life at home, in a remote country grange, with little
society to be had in the neighbourhood, was dull and triste in the
extreme. Just after our twenty-first birthday, we made the acquaintance
of two brothers who were staying at a house in the adjoining parish, and
the friendship soon ripened into a warmer feeling on both sides.

"David Clarke, the elder, fell in love with my sister Madeleine, and
Herbert, the younger, with myself. When we broached the subject to my
father, however, he professed great indignation, and forbade either of
the young Clarkes to come to the house. It was extremely arbitrary and
unjust of him to behave thus, for he had no reasonable objections to
raise against them. I can only imagine that he was annoyed that he had
not been taken earlier into our confidence, and hurt that we wished to
leave him. Perhaps, also, he may have had some other matrimonial
projects in his mind for us, though he never made the slightest attempt
to introduce us to any suitable friends. Can you imagine the situation?
Two impulsive, motherless girls in the lonely old house, with no one to
counsel us or help to smooth away any of our difficulties! Our lovers
had business in India, and were shortly leaving the country; and the
idea of parting from them was terrible to us. They pleaded and urged, so
what wonder that there were clandestine meetings, and that one morning
we took the law into our own hands and made a double runaway match of
it? We were both of age, and could therefore legally marry whom we
chose.

"We tried to make peace with our father after the weddings, but he
utterly refused to see us, and we were obliged to start for India
without having received his forgiveness. Within a year we had news of
his death. I think he had been in failing health for some time, and
perhaps on that account had been the more loath to part with us; but he
had shown us so little tenderness that we had never realized that he
wished for our sympathy or affection. Now that I have a child of my own,
I regret that I was not a better daughter to him. In his will he showed
that he had not pardoned either us or our husbands. He left only a small
annuity each to Madeleine and myself, and the bulk of his estate in
trust for his first grandchild. My sister Madeleine's little girl was
born a fortnight before mine, so it was she, and not Alison, who
inherited her grandfather's fortune. I was very angry at the injustice
of the proceeding. It see