It was about the middle of the pleasant month of May when Clara Amedroz again made that often repeated journey to Taunton, with the object of meeting Mary Belton. She had transferred herself and her own peculiar belongings back from the cottage to the house, and had again established herself there so that she might welcome her new friend. But she was not satisfied with simply receiving her guest at Belton, and therefore she made the journey to Taunton, and settled herself for the night at the inn. She was careful to get a bedroom for an ‘invalid lady’, close to the sitting-room, and before she went down to the station she saw that the cloth was laid for tea, and that the tea parlour had been made to look as pleasant as was possible with an inn parlour.

She was very nervous as she stood upon the platform waiting for the new comer to show herself. She knew that Mary was a cripple, but did not know how far her cousin was disfigured by her infirmity; and when she saw a pale-faced little woman, somewhat melancholy, but yet pretty withal, with soft, clear eyes, and only so much appearance of a stoop as to soften the hearts of those who saw her, Clara was agreeably surprised, and felt herself to be suddenly relieved of an unpleasant weight. She could talk to the woman she saw there, as to any other woman, without the painful necessity of treating her always as an invalid. ‘I think you are Miss Belton?’ she said, holding out her hand. The likeness between Mary and her brother was too great to allow of Clara being mistaken.

‘And you are Clara Amedroz? It is so good of you to come to meet me!’

‘I thought you would be dull in a strange town by yourself.’

‘It will be much nicer to have you with me.’

Then they went together up to the inn; and when they had taken their bonnets off, Mary Belton kissed her cousin. ‘You are very nearly what I fancied you,’ said Mary.

‘Am I? I hope you fancied me to be something that you could like.’

‘Something that I could love very dearly. You are a little taller than what Will said; but then a gentleman is never a judge of a lady’s height. And he said you were thin.’

‘I am not very fat.’

‘No; not very fat; but neither are you thin. Of course, you know, I have thought a great deal about you. It seems as though you had come to be so very near to us; and blood is thicker than water, is it not? If cousins are not friends, who can be?’

In the course of that evening they became very confidential together, and Clara thought that she could love Mary Belton better than any woman that she had ever known. Of course they were talking about William, and Clara was at first in constant fear lest some word should be said on her lover’s behalf some word which would drive her to declare that she would not admit him as a lover; but Mary abstained from the subject with marvellous care and tact. Though she was talking through the whole evening of her brother, she so spoke of him as almost to make Clara believe that she could not have heard of that episode in his life. Mrs Askerton would have dashed at the subject at once; but then, as Clara told herself, Mary Bolton was better than Mrs Askerton.

A few words were said about the estate, and they originated in Clara’s declaration that Mary would have to be regarded as the mistress of the house to which they were going. ‘I cannot agree to that,’ said Mary.

‘But the house is William’s, you know,’ said Clara.

‘He says not.’

‘But of course that must be nonsense, Mary.’

‘It is very evident that you know nothing of Plaistow ways, or you would not say that anything coming from William was nonsense. We are accustomed to regard all his words as law, and when he says that a thing is to be so, it always is so.’

‘Then he is a tyrant at home.’

‘A beneficent despot. Some despots, you know, always were beneficent.’

‘He won’t have his way in this thing.’

‘I’ll leave you and him to fight about that, my dear. I am so completely under his thumb that I always obey him in everything. You must not, therefore, expect to range me on your side.’

The next day they were at Belton Castle, and in a very few hours Clara felt that she was quite at home with her cousin. On the second day Mrs Askerton came up and called according to an arrangement to that effect made between her and Clara. I’ll stay away if you like it,’ Mrs Askerton had said. But Clara had urged her to come, arguing with her that she was foolish to be thinking always of her own misfortune. ‘Of course I am always thinking of it,’ she had replied, and always thinking that other people are thinking of it. Your cousin, Miss Belton, knows all my history, of course, But what matters? I believe it would be better that everybody should know it. I suppose she’s very straight-laced and prim.‘She is not prim at all,’ said Clara. ‘Well, I’ll come,’ said Mrs Askerton, ‘but I shall not be a bit surprised if I hear that she goes back to Norfolk the next day.’

So Mrs Askerton came, and Miss Belton did not go back to Norfolk. Indeed, at the end of the visit, Mrs Askerton had almost taught herself to believe that William Belton had kept his secret, even from his sister. ‘She’s a dear little woman,’ Mrs Askerton afterwards said to Clara.

‘Is she not?’

‘And so thoroughly like a lady.’

‘Yes; I think she is a lady.’

‘A princess among ladies! What a pretty little conscious way she has of asserting herself when she has an opinion and means to stick to it! I never saw a woman who got more strength out of her weakness. Who would dare to contradict her?’

‘But then she knows everything so well,’ said Clara.

‘And how like her brother she is!’

‘Yes there is a great family likeness.’

‘And in character, too. I’m sure you’d find, if you were to try her, that she has all his personal firmness, though she can’t show it as he does by kicking out his feet and clenching his fist.’

‘I’m glad you like her,’ said Clara.

‘I do like her very much.’

‘It is so odd the way you have changed. You used to speak of him as though he was merely a clod of a farmer, and of her as a stupid old maid. Now, nothing is too good to say of them.’

‘Exactly, my dear and if you do not understand why, you are not so clever as I take you to be.’

Life went on very pleasantly with them at Belton for two or three weeks but with this drawback as regarded Clara, that she had no means of knowing what was to be the course of her future life. During these weeks she twice received letters from her Cousin Will, and answered both of them. But these letters referred to matters of business which entailed no contradiction to certain details of money due to the estate before the old squire’s death, and to that vexed question of Aunt Winterfield’s legacy, which had by this time drifted into Belton’s hands, and as to which he was inclined to act in accordance with his cousin’s wishes, though he was assured by Mr Green that the legacy was as good a legacy as had ever been left by an old woman. ‘I think,’ he said in his last letter,’ that we shall be able to throw him over in spite of Mr Green.’ Clara, as she read this, could not but remember that the man to be thrown over was the man to whom she had been engaged, and she could not but remember also all the circumstances of the intended legacy of her aunt’s death, and of the scenes which had immediately followed her death. It was so odd that William Belton should now be discussing with her the means of evading all her aunt’s intentions and that he should be doing so, not as her accepted lover. He had, indeed, called himself her brother, but he was in truth her rejected lover.

>From time to time during these weeks Mrs Askerton would ask her whether Mr Belton was coming to Belton, and Clara would answer her with perfect truth that she did not believe that he had any such intention. ‘But he must come soon,’ Mrs Askerton would say. And when Clara would answer that she knew nothing about it, Mrs Askerton would ask further questions about Mary Belton. ‘Your cousin must know whether her brother is coming to look after the property?’ But Miss Belton, though she heard constantly from her brother, gave no such intimation. If he had any intention of coming, she did not speak of it. During all these days she had not as yet said a word of her brother’s love. Though his name was daily in her mouth and latterly, was frequently mentioned by Clara there had been no allusion to that still enduring hope of which Will Belton himself could not but speak when he had any opportunity of speaking at all. And this continued till at last Clara was driven to suppose that Mary Belton knew nothing of her brother’s hopes.

But at last there came a change a change which to Clara was as great as that which had affected her when she first found that her delightful cousin was not sale against love-making. She had made up her mind that the sister did not intend to plead for her brother that the sister probably knew nothing of the brother’s necessity for pleading that the brother probably had no further need for pleading When she remembered his last passionate words, she could not but accuse herself of hypocrisy when she allowed place in her thoughts to this latter supposition. He had been so intently earnest! The nature of the man was so eager and true! But yet, in spite of all that bad been said, of all the fire in his eyes, and life in his words, and energy in his actions, he had at last seen that his aspirations were foolish, and his desires vain. It could not otherwise be that she and Mary should pass these hours in such calm repose without an allusion to the disturbing subject! After this fashion, and with such meditations as these, had passed by the last weeks and then at last there came the change.

‘I have had a letter from William this morning,’ said Mary.

‘And so have not I,’ said Clara, and yet I expect to hear from him.’

‘He means to be here soon,’ said Mary.

‘Oh, indeed!

‘He speaks of being here next week.’

For a moment or two Clara had yielded to the agitation caused by her cousin’s tidings; but with a little gush she recovered her presence of mind, and was able to speak with all the hypocritical propriety of a female. ‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘It is only right that he should come.’

‘He has asked me to say a word to you as to the purport of his journey.’

Then again Clara’s courage and hypocrisy were so far subdued that they were not able to maintain her in a position adequate to the occasion. ‘Well,’ she said laughing, ‘what is the word? I hope it is not that I am to pack up, bag and baggage, and take myself elsewhere. Cousin William is one of those persons who are willing to do everything except what they are wanted to do. He will go on talking about the Belton estate, when I want to know whether I may really look for as much as twelve shillings a week to live upon.’

‘He wants me to speak to you about about the earnest love he bears for you.’

‘Oh dear! Mary could you not suppose it all to be said? It is an old trouble, and need not be repeated.’

‘No,’ said Mary, ‘I cannot suppose it to be all said.’ Clara looking up as she heard the voice, was astonished both by the fire in the woman’s eye and by the force of her tone. ‘I will not think so meanly of you as to believe tha............