think mine is the little spar of love
that he tries to cling to in the great ship wreck; and I feel quite
sorry and hypocritical that it is such a poor, miserable shred.'

'It will grow,' said Louis, smiling.

'I don't know; he is terribly provoking sometimes--and without dear
granny to hinder the rubs. O, Louis! it is true that there is no
bearing to stay at home in those great empty rooms!'

'And Jane?'

'Oh, she goes,' said Clara, recovering a smile; 'she is firmly
persuaded that we shall run into another revolution, and as she could
not frighten us by the description of your wounds, she decides to come
and dress ours when we get any. Dear old Jenny, I am glad she goes;
she is the only creature I can talk to; but, Louis, before my uncle
comes in, I have something to give you.'

It was the letters that Mary had written to her aunt since the parting,
and the Spanish books which she had left in her charge.

'It is very kind in you, Clara,' said Louis, fervently.

They talked of Mary, and a little of James, from whom Clara had once
heard; but it had been a stiff letter, as if a barrier were between
them, and then Mr. Dynevor came in, and seemed pleased to find Louis
there; even asking him whether he could not join them on their tour,
and help Clara to speak French.

'No, thank you, sir,' said Louis, 'I am afraid my company brought no
good luck last time.'

'Never mind that--manage better now--ha, Clara.'

'It would be very nice; but he has a great deal too much to do at
home,' said Clara.

Oliver would not be persuaded that Fitzjocelyn would not meet them
abroad, and began magniloquently talking of his courier, and his route,
and while he was looking for the map, the two cousins smiled, and Clara
said,--'Lucky you to have work at home, and to stay with it.'

'Only I say, Clara, when you break down anywhere, send me a telegraph.'

'No such good luck,' sighed Clara.

'So he won't come,' said her uncle, when he was gone; 'but we shall
have him following us yet--Ha! ha! Never mind, Clara.'

Clara laughed. She knew what her uncle meant, but the notion was to
her too impossible and ridiculous even to need a blush. She did not
think the world contained Louis's equal; but she had always known that
his love was disposed of, and she no more thought of wishing for it
than for any other impossible thing. His affection for Mary gave her
no more pain than did that of James for Isabel; and she would have
treate