t her; she is weeping herself into a fit of illness at the bare
thought of being, so soon after her dreadful bereavement, torn away
from her home and friends."

"Tut! tut! no use in weeping! all will yet be right."

"You have persuaded that man to permit her to remain here, then?" said
Marah, gladly.

"Persuaded him! no, nor even undertaken to do so! I never saw him
before to-day, yet I would venture to say, from what I have now seen of
him, that he never was persuaded by any agent except his own passions
and interests, to any act whatever. No, I have endeavored to show him
that we have law as well as justice on our side, and even now I am
afraid I shall have to take the case before the Orphans' Court before I
can convince him. He purposes removing Clara to-morrow morning. I will
endeavor to see the Judge of the Orphans' Court to-night, take out a
habeas corpus, ordering Le Noir to bring his ward into court, and serve
it on him as he passes through Staunton on his way home."

"But is there no way of preventing him from taking Clara away from the
house to-morrow morning."

"No good way. No, madam, it is best that all things should be done
decently and in order. I advise you, as I shall also advise my young
friends, Traverse and Clara, not to injure their own cause by unwise
impatience or opposition. We should go before the Orphans' Court with
the very best aspect."

"Come, then, and talk to Clara. She has the most painful antipathy to
the man who claims the custody of her person, as well as the most
distressing reluctance to leaving her dear home and friends; and all
this, in addition to her recent heavy affliction, almost overwhelms the
poor child," said Mrs. Rocke, weeping.

"I will go at once and do what I can to soothe her," said Doctor
Williams, following Mrs. Rocke, who led him up to Clara's room.

They found her prostrate upon her bed, crushed with grief.

"Come, come, my dear girl, this is too bad! It is not like the usual
noble fortitude of our Clara," said the old man, kindly taking her hand.

"Oh, Doctor, forgive--forgive me! but my courage must have been very
small, for I fear it is all gone. But then, indeed, everything comes on
me at once. My dear, dear father's death; then the approaching
departure and expected long absence of Traverse! All that was grievous
enough to bear; and now to be torn away from the home of my childhood,
and from the friend that has always been a mother to me, and by a ma