instantly
changed towards him.

"No, no," said Clavering, piteously, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean
to be angry, or say anything unkind, only you're so damned harsh to me,
Major Pendennis. What is it you want of me? Why have you been hunting
me so? Do you want money out of me too? By Jove, you know I've not got
a shilling,"--and so Clavering, according to his custom, passed from a
curse into a whimper.

Major Pendennis saw, from the other's tone, that Clavering knew his
secret was in the Major's hands.

"I've no errand from anybody, or no design upon you," Pendennis said,
"but an endeavour, if it's not too late, to save you and your family
from utter ruin, through the infernal recklessness of your courses. I
knew your secret----"

"I didn't know it when I married her; upon my oath I didn't know it till
the d----d scoundrel came back and told me himself; and it's the misery
about that which makes me so reckless, Pendennis; indeed it is," the
Baronet cried, clasping his hands.

"I knew your secret from the very first day when I saw Amory come
drunk into your dining-room in Grosvenor Place. I never forget faces.
I remember that fellow in Sydney a convict, and he remembers me. I know
his trial, the date of his marriage, and of his reported death in the
bush. I could swear to him. And I know that you are no more married to
Lady Clavering than I am. I've kept your secret well enough, for I've
not told a single soul that I know it,--not your wife, not yourself till
now."

"Poor Lady C., it would cut her up dreadfully," whimpered Sir Francis;
"and it wasn't my fault, Major; you know it wasn't."

"Rather than allow you to go on ruining her as you do; I will tell her,
Clavering, and tell all the world too; that is what I swear I will do,
unless I can come to some terms with you, and put some curb on your
infernal folly. By play, debt, and extravagance of all kind, you've
got through half your wife's fortune, and that of her legitimate heirs,
mind--her legitimate heirs. Here it must stop. You can't live together.
You're not fit to live in a great house like Clavering; and before
three years' more were over would not leave a shilling to carry on. I've
settled what must be done. You shall have six hundred a year; you shall
go abroad and live on that. You must give up Parliament, and get on as
well as you can. If you refuse, I give you my word I'll make the
real state of things known to-morrow; I'll swear to Amory, who, w