar and blackguard as I am, she loves me." "She told you so?" "Let me remember. "But you do not doubt it ? " "I do not doubt it. Take your hand from my arm, boy; let me go."

No not in words."

Allan paid no heed; arm in arm they walked on in silence; a low, sardonic, selfscorning laugh from Mr. Smith was the first sound that broke this silence.

"You have been amusing yourself at my expense in rather a sorry manner!" Allan said, as this sound roused him from the sort of nightmare in which he had been walking, and raised a sudden hope in his mind.

"Would to God it were so! It is not. Let me go-I say, let me go. I shall hate you now, Allan; now I have injured you. Let me go." Mr. Smith spoke fiercely, and struggled to release his arm from Allan's hold; but the clutch that held him, mechanical and almost involuntary as it was, was like the convulsive clutch of the dying; he could not escape from it.

"You shall not hate me!" Allan said, firmly. "I will let you go, for I want time to think-but not till you have promised to do nothing rash - to sleep under that roof at least one night longer."

-

"I promise anything to get away from you." Allan's hold relaxed, and Mr. Smith was off towards the river. A few moments afterwards, a boat shot swiftly forth from the alder creek. Allan watched it fly down the river, disappearing, to appear again in one shining reach after another. Allan watched without knowing that he watched : the rhythm of the oars gave rhythm to his thoughts-if what went on within him, beat"I am not mad, most noble Allan." ing in his brain, hammering at his heart, "John, my dear fellow, speak to me so- could be called thought.

Mr. Smith laughed.

"We are long past the dog-days, or I should be alarmed for your sanity," Allan said.