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For poor Miss Mumchance there was nothing for it, of course, but to accept her hostess's invitation, which, indeed, she showed no unwillingness to do; and as she glanced towards Mr. Gurdon as she did so, it is probable that she saw in it an opportunity of detailing to him her little scheme for making two lovers happy.

'Beautiful, beautiful indeed!' observed Mrs. Westrop as she returned the locket. We have certainly few jewellers in this country who can rival the French. It was given you on your birthday, you told me, I think, by dear Sir Richard?'

'Yes,' sighed Lady Trevor; 'at a time when I little looked forward to seeing him as I saw him to-day.'

The tears stole down her cheeks as she made that comparison between past and present which wrings so many a heart.

Lucy felt for her as she had never felt before, though she had always pitied her; but she had another cause for sorrow, which distressed her even more. In spite of an invitation from her hostess to stay for luncheon, backed by Charlie's appealing eyes, she presently withdrew with the two visitors, who dropped her at the Rectory gate, on their way home.

'I am sorry to make you the bearer of bad news, my dear,' were Mrs. Westrop's farewell words, as she put a pencilled note into her hands; but I must ask you to give this to your sister! It refers to a little wager we had together, and which Miss Clara has lost.'

In her agitation and distress of mind, Lucy paid scarcely any heed to the injunction. She had much worse news than thator at all events what her sister would consider such-to give to Clara.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE REGISTER.

It was a relief to Lucy to find her people had already sat down to luncheon, so that for the present there was no opportunity of speaking with her sister alone. Whether, indeed, she would speak to her at all on the matter she had on her mind she had some doubts; to meddle with Clara's affairs was always dangerous, and pretty sure to be resented; how much more then was she likely to take amiss what, as in this case, must needs be a blow to her self-esteem. Ninety-nine girls out of a hundred in Lucy's place would probably have suffered their sister to find out what had occurred for herself; but disdainful of sympathy as Clara had always shown herself to be, Lucy was resolved to break for her-so far as love could do it the force of what she could not but believe would be a most cruel and unexpected blow. The thought of the ordeal before her, however, took away from her

all appetite, and caused her to answer half mechanically the various questions her mother put to her about the reception of the visitors at the Court. One thing, indeed, she designedly told them, in order to some extent to prepare her sister for what was to follow, namely, that Lady Trevor had invited Miss Mumchance to pay her a visit. Though her mother observed 'Indeed,' with a significance that would have aroused anyone's suspicions that was not a man, not only did the Rector receive the announcement as the most natural thing in the world, but it seemed to make no deeper impression on Clara herself.

'I think I will take another slice of ham, papa,' was the remark she made at that juncture, and even condescended to a playful joust with him upon the right of the fair sex to change their minds. Like most masterful people, Clara had a wholesome appetite, and it was quite terrible to Lucy to see her dispose of her two or three dainty dishes with all her usual enjoyment, and then proceed to peel a pear. Under that mask of silence and composure, however, as Lucy well knew, there might be much at work, and once or twice she fancied that Clara stole a glance at her, pregnant with keen inquiry.

The Rector had matters to attend to in the village, and was the first to leave the table, and then Mrs. Thorne was summoned to an interview with the gardener; as the indoor servants took their dinner at that hour, the young ladies were thus left alone without any danger of interruption. Lucy trembled from head to foot with the burthen of what she felt herself called upon to communicate, and could not find the fitting word with which to begin it. An opportunity was, indeed, presently afforded her, but in an incident which, notwithstanding its appropriateness to the occasion, only increased her embarrassment. After she had done with her pear, Clara took the peel and threw it over her shoulder (a thing they had often done as children) to see what sort of an initial it made on the floor.

'It is not much like an H, is it?' she observed coolly, while Lucy stared at the shapeless coil in horror. 'Come, my dear,' added Clara, laying a slender finger with unwonted tenderness on the other's cheek, 'tell me the news with which I perceive your kind little heart is labouring.'

But Lucy's tongue clave to her mouth.

'It is so bad as that, is it?' continued the other. 'I suppose I shall have to find it out by the Socratic method, as papa calls it. You know how clever I used to be at "Twenty Questions."

This second allusion to their old childish games together, in the days in which, if there were disappointments, there were at least no catastrophes, completed poor Lucy's discomfiture, and she burst into a torrent of tears."

Why, one would really think this goddaughter of the Fairy

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Baccarat was coming after your own Charlie,' remonstrated Clara.

'I shouldn't mind that half so much, because I should know she had no chance,' sobbed Lucy.

'Just so; whereas with Hugh you feel she will succeed,' said Clara slowly. 'You have the same high opinion of my lady's power of intrigue, then, that I have always entertained myself. Still, all is not lost that's in danger.'

Lucy shook her head. She could not encourage what she knew to be false hopes, yet she had not the heart to speak the word that must needs demolish them.

'You think that all is lost, do you? I should be the better judge of that if I possessed the data from which you have formed your views. Just tell me what her ladyship said.

'It was not so much her words as her manner, Clara dear; her welcome to Miss Mumchance was so significantly warm, and her invitation to her couched in such very friendly terms. She said it would be a real charity in her to come and stay at the Court, and when Miss Mumchance was about to make some excuse, I think, that dreadful Mrs. Westrop accepted for her.'

Those two women are at cross purposes, nevertheless, my dear,' said Clara thoughtfully; moreover, there is nothing so very alarming in this new-born desire of her ladyship to have a female companion. I am afraid that neither of us have so played our cards as to be eligible for such a post. I suppose she kept her darling Hugh in the background, not, of course, because she doubted of his making a favourable impression on any woman, but as a bonne bouche. Did he put in an appearance at all ?'

'It was Hugh himself who received us; and, Clara dear, his attentions to Miss Mumchance were, I am sorry to say, even more marked than those of his mother; they were, in short, unmistakable.'

'Indeed!'

The word, usually so significant of indifference, was uttered in a tone not only hard and dry, but even fierce. The bosom of the speaker rose and fell with stifled passion. There was a glare in her gray eyes such as is seen in a burning house a moment before the roof falls in and the flame leaps up at the sky.

Did

"Perhaps it was "only manner," as dear mamma calls it,' she continued with a forced smile and a catch in her breath. he say anything to her particularly?'

'I heard him murmur, when his mother asked her to come to Mirbridge for her sake, "and for mine too," though I don't think Miss Mumchance heard him.'

'He dared to say that, did he?' Clara flashed out; then, mastering herself with a great effort, she added bitterly: 'How

like him! How well I recognise his style of wooing. Did the others notice what was going on?'

'Not as I did, of course, though it could hardly have escaped their notice. Mr. Gurdon looked pained, I thought.'

'Yes, I suppose there are some honourable men in the world; they are not all cowards and liars.'

'Indeed they are not,' said Lucy, with a little flush.

Clara took no notice of this rejoinder; she seemed to be ashamed of her late outbreak, or, more probably, of the weakness that had permitted it. A look of icy calm, very different from resignation, but as quiet as though her noble features had been carved in stone, had succeeded her momentary fury. Condolence, Lucy knew, was out of the question, but the moment seemed opportune for a few words in mitigation of the calamity.

Of course, darling, Hugh has behaved infamously, but does it not prove how totally unworthy he was of you? Is it not better that he should have shown himself in his true colours now than after it was too late? You know how I have always tried to make Charlie think less hardly of him, but in vain. Is Charlie one to think so ill of his only brother without just cause? Nobody, indeed, but his mother has ever had a good opinion of him except yourself.'

'Who said I had a good opinion of him?' answered Clara quickly. 'I never attempted to deceive even myself about him, much less other people. I know his faults far better than you do; and I would have taken him with all his faults. I know, too, whom I have to thank for what has been done to-day. Let us say no more about it.'

Lucy was far from wishing to prolong such talk, and, in fact, was shaking in her shoes. It seemed wonderful to her that she had ventured to say what she had said.

'Here is a little note which Mrs. Westrop told me to give you, Clara,' she murmured timidly.

Clara took the slip of paper, and glanced at it indifferently. Then suddenly her countenance lighted up.

'Do you know what is written here?' she inquired excitedly. 'No, dear. Mrs. Westrop only said you had lost some littl wager.'

Člara Thorne did not look like a loser. She stood with on band clenched on the table, and her face turned to the window the autumn sun was shining full upon it, and such an expres sion Lucy had never seen her sister wear before. It was stern and fierce, and triumphant. As she gazed, majestic and apart, up at the blood-red orb, certain lines descriptive of a noble bird of prey in act to swoop involuntarily occurred to Lucy's mind: 'He clasps the crag with hooked hands,

Close to the sun in lonely lands.

He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.'

On whom, she wondered, was Clara about to fall? What could Mrs. Westrop have possibly written to have moved her sister thus? As she showed no disposition to speak, Lucy grew positively alarmed.

6

My dearest Clara, what are you thinking of?' she inquired. 'How the whirligig of Time brings about our revenges,' was the enigmatic rejoinder. It is a matter that may be for your benefit as well as mine, and therefore I have some claim to ask a favour. Will you promise me, Lucy, that you will never tell any human being what has just passed between us two?'

But nothing has passed. You have told me nothing.' 'So much the better for us both. Never speak of what you have heard or seen, or even thought, since we two have been here alone together. When the time comes, as I now think it will, when Charlie and you will have everything in common, remember that this, at least, is not to be shared with him. Do you hear me?' she added impatiently.

'Yes, Clara.'

'Then for your own sake, and for his, I charge you, Heed.' As she spoke the word with earnest gravity she swept out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

Lucy stood with parted lips and straining eyes,' like one awakening from some eery dream. Her sister had always been a problem to her, but had never shown herself so strange. She heard her go upstairs to her room, and then descend and leave the house. What could have happened thus, in a moment, to have changed her despondency to triumph? What could have been in that note from Mrs. Westrop into which she was never to inquire, and concerning even the reception of which she had been enjoined so solemnly to keep silence? Above all, what could have made Clara speak so hopefully of her union with Charlie, about which she had not only never before been sanguine, but had given her no sort of encouragement?

In the meantime Clara was walking with unusual speed towards the village. A hasty step, literally or otherwise, she never took. Even her quickest movements had a certain queenly grace; but there was a flush on her cheek and a fire in her eye, that afternoon, which spoke of unwonted excitement. At the entrance of the village was a footpath that led to the churchyard, and into this she turned. At the gate was the sexton's cottage, and here she called for the keys of the church. If it had been Lucy, the old fellow would have had a clack with her, and inquired what she wanted with them; but with Clara no such familiarity was ever attempted by the most confirmed of village gossips. It was not long ago that she had come, at

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