eper at the
gate said 'No, never.' And then--then I thought they passed by you, and
they did not know you.'

"'Ah!' said Lady Clara.

"'And then I thought, as we do in dreams, you know, that it was my child
who was separated from me, and who would not know me: and oh, what a
pang that was! Fancy that! Let us pray God it was only a dream. And
worse than that, when you, when I implored to come to the child, and
the man said, 'No, never,' I thought there came a spirit--an angel that
fetched the child to heaven, and you said, 'Let me come too; oh, let me
come too, I am so miserable.' And the angel said, 'No, never, never.'

"By this time Lady Clara was looking very pale. 'What do you mean?' she
asked of me," Laura continued.

"'Oh, dear lady, for the sake of the little ones, and Him who calls
them to Him, go you with them. Never, never part from them! Cling to His
knees, and take shelter there.' I took her hands, and I said more to her
in this way, Arthur, that I need not, that I ought not to speak again.
But she was touched at length when I kissed her; and she said I was very
kind to her, and no one had ever been so, and that she was quite alone
in the world and had no friend to fly to; and would I go and stay with
her? and I said 'yes;' and we must go, my dear. I think you should see
that person at Newcome--see him, and warn him," cried Laura, warming as
she spoke, "and pray God to enlighten and strengthen him, and to keep
him from this temptation, and implore him to leave this poor, weak,
frightened, trembling creature; if he has the heart of a gentleman and
the courage of a man, he will, I know he will."

"I think he would, my dearest," I said, "if he but heard the
petitioner." Laura's cheeks were blushing, her eyes brightened, her
voice rang with a sweet pathos of love that vibrates through my whole
being sometimes. It seems to me as if evil must give way, and bad
thoughts retire before that purest creature.

"Why has she not some of her family with her, poor thing!" my wife
continued. "She perishes in that solitude. Her husband prevents her,
I think--and--oh--I know enough of him to know what his life is. I
shudder, Arthur, to see you take the hand of that wicked, selfish man.
You must break with him, do you hear, sir?"

"Before or after going to stay at his house, my love?" asks Mr.
Pendennis.

"Poor thing! she lighted up at the idea of any one coming. She ran and
showed me the rooms we were to have. It wil