Clara wrote her letter to the lawyer, returning the cheque, before she would allow herself a moment to dwell upon the news of her cousin’s arrival. She felt that it was necessary to do that before she should even see her cousin thus providing against any difficulty which might arise from adverse advice on his part; and as soon as the letter was written she sent it to the post-office in the village. She would do almost any. thing that Will might tell her to do, but Captain Aylmer’s money she would not take, even though Will might so direct her. They would tell her, no doubt, among them, that the money was her own that she might take it without owing any thanks for it to Captain Aylmer. But she knew better than that as she told herself over and over again. Her aunt had left her nothing, and nothing would she have from Captain Aylmer unless she had all that Captain Aylmer had to give, after the fashion in which women best love to take such gifts.

Then, when she had done that, she was able to think of her cousin’s visit. ‘I knew he would come,’ she said to herself, as she sat herself in one of the old chairs in the hall, with a large shawl wrapped round her shoulders. She had just been to the front door, with the nominal purpose of dispatching her messenger thence to the post-office; but she had stood for a minute or two under the portico, looking in the direction by which Belton would come from Redicote, expecting, or rather hoping, that she might see his figure or hear the sound of his gig. But she saw nothing and heard nothing, and so returned into the hall, slowly shutting the door. ‘I knew that he would come,’ she said, repeating to herself the same words over and over again. Yet when Mrs Askerton had told her that he would do this thing which he had now done, she had expressed herself as almost frightened by the idea. ‘God forbid,’ she had said. Nevertheless now that he was there at Redicote, she assured herself that his coming was a thing of which she had been certain; and she took a joy in the knowledge of his nearness to her which she did not attempt to define to herself. Had he not said that he would be a brother to her, and was it not a brother’s part to go to a sister in affliction? ‘I knew that he would come. I was sure of it. He is so true.’ As to Captain Aylmer’s not coming she said nothing, even to herself; but she felt that she had been equally sure on that subject. Of course, Captain Aylmer would not come! He had sent her seventy-five pounds in lieu of coming, and in doing so was true to his character. Both men were doing exactly that which was to have been expected of them. So at least Clara Amedroz now assured herself. She did not ask herself how it was that she had come to love the thinner and the meaner of the two men, but she knew well that such had been her fate.

On a sudden she rose from her chair, as though remembering a duty to be performed, and went to the kitchen and directed that breakfast might be got ready for Mr Belton. He would have travelled all night and would be in want of food. Since the old squire’s death there had been no regular meal served in the house, and Clara had taken such scraps of food and cups of tea as the old servant of the house had brought to her. But now the cloth must be spread again, and as she did this with her own hands she remembered the dinners which had been prepared for Captain Aylmer at Perivale after his aunt’s death. It seemed to her that she was used to be in the house with death, and that the sadness and solemn ceremonies of woe were. becoming things familiar to her. There grew upon her a feeling that it must be so with her always. The circumstances of her life would ever be sad. What right had she to expect any other fate after such a catastrophe as that which her brother had brought upon the family? It was clear to her that she had done wrong in supposing that she could marry and live with a prosperous man of the world like Captain Aylmer. Their natures were different, and no such union could lead to any good. So she told herself, with much misery of spirit, as she was preparing the breakfast-table for William Belton.

But William Belton did not come to eat the breakfast. He got what he wanted in that way at the inn at Redicote, and even then hesitated, loitering at the bar, before he would go over. What was he to say, and how would he be received? After all, had he not done amiss in coming to a house at which he probably might not be wanted? Would it not be thought that his journey had been made solely with a view to his own property? He would be regarded as the heir pouncing upon the inheritance before as yet the old owner was under the ground. At any rate it would be too early for him to make his visit yet awhile; and, to kill time, he went over to a carpenter who had been employed by him about the place at Belton. The carpenter spoke to him as though everything were his own, and was very intent upon future improvements. This made Will more disgusted with himself than ever, and before he could get out of the carpenter’s yard he thoroughly wished himself back at Plaistow. But having come so far, he could hardly return without seeing his cousin, and at last he had himself driven over, reaching the house between eleven and twelve o’clock in the day.

Clara met him in the hall, and at once led him into the room which she had prepared for him. He had given her his hand in the hall, but did not speak to her till she had spoken to him after the closing of the room door behind them. ‘I thought that you would come’ she said, still holding him by the hand.

‘I did not know what to do,’ he answered. ‘I couldn’t say which was best. Now I am here I shall only be in your way.’ He did not dare to press her hand, nor could he bring himself to take his away from her.

‘In my way yes; as an angel, to tell me what to do in my trouble. I knew you would come, because you are so good. But you will have breakfast see, I have got it ready for you.’

‘Oh no; I breakfasted at Redicote. I would not trouble you.’

‘Trouble me, Will! Oh, Will, if you knew!’ Then there came tears in her eyes, and at the sight of them both his own were filled. How was he to stand it? To take her to his bosom and hold her there for always; to wipe away her tears so that she should weep no more; to devote himself and all his energy and all that was his comfort to her this he could have done; but he knew not how to do anything short of this. Every word that she spoke to him was an encouragement to this, and yet he knew that it could not be so. To say a word of his love, or even to look it, would now be an unmanly insult. And yet, how was he not to look it not to speak of it? ‘It is such a comfort that you should be here with me,’ she said.

‘Then I am glad I am here, though I do not know what I can do. Did he suffer much, Clara?’

‘No, I think not; very little. He sank at last quicker than I expected, but just as I thought he would go. He used to speak of you so often, and. always with regard and esteem!’

‘ Dear old man!’

‘Yes, Will; he was, in spite of his little faults. No father ever loved his daughter better than he loved me.’

After a while the servant brought in the tea, explaining to Belton that Miss Clara had neither eaten nor drank that morning. ‘She wouldn’t take anything till you came, sir.’ Then Will added his entreaties, and Clara was persuaded, and by degrees there grew between them more ease of manner and capability for talking than had been within their reach when they first met. And during the morning many things were explained, as to which Clara would a few hours previously have thought it to be almost impossible that she should speak to her cousin. She had told him of her aunt’s money, and the way in which she had on that very morning sent back the cheque to the lawyer; and she had said something also as to Lady Aylmer’s views, and her own views as to Lady Aylmer. With Will this subject was one most difficult of discussion; and he blushed and fidgeted in his chair, and walked about the room, and found himself unable to look Clara in the face as she spoke to him. But she went on, goading him with the name, which of all names was the most distasteful to him; and mentioning that name almost in terms of reproach of reproach which he felt it would be ungenerous to reciprocate, but which he would have exaggerated to unmeasured abuse if he had given his tongue licence to speak his mind.

‘I was right to send back the money wasn’t I, Will? Say that I was right. Pray tell me that you think so!’

‘I don’t understand it at present, you see; I am no lawyer.’

‘But it doesn’t want a lawyer to know that I couldn’t take the money from him. I am sure you feel that.’

‘If a man owes money of course he ought to pay it.’

‘But he doesn’t owe it, Will. It is intended for generosity.’

‘You don’t want anybody’s generosity, certainly.’ Then he reflected that Clara must, after all, depend entirely on the generosity of some one till she was married; and he wanted to explain to her that everything he had in the world was at her service was indeed her own. Or he would have explained, if he knew how, that he did not intend to take advantage of the entail that the Belton estate should belong to her as the natural heir of her father. But he conceived that the moment for explaining this had hardly as yet arrived, and that he bad better confine himself to some attempt at teaching her that no extraneous assistance would be necessary to her, ‘In money matters,’ said he, ‘of course you are to look to me. That is a matter of course. I’ll see Green about the other affairs. Green and I are friends. We’ll settle it.’

‘That’s not what I meant, Will.’

‘But it’s what I mean. This is one of those things in which a man has to act on his own judgment. Your father and I understood each other.’

‘He did not understand that I was to accept your bounty.’

‘Bounty is a nasty word, and I hate it. You accepted me as your brother, and as such I mean to act.’ The word almost stuck in his throat, but be brought it out at last in a fierce tone, of which she understood accurately the cause and meaning. ‘All money matters about the place must be settled by me. Indeed, that’s why I came down.’

‘Not only for that, Will?’

‘Just to be useful in that way, I mean.’

‘You came to see me because you knew I should want you.’ Surely this was malice prepense! Knowing what was his want, how could she exasperate it by talking thus of her own? ‘As for money, I have no claim on any one. No creature was ever more forlorn. But I will not talk of that.’

‘Did you not say that you would treat me as a brother?’

‘I did not mean that I was to be a burden on you.’

‘I know what I meant, and that is sufficient.’ Belton had been at the house some hours before he made any signs of leaving her, and when he did so he had to explain something of his plans. He would remain, he said, for about a week in the neighbourhood.

She of course was obliged to ask him to stay at the house at the house which was in fact his own; but he declined to do this, blurting out his reason at last very plainly. ‘Captain Aylmer would not like it, and I suppose you are bound to think of what he likes and dislikes.’ ‘I don’t know what right Captain Aylmer would have to dislike any such thing,’ said Clara. But, nevertheless, she allowed the reason to pass as current, and did not press her invitation. Will declared that he would stay at the inn at Redicote,, striving to explain in some very unintelligible manner that such an arrangement would be very convenient. He would remain at Redicote, and would come over to Belton every day during his sojourn in the country. Then he asked one question in a low whisper as to the last sad ceremony, and, having received an answer, started off with the declared intention of calling on Colonel Askerton.

The next two or three days passed uncomfortably enough with Will Belton. He made his head — quarters at the little inn of Redicote, and drove himself backwards and forwards between that place and the estate which was now his own. On each of these days he saw Colonel Askerton, whom he found to be a civil pleasant man, willing enough to rid himself of the unpleasant task he had undertaken, but at the same time, willing also to continue his services if any further services were required of him. But of Mrs Askerton on these occasions Will saw nothing, nor had he ever spoken to her since the time of his first visit to the Castle. Then came the day of the funeral, and after that rite was over he returned with his cousin to the house. There was no will to be read. The old squire had left no will, nor was there anything belonging to him at the time of his death that he could bequeath. The furniture in the house, the worn-out carpets and old-fashioned chairs, belonged to Clara; but, beyond that, property had she none, nor had it been in her father’s power to endow her with anything. She was alone in the world, penniless, with a conviction on her own mind that her engagement with Frederic Aylmer must of necessity come to an end, and with a feeling about her cousin which she could hardly analyse, but which told her that she could not go to his house in Norfolk, nor live with him at Belton Castle, nor trust herself in his hands as she would into those of a real brother.

On the afternoon of the day on which her father had been buried, she brought to him a letter, asking him to read it, and tell her what she should do. The letter was from Lady Aylmer, and contained an invitation to Aylmer Castle. It had been accompanied, as the reader may possibly remember, by a letter from Captain Aylmer himself. Of this she of course informed her cousin; but she did not find it to be necessary to show the letter of one rival to the other. Lady Aylmer’s letter was cold in its expression of welcome, but very dictatorial in pointing out the absolute necessity that Clara should accept the invitation so given. ‘I think you will not fail to agree with me, dear Miss Amedroz,’ the letter said, ‘that under these strange and perplexing circumstances, this is the only roof which can, with any propriety, afford you a shelter.’ ‘And why not the poor-house?’ she said, aloud to her cousin, when she perceived that his eye had descended so far on the page. He shook his head angrily, but said nothing; and when he had finished the letter he folded it and gave it back still in silence. ‘And what am I to do?’ she said. ‘You tell me that I am to come to you for advice in everything.’

‘You must decide for yourself here.’

‘And you won’t advise me.. You won’t tell me whether she is right?

‘I suppose she is right.’

‘Then I had better go?’

‘If you mean to marry Captain Aylmer, you had better go.’

‘I am engaged to him.’

‘Then you had better go.’

‘But I will not submit myself to her tyranny.’

‘Let the marriage take place at once, and you will have to submit only to his. I suppose you are prepared for that?’

‘I do not know. I do not like tyranny.’

Again he stood silent for awhile, looking at her, and then he answered: ‘ I should not tyrannize over you, Clara.’

‘Oh, Will, Will, do not speak like that. Do not destroy everything.’

‘What am I to say?’

‘What would you say if your sister, your real sister, asked advice in such a strait? If you had a sister, who came to you, and told you all her difficulty, you would advise her. You would not say words to make things worse for her.’

‘It would be very different.’

‘But you said yo............