d to be present. Mrs.
Clavering, who knew well how to do such work, was gradually bringing her
husband round to endure the name of Mr. Saul. Twenty times had he
asserted that he could not understand it; but, whether or no such
understanding might ever be possible, he was beginning to recognize it
as true that the thing not understood was a fact. His daughter Fanny was
positively in love with Mr. Saul, and that to such an extent that her
mother believed her happiness to be involved in it. "I can't understand
it--upon my word I can't," said the rector for the last time, and then
he gave way. There was now the means of giving an ample provision for
the lovers, and that provision was to be given.

Mr. Fielding shook his head--not, in this instance, as to Fanny's
predilection for Mr. Saul, though in discussing that matter with his own
wife he had shaken his head very often, but he shook it now with
reference to the proposed change. He was very well where he was. And
although Clavering was better than Humbleton, it was not so much better
as to induce him to throw his own family over by proposing to send Mr.
Saul among them. Mr. Saul was an excellent clergyman, but perhaps his
uncle, who had given him his living, might not like Mr. Saul. Thus it
was decided in these conclaves that Mr. Saul was to be the future rector
of Clavering.

In the mean time poor Fanny moped--wretched in her solitude,
anticipating no such glorious joys as her mother was preparing for her;
and Mr. Saul was preparing with energy for his departure into foreign
parts.

Lady Ongar was at Tenby when she received Mrs. Clavering's letter, and
had not heard of the fate of her brother-in-law till the news reached
her in that way. She had gone down to a lodging at Tenby with no
attendant but one maid, and was preparing herself for the great
surrender of her property which she meditated. Hitherto she had heard
nothing from the Courtons or their lawyer as to the offer she had made
about Ongar Park; but the time had been short, and lawyer's work, as she
knew, was never done in a hurry. She had gone to Tenby, flying, in
truth, from the loneliness of London to the loneliness of the sea-shore,
but expecting she knew not what comfort from the change. She would take
with her no carriage, and there would, as she thought, be excitement
even in that. She would take long walks by herself--she would read--nay,
if possible, she would study, and bring herself to some habits o