naval skirmish with the
Spaniards off the Scilly Isles, in which great havoc had been made among
the Queen's forces, and in the list of the dead was Lieutenant Walter
Avery.

Now Orige's romance took a new turn. She pictured herself as a widowed
nightingale, love-lorn and desolate, leaning her bleeding breast upon a
thorn, and moaning forth her melancholy lay. As others have done since,
she fancied herself poetical when she was only silly. And Barbara took
grim notice that her handkerchief was perpetually going up to tearless
eyes, and that she was not a whit less particular than usual to know
what there was for supper.

For six whole months this state of things lasted. Orige arrayed herself
in the deepest sables; she spoke of herself as a wretched widow who
could never taste hope again; and of her baby as a poor hapless orphan,
as yet unwitting of its misery. She declined to see any visitors, and
persisted in being miserable and disconsolate, and in taking lonely
walks to brood over her wretchedness. And at the end of that time she
electrified her husband's family--all but one--by the announcement that
she was about to marry again. Not for love this time, of course; no,
indeed!--but she thought it was her duty. Sir Thomas Enville--a widower
with three children--had been very kind; and he would make such a good
father for Clare. He had a beautiful estate in the North. It would be
a thousand pities to let the opportunity slip. Once for all, she
thought it her duty; and she begged that no one would worry her with
opposition, as everything was already settled.

Kate Avery, Walter's elder and only surviving sister, was exceedingly
indignant. Her gentle, unsuspicious mother was astonished and puzzled.
But Mr Avery, after a momentary look of surprise, only smiled.

"Nay, but this passeth!" [surpasses belief] cried Kate.

"Even as I looked for it," quietly said her father. "I did but think it
should maybe have been somewhat later of coming."

"Her duty!" broke out indignant Kate. "Her duty to whom?"

"To herself, I take it," said he. "To Clare, as she counteth. Methinks
she is one of those deceivers that do begin with deceiving of
themselves."

"To Clare!" repeated Kate. "But, Father, she riddeth her of Clare. The
babe is to 'bide here until such time as it may please my good Lady to
send for her."

"So much the better for Clare," quietly returned Mr Avery.

And thus it happened that Clare was si