t
she had lived in her own house in Northwold, and taught him the Latin
grammar, seemed quite a disappointment from the simplicity and want of
romance.

The weary banquet had arrived at ices, and Clara hoped the end was
near, when the worse trial of speeches began. Mr. Henderson was
declaring how strongly he felt the honour which had been devolved on
him, of expressing the universal joy in having so excellent and
much-beloved a neighbour restored by the noble exertions of her son.
He said all that the rest of the world ought to have felt, and so
heartily and sincerely as to make every one imagine the whole the
general sentiment, and the welcoming hurrah was cordial and joyous.
Mrs. Frost was deeply touched and gratified, and Lord Ormersfield
congratulated himself on having instigated Oliver to give this toast to
Mr. Henderson. If Clara could have driven James from her mind, she
would have been delighted, but there could be no triumph for her where
he was excluded.

The Earl returned thanks on behalf of his aunt, and said a great deal
that could have come from the mouth of no one 'unaccustomed to public
speaking,' ending by proposing the health of 'Mr. Oliver Frost
Dynevor.' In the midst of 'the fine old English gentleman,' while
Louis was suppressing a smile at the incongruity, a note was brought to
him, which he tossed to Clara, purporting that he was to return thanks
for her. She bent over the table to say, 'You will say nothing I
cannot bear to hear,' folded her hands, and shut her eyes, as if she
had been going to stand fire.

Oliver's clear, harsh tones, incapable of slowness or solemnity, began
to return thanks for himself, and pronounce this to be the happy day to
which he had been looking throughout his life--the day of restoring the
family inheritance to his mother, and the child of his elder brother;
he faltered--he never could calmly speak of Henry. Failing the presence
of one so dear, he rejoiced, however, to be able to introduce to them
his only daughter, and he begged that his friends would drink the
health of the heiress of Cheveleigh, Miss Dynevor.

Never did toast apparently conduce so little to the health of the
subject. Unprepared as Clara was for such a declaration, it was to her
as if she had been publicly denounced as the supplanter of her brother.
She became deadly white, and sat bolt upright, stiff and motionless,
barely stifling a scream, and her eyes fixed between command and
entreat