room. Through the window which looked out upon the
lawn, she saw Hepworth Closs come out from the shadow of the cedar, and
walk swiftly toward the avenue. By the proud lift of his head, and those
quick steps, that seemed to spurn the earth he trod upon, she knew that
he had parted from her father in anger, and threw up the window.

"Hepworth! Hepworth! Stop! Stop! and tell me where you are going!"

He did not hear her, the storm in his heart was too violent. He had been
driven forth from his sister's roof with a cool politeness that was
insulting. The commonest courtesies of life had been denied to him, by
the man who had once been his friend. He scarcely thought of Clara,
then, a sense of burning indignation swept everything else from his
mind.

Clara leaned from the window, trembling with sudden apprehension. Was he
really going? Had her father treated him with indignity? Was he giving
her up without a struggle or a word of farewell?

While she asked herself these questions, Closs disappeared among the
trees in the park, and was swallowed up in the black shadows.

"He shall not go!" cried the girl, in wild excitement. "He shall not be
driven away by papa, or any one else! Where is my jacket? What has that
girl done with my hat? Ah! here, and here!"

She huddled the shawl around her, tossed the little sailor's hat to her
head, and, opening the chamber door so swiftly that it made no noise,
darted down stairs, and, avoiding the principal entrance, reached the
lawn by leaping from one of the drawing-room windows, where she paused a
moment to draw breath. But no time was to be lost. At the rate Hepworth
was walking, he must now be well on his way to the lodge. The avenue
swept away from the house in a grand curve. She knew of a path through
the trees which would lead her straight to old Badger's lodge. It was
shadowy and lonesome, but what did she care for that? No deer ever
bounded down that path more lightly than Clara went. She did not stop to
think of propriety, or of her own object. Her heart told her that
Hepworth had been driven from the house, perhaps thinking that she would
sanction the outrage; for it was an outrage, even if her own father had
done it. He should not go away, believing it possible for her to prove
so base.

On she went, eager, breathless, with the streamers floating out from her
hat, and her white sacque flying open, fairly racing through the
moonlight, like a frightened fairy.

As she c