man has to choose for
himself, and win the lady of his love, if he can. Meantime, Lady Clara
is free as air. Tell her so."

With these words Hepworth Closs turned resolutely from the house in
which he had tasted pure happiness for the first time in his life, and
went away.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER.

Lady Hope was in her own room when Clara came in, pale and breathless,
with news of her father's return. A cry broke from the woman, so
thrilling in its exquisite joy, that it won Clara even from a
remembrance of the harshness with which her lover had been received. In
the birth of her own love, she found intense sympathy for the intense
passion that seemed to consume her stepmother like a living fire.

"Oh! mamma Rachael, do you love him so much, and is this love nothing
but a torment?" she said, kneeling down at the woman's feet, and trying
to draw that wild face down to hers. "He is so cruel, so cruel, I almost
hate him."

Lady Hope pushed the girl from her.

"What? Hate him?"

"Then why don't he love you more?"

"He does love me; how dare you question it?"

The words were harsh, but Rachael's voice faltered in uttering them, and
the gloom of a hidden doubt broke into those great black eyes. Clara
saw the look, and her heart ached with sympathy.

"Then why does he stay from us so long?"

"Ah, why!" answered Rachael, and the two plaintive words sank deep into
that young heart.

"And why does he treat Hepworth, your own brother, so cruelly?"

"Has he done that? Oh, no, no!"

"Yes, mamma Rachael. We both love him _so_ much; but he is very hard
with us just now. I thought he would love Hepworth for your sake."

"Ah! I thought so too. It was my last dream."

"And my first," said Clara, with girlish tears in her eyes. "He was very
angry--they were both angry. I think he meant to insult Hepworth and
drive him away, knowing how proud he is, and he will do it. Oh, mamma
Rachael, I am so miserable!"

"Miserable!" cried Rachael, looking gloomily into that fair young face.
"Poor child! you have no idea what misery is. God forbid that you ever
should!"

"Is not this misery? Papa against me, Hepworth looking so proud and
stormy. You. Oh! mamma, I feel for you so much. Indeed, you look more
unhappy than I am; but it is hard."

"Hush, dear! That is your father's voice."

"Yes, how low and cutting. I cannot stand it. He is coming this way. I
will go to my room."

For the first time i