len's inexpressible
relief; and her father drove her home in the yellow gig at rather an
alarming pace, and with some tendency towards heeling over into a ditch.
They got over the brief journey safely, however, and Mr. Carley was still
in high good humour. He went off to see to the putting up of his horse
himself, telling his daughter to wait till he came back, he had something
particular to say to her before she went to bed.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"WHAT MUST BE SHALL BE."

Ellen Carley waited in the little parlour, dimly lighted by one candle.
The fire had very nearly gone out, and she had some difficulty in
brightening it a little. She waited very patiently, wondering what her
father could have to say to her, and not anticipating much pleasure from
the interview. He was going to talk about Stephen Whitelaw and his
hateful money perhaps. But let him say what he would, she was prepared to
hold her own firmly, determined to provoke him by no open opposition,
unless matters came to an extremity, and then to let him see at once and
for ever that her resolution was fixed, and that it was useless to
persecute her.

"If I have to go out of this house to-night, I will not flinch," she said
to herself.

She had some time to wait. It had been past midnight when they came home,
and it was a quarter to one when William Carley came into the parlour. He
was in a unusually communicative mood to-night, and had been
superintending the grooming of his horse, and talking to the underling
who had waited up to receive him.

He was a little unsteady in his gait as he came into the parlour, and
Ellen knew that he had drunk a good deal at Wyncomb. It was no new thing
for her to see him in this condition unhappily, and the shrinking
shuddering sensation with which he inspired her to-night was painfully
familiar.

"It's very late, father," she said gently, as the bailiff flung himself
heavily into an arm-chair by the fire-place. "If you don't want me for
anything particular, I should be glad to go to bed."

"Would you, my lass?" he asked grimly. "But, you see, I do want you for
something particular, something uncommon particular; so there's no call
for you to be in a hurry. Sit down yonder," he added, pointing to the
chair opposite his own. "I've got something to say to you, something
serious."

"Father," said the girl, looking him full in the face, pale to the lips,
but very firm, "I don't think you're in a state to talk serious