athom
before he allowed his love to share it; but when was a lover prudent?

"We should live here, should we not, father? No second establishment
would be necessary."

"Of course you would live here," said Sir Thomas, glad to be able to
look at the subject on any side that was not painful. "Of course you
would live here. For the matter of that, Herbert, the house should be
considered as your own if you so wished it."

Against this the son put in his most violent protest. Nothing on
earth should make him consider himself master of Castle Richmond as
long as his father lived. Nor would Clara,--his Clara, wish it. He
knew her well, he boasted. It would amply suffice to her to live
there with them all. Was not the house large enough? And, indeed,
where else could he live, seeing that all his interests were
naturally centred upon the property?

And then Sir Thomas did give his consent. It would be wrong to say
that it was wrung from him. He gave it willingly enough, as far
as the present moment was concerned. When it was once settled, he
assured his son that he would love Clara as his daughter. But,
nevertheless--

The father knew that he had done wrong; and Herbert knew that he
also, he himself, had done wrongly. He was aware that there was
something which he did not understand. But he had promised to see
Clara either that day or the next, and he could not bring himself
to unsay all that he had said to her. He left his father's room
sorrowful at heart, and discontented. He had expected that his
tidings would have been received in so far other a manner; that he
would have been able to go from his father's study up stairs to his
mother's room with so exulting a step; that his news, when once
the matter was ratified by his father's approval, would have flown
about the house with so loud a note of triumph. And now it was so
different! His father had consented; but it was too plain that there
was no room for any triumph.

"Well, Herbert!" said Emmeline, jumping up to meet him as he returned
to a small back drawing-room, through which he had gone to his
father's dressing-room. She had calculated that he would come there,
and that she might thus get the first word from him after the
interview was over.

But there was a frown upon his brow, and displeasure in his eyes.
There was none of that bright smile of gratified pride with which
she had expected that her greeting would have been met. "Is there
anything wrong?" she s