The Claverings. Anthony Trollope

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XLVIII.

ILLUSTRATIONS

       Table of Contents

"A PUIR FECKLESS THING, TOTTERING ALONG LIKE—"	CHAPTER III.
MR. SAUL PROPOSES.	CHAPTER VI.
A FRIENDLY TALK.	CHAPTER VII.
WAS NOT THE PRICE IN HER HAND?	CHAPTER XII.
"DID HE NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS AGAINST HER?"	CHAPTER XIV.
CAPTAIN CLAVERING MAKES HIS FIRST ATTEMPT.	CHAPTER XVIII.
"THE LORD GIVETH, AND THE LORD TAKETH AWAY."	CHAPTER XX.
"HARRY," SHE SAID, "THERE IS NOTHING WRONG BETWEEN YOU AND FLORENCE?"	CHAPTER XXII.
"LADY ONGAR, ARE YOU NOT RATHER NEAR THE EDGE?"	CHAPTER XXVII.
HOW DAMON PARTED FROM PYTHIAS.	CHAPTER XXIX.
FLORENCE BURTON MAKES UP A PACKET.	CHAPTER XXXII.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.	CHAPTER XXXV.
A PLEA FOR MERCY.	CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE SHEEP RETURNS TO THE FOLD.	CHAPTER XLI.
HARRY SAT BETWEEN THEM, LIKE A SHEEP AS HE WAS, VERY MEEKLY.	CHAPTER XLIII.
LADY ONGAR AND FLORENCE.	CHAPTER XLVII.

CHAPTER I.

       Table of Contents

      JULIA BRABAZON.

      

he gardens of Clavering Park were removed some three hundred yards from the large, square, sombre-looking stone mansion which was the country-house of Sir Hugh Clavering, the eleventh baronet of that name; and in these gardens, which had but little of beauty to recommend them, I will introduce my readers to two of the personages with whom I wish to make them acquainted in the following story. It was now the end of August, and the parterres, beds, and bits of lawn were dry, disfigured, and almost ugly, from the effects of a long drought. In gardens to which care and labour are given abundantly, flower-beds will be pretty, and grass will be green, let the weather be what it may; but care and labour were but scantily bestowed on the Clavering Gardens, and everything was yellow, adust, harsh, and dry. Over the burnt turf towards a gate that led to the house, a lady was walking, and by her side there walked a gentleman.

      "You are going in, then, Miss Brabazon," said the gentleman, and it was very manifest from his tone that he intended to convey some deep reproach in his words.

      "Of course I am going in," said the lady. "You asked me to walk with you, and I refused. You have now waylaid me, and therefore I shall escape—unless I am prevented by violence." As she spoke she stood still for a moment, and looked into his face with a smile which seemed to indicate that if such violence were used, within rational bounds, she would not feel herself driven to great anger.

      But though she might be inclined to be playful, he was by no means in that mood. "And why did you refuse me when I asked you?" said he.

      "For two reasons, partly because I thought it better to avoid any conversation with you."

      "That is civil to an old friend."

      "But chiefly,"—and now as she spoke she drew herself up, and dismissed the smile from her face, and allowed her eyes to fall upon the ground;—"but chiefly because I thought that Lord Ongar would prefer that I should not roam alone about Clavering Park with any young gentleman while I am down here; and that he might specially object to my roaming with you, were he to know that you and I were—old acquaintances. Now I have been very frank, Mr. Clavering, and I think that that ought to be enough."

      "You are afraid of him already, then?"

      "I am afraid of offending any one whom I love, and especially any one to whom I owe any duty."

      "Enough! Indeed it is not. From what you know of me do you think it likely that that will be enough?" He was now standing in front of her, between her and the gate, and she made no effort to leave him.

      "And what is it you want? I suppose you do not mean to fight Lord Ongar, and that if you did you would not come to me."

      "Fight him! No; I have no quarrel with him. Fighting him would do no good."

      "None in the least; and he would not fight if you were to ask him; and you could not ask him without being false to me."

      "I should have had an example for that, at any rate."

      "That's nonsense, Mr. Clavering. My falsehood, if you should choose to call me false, is of a very different nature, and is pardonable by all laws known to the world."

      "You are a jilt—that is all."

      "Come, Harry, don't use hard words,"—and she put her hand kindly upon his arm. "Look at me, such as I am, and at yourself, and then say whether anything but misery could come of a match between you and me. Our ages by the register are the same, but I am ten years older than you by the world. I have two hundred a year, and I owe at this moment six hundred pounds. You have, perhaps, double as much, and would lose half of that if you married. You are an usher at a school."

      "No, madam, I am not an usher at a school."

      "Well,

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