ds; and yet, now that you are in trouble, you choose to
live with them."

"Dear Lucius, is there any reason why I should not visit at The
Cleeve?"

"Yes; if you ask me--yes;" and now he spoke very sternly. "There is a
cloud upon you, and you should know nothing of visitings and of new
friendships till that cloud has been dispersed. While these things
are being said of you, you should set at no other table than this,
and drink of no man's cup but mine. I know your innocence," and as
he went on to speak, he stood up before her and looked down fully
into her face, "but others do not. I know how unworthy are these
falsehoods with which wicked men strive to crush you, but others
believe that they are true accusations. They cannot be disregarded,
and now it seems,--now that you have allowed them to gather to a
head, they will result in a trial, during which you will have to
stand at the bar charged with a dreadful crime."

"Oh, Lucius!" and she hid her eyes in her hands. "I could not have
helped it. How could I have helped it?"

"Well; it must be so now. And till that trial is over, here should
be your place. Here, at my right hand; I am he who am bound to stand
by you. It is I whose duty it is to see that your name be made white
again, though I spend all I have, ay, and my life in doing it. I am
the one man on whose arm you have a right to lean. And yet, in such
days as these, you leave my house and go to that of a stranger."

"He is not a stranger, Lucius."

"He cannot be to you as a son should be. However, it is for you to
judge. I have no control in this matter, but I think it right that
you should know what are my thoughts."

And then she had crept back again to The Cleeve. Let Lucius say what
he might, let this additional sorrow be ever so bitter, she could not
obey her son's behests. If she did so in one thing she must do so in
all. She had chosen her advisers with her best discretion, and by
that choice she must abide--even though it separated her from her
son. She could not abandon Sir Peregrine Orme and Mr. Furnival. So
she crept back and told all this to Mrs. Orme. Her heart would have
utterly sunk within her could she not have spoken openly to some one
of this sorrow.

"But he loves you," Mrs. Orme had said, comforting her. "It is not
that he does not love you."

"But he is so stern to me." And then Mrs. Orme had kissed her, and
promised that none should be stern to her, there, in that house. On
the m