again-never left with 'only auntie' any more."

"I do not know that I shall wish that."

Clare's colour had risen; she spoke proudly as she added, "I do not wish anything to be considered as settled; we were so young then." Mrs Andrews was silent for some time; when she spoke, it was with some considerable show of embar

rassment.

"I am not apt to croak, dear Clare, or to be a bird of ill omen, but I feel as if I ought to warn you that you must not expect all will go smoothly: I mean I would have you prepared to endure some things that will seem hard at first-very hard, if you meet them in a proud spirit. You have been good and gentle to me always; still, my dear, you are too proud: you have a more obstinate will than is beautiful in a woman, or consistent with a woman's happiness. I wish to warn you against it-to put you on your guard. A woman must learn to submit before she can be what she should be before she can be happy." "Dear auntie, what is all this about? What have I done? What am I going to be done to? Will Allan come home a tyrant? Am I to learn to submit to his will? He used to have no will but mine." In spite of her light tone, Clare's heart sank. "Your father was a tyrant, my dear." Mrs Andrews spoke in a suppressed voice, glancing round the room, as if conscious of the treasonableness of her words." He did not approve of any amount of liberty for women; he was my poor sister's jailer rather than her husband his jealousy during the last years of her life, which were the last of his too, amounted to something bordering on insanity. I have always thought it unlikely

that, with his opinion of women, he should have left you free, and an heiress; and, my dear, you are of age to-morrow."

Clare took the letter from where it had been lying on the table, disregarded till now.

"You think I shall find that I am, without my own consent, disposed of?" she said. "This letter, perhaps, is to tell me of my destination, my fate. Mr Stanner generally writes if he has anything disagreeable to say he is afraid of me, I think."

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As I should be, my dear, if you often spoke to me in that tone, or looked at me as you have been looking at that inoffensive paper."

Clare did not smile, or let her features relax; she had opened the letter.

"A short respite," she said, harshly. "My guardian only writes to say that he is coming to speak to me on business of importance tomorrow, and shall probably do himself the pleasure of spending a few weeks here."

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They are going to spoil all my pleasure in seeing Allan again," she muttered, when she was alone in her own room. "Mr Stanner is coming to help auntie play propriety: we shall be watched, our actions observed, and feelings speculated upon. Perhaps I shall dislike Allan now; I shall, if he seems sure of success-thinks I am to be won without wooing-that I am already won. Mr Stanner might have waited for an invitation here: it is not much use to be mistress, if he comes when and for as long as he pleases."

The girlish softness and sweetness had passed from Miss Watermeyr's face: reflected in the glass she saw that of a woman who would have been beautiful had she been less proud.

Clare woke next morning with a sense of something impending: she did not know what she dreaded,

but a gloom was over everything, a weight upon her usually light elastic spirits.

Mr Stanner, who lived at no great distance, arrived early; but he seem ed rather to shun than to seek opportunity for a tête-à-tête with Clare: being both kind-hearted and timid, he was at once fond of his ward and afraid of her. On her part she did not return his affection, and held him more in contempt than in awe. She had always been able to wind him round her finger in such unimportant matters as there had been question of between them, and she. was not herself enough truly womanly to feel, nor had she experience enough of life to know, that a gentlehearted man, easily swayed by a woman's wish or will in trifles, may yet show himself to be inflexible when need is. Mr Stanner was, perhaps, hardly able to teach Clare this lesson-yet it was a lesson it would be well that she should learn.

It was Clare who at last broke the silence, which she felt to be ominous and oppressive, saying after dinner, when Mr Stanner had joined her and Mrs Andrews in the drawing-room, "If you have business to talk to me about, shall we go into the library now, while Mrs Andrews takes her nap ?"

"If you please, but there is really no hurry."

Clare stood expectant, so Mr Stanner had no alternative but to rise from the soft depths of a luxurious chair into which he had just sunk with a sigh of content, and follow her from the room.

"It is very warm this afternoon —very warm, upon my word!"

Thus Mr Stanner broke the silence which had ensued when he and Clare were seated; he drew out his handkerchief, passed it across his forehead, and glanced furtively at his fair ward as he repeated his assertion.

"I feel it is something unpleasant that you have to tell me," Clare said. "You need not be afraid to speak; no doubt I shall be able to bear what you may have to communicate."

"Unpleasant!' oh, by no means

at least, not necessarily so. 'Afraid to speak!' why should I be, my dear young lady? You have no deadly weapon concealed among the amplitude of that light and pretty dress, in which you look so charming."

"If you begin to pay me compliments, I shall be quite sure that something disagreeable is to follow them."

"To come to the point at once, then: You are aware that Mr Allan Watermeyr, your father's halfbrother's son, whom, for brevity, we will call your cousin, is expected home from abroad in a few days."

"As my cousin has himself written to me to this effect, I certainly am aware of it."

Clare's colour had risen at the first mention of her cousin's name; but Mr Stanner studiously avoided looking at her. As he continued, he became more and completely absorbed in the contemplation of some speck or flaw on one of his carefully-tended finger-nails.

"Every step I take in this matter I am obliged to take without exercising my own judgment. Every step has been planned for me. Your father left me the most minute directions compliance with some of his instructions is a painful duty. Unhappily, your father believed that he had cause to entertain but a low opinion of your sex. From his point of view, his conduct was perhaps right and wise; from other points of view, I do not hesitate to say that it seems to me foolish-nay, extravagant and mischievous in the extreme. But, my dear young lady, much, if not everything, rests with yourself: if you can subdue your pride and control your somewhat high temper, let events take the course they would easily and naturally have taken had you, as I could have desired, remained in ignorance of what I am compelled to communicate to you: if you will adopt this womanly and becoming line of conduct, all will yet go well."

"Perhaps for womanly and becoming' I might substitute spiritless and abject," interposed Clare; "but pray go on-let me hear the worst at once."

"If you will bear in your mind your father's lamentable and mistaken views, you will be less unprepared for my communication. It was your father's desire, that when you and Mr Allan Watermeyr had respectively arrived at a suitable age, you should-according to his way of expressing himselfenter purgatory together: he had many reasons for wishing that you should be united. You know that, during the last years of his life, his friends had cause to fear that his mind was somewhat affected-what was sense, and what insanity, it was not always easy to say. He talked sometimes of having played Jacob's part-cheated Esau (Mr Allan's father) of his birthright; then he would say, 'A marriage between his boy and my girl will make reparation, especially if she turns out like her mother.' I have heard him say that a hundred times, always with the same smile. smile that struck me as sinisterrepeating the last phrase again and again, and

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a

Spare me all these humiliating details," Clare said impatiently. She had sat looking out on the sloping lawns, down which the sunshine seemed pouring to the river, quite still, but with an ever-deepening crimson on her fair face, and a threatening brightness flashing from her eyes.

"As the mutual attachment existing between you and Mr Watermeyr is no secret

"A boy-and-girl affair, which either of us, or both of us, may now wish forgotten," interrupted Clare.

"I need not imagine that anything I have yet said need be classed in the category of unpleasant communications." Mr Stanner had not heeded Clare's interruption, except to pause while she spoke, and then proceed as if she

"I am to be dependent on marriage with him for a subsistence ! I expected injustice, injury, insult, but nothing so intolerable!"

"Look at it from a right point of view, and it is not so bad, my dear. A wife is naturally dependent upon a husband: as I said before, your mutual attachment is no secret; if events take their natural course

"Spare me this twaddle. Forgive me that uncourteous expression. Is there more to hear regarding my father's will?"

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Only this"-Mr Stanner's face had flushed angrily-" if you marry any one but your cousin, you forfeit everything; if you choose to remain single, a small pittance and the West-end Cottage will be yours -a mean and miserable provision, of which, however, there is no fear that you will need to avail yourself."

"One question, Mr Stanner : Does Mr Watermeyr know what you have told me?" Asking this, Clare challenged and met her guardian's glance.

"He does. He was extremely pained and indignant. If there is any way of evading the will-if it is possible to settle the property on you unconditionally-he is determined it shall be done. He en

treated that at least you might remain in ignorance of your position. I would willingly have had it so; but I am not a free agent." Clare was looking out again-down the sunny lawn to the riverall her colour had faded now. Mr Stanner rose. The girl's fair face looked so stony that he felt as if to address her would have been like addressing a statue. She did not move or speak, and he left her to her own thoughts-not sorry to escape from her near neighbourhood, for the atmosphere around her seemed dangerous. It took Clare some time even to realise her position. She loved the old house; she loved every lawn, shrubbery, every field, tree, dell, and dingle of the manor; she loved it as the kingdom where she reigned supreme-where she had believed she should always reign. She loved it as the only home she had ever known as the place where she had been born-where her mother had

lived and died. If a selfish love, it was still a more passionate love than any other she had known. She believed that she had loved Allan, not perhaps with "the love of men and women when they love the best," but with a love that with her had passed for that love. In all her dreams regarding her future he played a part, a secondary parta Prince - consort's part, perhaps. She was the Queen, the lady of the manor; he her first retainer, her serviceable and chivalrous knight

one whom she delighted to honour, whom she enriched with her favours-and now

The sunshine had left the lawn, the twilight had faded from it before Clare moved; when she did, it was to shut herself into her own room, not to appear again that night. Mrs Andrews could not gain admission: Clare, from within, would only say, Not to-night, auntie; I cannot bear to be spoken to to-night."

Neither to Mr Stanner nor to Mrs Andrews did Clare speak on the subject that of course engrossed her thoughts. She kept much apart; unwonted whiteness on her cheeks, and dark circles, that told of sleepless nights, surrounding her eyes.

A few days after her conversation with her guardian, she heard from her cousin. When she had read his brief note, she passed it to her companions. It was very brief -only this:

"DEAREST CLARE,-I hope to follow this letter in a few hours. How much is contained in those poor words! With me I shall venture to bring my dear old friend, John Smith, trusting that, for his own sake, he may be welcome-for mine, not otherwise. Now, in this haste, I dare not allow myself to say more than that I am yours,

"ALLAN WATERMEYR."

Having read this note, Clare took

no more heed of it, though she had been wont to keep and garner up carefully every line her cousin wrote to her. Mrs Andrews replaced it in its cover, and laid it beside Clare's plate; but Clare left the breakfast-table without again looking at or touching it.

"Which rooms shall I give your cousin and his friend?" Mrs Andrews asked, following Clare into the conservatory. This conservatory opened from the breakfastClare's special retreat, her favourroom through it you could reach ite sitting-room, or could step out upon the terrace.

It was a pretty place; its many light and graceful pillars, garlanded with blossoming creepers, gave it a fairy-like look; it had been built had drawn for her. Filling up a at Clare's wish from a plan Allan recess in the south front of the house, it was doubtless an incongruous addition to the grey and grave

solidity of the original architecture; yet very few people would have wished it away.

"I have no authority in this house. Give them what rooms you please," was Clare's sullen answer.

"That is foolish, my dear. For twelve months yet to come you are mistress here. It is foolish to say you have no authority."

"Do you think I will stay meekly till my term expires ?-to be turned out at the end of it? Mr Watermeyr may be master at once - means to be master at once: without my permission he brings a friend; let him invite a dozen if he pleases, it will make no difference to me. I will find a home somewhere else. I will leave this place at once; I will not meet him."

Clare leant her head against one of the gay garlanded pillars, and burst into passionate tears; it was the first time that she had alluded to her new knowledge.

"Order everything as you think best," she said, when she could speak, and moved away. But brave little Mrs Andrews followed her to her room, sat down before her, scolded her first, comforted her afterwards; laid thorough siege to her, would not be repelled or silenced. Clare's reserve yielded the waters of bitterness gushed out; her grief and her indignation found words to which Mrs Andrews listened with patient sympathy.

"I say again, my dear, that a wicked man (I must call things by their right names) has done wickedly and cruelly. You are placed in a painful position, no doubt, but it might have been much worse. I say again, there is but one course for you to take; put this knowledge aside, and act according to the instincts of your heart. Why should you revenge upon Mr Watermeyr, the sincerity of whose love you have never doubted, and whom you loved before you knew of this, the wrong your father did you? Indeed, my poor Clare, you are too proud. A woman should delight to owe all to a man she loves. She

gives him all he wants in giving him herself; between a husband and wife there should be no mine and thine. Indeed, of all women I have always pitied heiresses. I am half inclined to congratulate you instead of to condole with you, my dear."

"Suppose, however," said Clare, softly and shyly, "that I find I do not love Mr Watermeyr. And then suppose he no longer loves me, but from pity, and from motives of generosity, feels bound to marry me. And suppose-oh, a thousand things may be true that would make my position intolerable. It is intolerable. It might not be to all women, but it is to me. Oh, it is no use talking, auntie, preaching meekness and patience-no use, no use."

Still auntie's preaching had been of some use; the outbreak had done Clare good. She did not submit, but she submitted to wait to meet her cousin, and mature her plans.

:

It was late in the day when the travellers arrived. Clare was the first to hear carriage-wheels upon the drive that swept up to the west wing of the house she sat still, and gave no sign; but presently her guardian's duller ears were aware of this same sound. He rose and offered one arm to Clare, one to Mrs Andrews, saying—

"We shall be just in time to receive Mr Watermeyr at the hall door."

Clare had not meant to receive Mr Watermeyr at the hall doorhad not meant to go one step to meet him; she had made up her mind to await him where she was. Mr Stanner waited before her; she hesitated a moment, and then yielded.

Mr Watermeyr was just springing up the steps. Mr Stanner drew Clare forward to meet him, at the same time removing her hand from his own arm. Clare offered it to her cousin mechanically. Clasping it in both his, Mr Watermeyr bent his head towards her.