," said Gregory.

"As good as gold," said Ralph. "I don't think, however, I shall very
soon forgive Sir Thomas."

"I don't mind saying now that I am glad it is so," said Gregory;
"though as regards Clary that seems to be cruel. But I don't think I
could have come much here had she become your wife."

"Nothing shall ever separate us, Greg."

"I hope not;--but I don't know whether I could have done it. I almost
think that I oughtn't to live where I should see her; and I did fear
it at one time."

"She'll come to the parsonage yet, old fellow, if you'll stick to
her," said Ralph.

"Never," said Gregory. Then that conversation was over.

CHAPTER XLIII.

ONCE MORE.

At the end of February Ralph declared his purpose of returning to the
Moonbeam, for the rest of the hunting season. "I'm not going to be
such an ass," he said to his brother, "as to keep two sets of horses
going. I bought my uncle's because it seemed to suit just at the
time; and there are the others at Horsball's, because I've not had
time to settle down yet. I'll go over for March, and take a couple
with me; and, at the end of it, I'll get rid of those I don't like.
Then that'll be the end of the Moonbeam, as far as I am concerned."
So he prepared to start, and on the evening before he went his
brother declared that he would go as far as London with him. "That's
all right," said Ralph, "but what's taking you up now?" The parson
said that he wanted to get a few things, and to have his hair cut. He
shouldn't stay above one night. Ralph asked no more questions, and
the two brothers went up to London together.

We fear that Patience Underwood may not have been in all respects a
discreet preserver of her sister's secrets. But then there is nothing
more difficult of attainment than discretion in the preservation
of such mysteries. To keep a friend's secret well the keeper of it
should be firmly resolved to act upon it in no way,--not even for the
advantage of the owner of it. If it be confided to you as a secret
that your friend is about to make his maiden speech in the House, you
should not even invite your acquaintances to be in their places,--not
if secrecy be the first object. In all things the knowledge should be
to you as though you had it not. Great love is hardly capable of such
secrecy as this. In the fulness of her love Patience had allowed her
father to learn the secret of poor Clary's heart; and in the fulness
of her love she had end