declare his belief that his own agents had betrayed him,
and to acknowledge that his seat was indefensible. But, as he thought
of it, he found that he was actually ignorant of the law in the
matter. That he would make no such bargain as that suggested
to him by Mr. Trigger,--of so much he thought that he was sure.
At any rate he would do nothing that he himself knew to be
dishonourable. He must consult his own attorney. That was the end
of his self-deliberation,--that, and a conviction that under no
circumstances could he retain his seat.

Then he struggled hard for an hour to keep his mind fixed on the
subject of his great work. He had found an unknown memoir respecting
Bacon, written by a German pen in the Latin language, published at
Leipzig shortly after the date of Bacon's fall. He could translate
that. It is always easiest for the mind to work in such emergencies,
on some matter as to which no creative struggles are demanded from
it.

CHAPTER XLI.

A BROKEN HEART.

It was very bad with Clarissa when Ralph Newton was closeted with
Mary at Popham Villa. She had suspected what was about to take place,
when Sir Thomas and Ralph went together into the room; but at that
moment she said nothing. She endeavoured to seem to be cheerful, and
attempted to joke with Mary. The three girls were sitting at the
table on which lunch was spread,--a meal which no one was destined
to eat at Popham Villa on that day,--and thus they remained till Sir
Thomas joined them. "Mary," he had said, "Ralph Newton wishes to
speak to you. You had better go to him."

"To me, uncle?"

"Yes, to you. You had better go to him."

"But I had rather not."

"Of course you must do as you please, but I would advise you to go to
him." Then she had risen very slowly and had gone.

All of them had understood what it meant. To Clarissa the thing
was as certain as though she already heard the words spoken. With
Patience even there was no doubt. Sir Thomas, though he had told
nothing, did not pretend that the truth was to be hidden. He looked
at his younger daughter sorrowfully, and laid his hand upon her
head caressingly. With her there was no longer the possibility of
retaining any secret, hardly the remembrance that there was a secret
to retain. "Oh, papa," she said;--"oh, papa!" and burst into tears.

"My dear," he said, "believe me that it is best that it should be
so. He is unworthy." Patience said not a word, but was now holding
Cla