n awkward silence. "He means to leave his room this
afternoon."

"Dr. Vale charged him to be very cautious," rejoined Clarissa.

These young people were motherless; the daughter reigned as mistress of
her father's house, acknowledging no control save his, and that was of
the mildest kind. Captain Tillotson was the most indulgent of parents;
his wife had died while Clarissa was still too young to realize her
loss, and the child had been entirely left to the care of an old
servant, who allowed her to have her own way in all things. At school
she had been forced to submit to discipline; but her strong will was
never conquered, and she generally contrived to gain an ascendency over
her companions. Having retired from long and honourable service in the
Royal Navy, the captain settled himself at home, to pass his old age in
peace; and Clarissa proved herself an affectionate daughter. But Anthony
was scarcely so easy to manage as her father; to him, his sister's word
was not always law, and she sometimes found herself good-humouredly
contradicted.

"If I give in," thought she, going over the before-mentioned quarrel,
"he will think that he has got the mastery. No; I will treat him with
marked coldness until he makes an apology."

Thoroughly chilled by her frigid tone and manner, Anthony made few
efforts to sustain the conversation. Breakfast was finished in silence,
and he rose rather hastily from his seat at the table.

"I am going on board the _Royal George_ this morning," he said, moving
towards the door. "If my father asks for me, Clarissa, please tell him
that I wanted to say a few words to Lieutenant Holloway. He will have to
sail again shortly."

"Very well," replied Clarissa, indifferently.

The hall-door closed behind him, and she rung the bell to have the
breakfast-table cleared. Then the sunshine tempted her to saunter into
the garden, and gather a bunch of sweet lavender, but from some
unexplained cause her mind was ill at ease. She could take no pleasure
in her flowers; no interest in the vine which had been her especial
care; and she returned to the house, determined to spend the morning at
her worsted-work. Seating herself near the open window, she drew her
frame towards her, and arranged her crewels. The shining needle darted
in and out, and she was soon deeply absorbed in her occupation.

Every piece of work has a history of its own; and this quaint
representation of the woman of Samaria was fated to