re all alone. If there had been any one else I should not have
come."

"It is very good of you."

"Colonel Askerton thought that perhaps he had better come. I told him
of all that which we said to each other the other day. He thought at
first that it would be better that I should not see you."

"It was very good of you to come," said Clara again, and as she spoke
she put out her hand and took Mrs. Askerton's,--continuing to hold it
for awhile; "very good indeed."

"I told him that I could not but go down to you,--that I thought you
would not understand it if I stayed away."

"At any rate it was good of you to come to me."

"I don't believe," said Mrs. Askerton, "that what people call
consolation is ever of any use. It is a terrible thing to lose a
father."

"Very terrible. Ah, dear, I have hardly yet found out how sad it is.
As yet I have only been thinking of myself, and wishing that I could
be with him."

"Nay, Clara."

"How can I help it? What am I to do, or where am I to go? Of what use
is life to such a one as me? And for him,--who would dare to wish him
back again? When people have fallen and gone down in the world it is
bad for them to go on living. Everything is a trouble, and there is
nothing but vexation."

"Think what I have suffered, dear."

"But you have had somebody to care for you,--somebody whom you could
trust."

"And have not you?"

"No; no one."

"What do you mean, Clara?"

"I mean what I say. I have no one. It is no use asking
questions,--not now, at such a time as this. And I did not mean to
complain. Complaining is weak and foolish. I have often told myself
that I could bear anything, and so I will. When I can bring myself to
think of what I have lost in my father I shall be better, even though
I shall be more sorrowful. As it is, I hate myself for being so
selfish."

"You will let me come and stay with you to-day, will you not?"

"No, dear; not to-day."

"Why not to-day, Clara?"

"I shall be better alone. I have so many things to think of."

"I know well that it would be better that you should not be
alone,--much better. But I will not press it. I cannot insist with
you as another woman would."

"You are wrong there; quite wrong. I would be led by you sooner than
by any woman living. What other woman is there to whom I would listen
for a moment?" As she said this, even in the depth of her sorrow she
thought of Lady Aylmer, and strengthened herself in her resolution t