she had not; but how should she do this? It was
perfectly useless to write and send the letter to the post-office by
any servant at the Hidden House, for such a letter was sure to find its
way--not into the mail bags, but into the pocket of Colonel Le Noir.

Finally, Clara resolved to entrust honest Cap with so much of her story
as would engage her interest and co-operation, and then confide to her
care a letter to be placed in the post-office. Clara had scarcely come
to this resolution ere, as we said, an imminent crisis obliged her to
seek the further aid of Capitola.

Craven Le Noir had never abated his unacceptable attentions to the
orphan heiress. Day by day, on the contrary, to Clara's unspeakable
distress, these attentions grew more pointed and alarming.

At first she had received them coldly and repulsed them gently; but as
they grew more ardent and devoted she became colder and more reserved,
until at length, by maintaining a freezing hauteur at variance with her
usually sweet temper, she sought to repel the declaration that was ever
ready to fall from his lips.

But, notwithstanding her evident abhorrence of his suit, Craven Le Noir
persisted in his purpose.

And so one morning he entered the parlor and, finding Clara alone, he
closed the door, seated himself beside her, took her hand and made a
formal declaration of love and proposal of marriage, urging his suit
with all the eloquence of which he was master.

Now, Clara Day, a Christian maiden, a recently bereaved orphan and an
affianced bride, had too profound a regard for her duties toward God,
her father's will and her betrothed husband's rights to treat this
attempted invasion of her faith in any other than the most deliberate,
serious and dignified manner.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Le Noir, that it has at length come to this. I
thought I had conducted myself in such a manner as totally to
discourage any such purpose as this which you have just honored me by
disclosing. Now, however, that the subject may be set at rest forever,
I feel bound to announce to you that my hand is already plighted," said
Clara, gravely.

"But, my fairest and dearest love, your little hand cannot be plighted
without the consent of your guardian, who would never countenance the
impudent pretensions which I understand to be made by the low-born
young man to whom I presume you allude. That engagement was a very
foolish affair, my dear girl, and only to be palliated on the gro