thought about what may
come? We are all going on beautifully, now, and, I dare say, papa is
enjoying himself shooting grouse. When he comes back and sees how much
Mr. Closs is like you, everything will be right. Only, mamma Rachael,
tell me one thing. Are you sure that--that he isn't thinking me a child,
and likes me only for that? This very night he called me 'my child,' and
said he was going. That made me wretchedly angry, so I came in here. Now
tell me--"

"Hush! hush! I hear his step on the terrace."

The girl darted off like a swallow. For the whole universe she could not
have met Hepworth there in the presence of a third person.

As she left the room, Closs entered it.

"Rachael," he said, standing before his sister, in the square of
moonlight cast like a block of silver through the window, "I have been
weak enough to love this girl whom we both knew as an infant, when I was
old enough to be a worse man than I shall ever be again; and, still more
reprehensible, I have told her of it within the last half-hour; a
pleasant piece of business, which Lord Hope will be likely to relish.
Don't you think so?"

"I do not know--I cannot tell. Hope loves his daughter, and has never
yet denied anything to her. He may not like it at first; but--oh!
Hepworth, I know almost as little of my husband's feelings or ideas as
you can."

"But you will not think that I have done wrong?"

"What, in loving Clara? What man on earth could help it?"

"Well, I do love her, and I think she loves me."

"I know she does."

"Thank you, sister; but she is such a child."

"She is woman enough to be firm and faithful."

"You approve it all, then?"

Hepworth sat down by his sister and threw his arm around her.

"My poor Rachael! how I wish this, or anything else, could make you
really happy!"

She did not answer; but he felt her form trembling under his arm.

"But I only see in it new troubles for you and dishonor for myself.
There is really but one way for me to act--I must leave this place."

"And Clara? After what you have said, that would, indeed, be
dishonorable."

"She is so young; the pain would all go with me. In a few months I shall
probably have scarcely a place in her memory."

"You wrong the dearest and finest girl in the whole world when you say
that, Hepworth! To desert her now would be profound cruelty."

"Then in what way am I to act?"

"Write to Lord Hope; tell him the truth--that you have won the respect
o