"I shall be happy—we shall all he happy—
as long as we continue to love one another.
Only let no one come between us. Let no one
come between us. Let us take our own path,
and cling together."

      CHAPTER VI.   MRS. SAXELBY DOZES.

When Clement returned to the hotel at five
o'clock, to dinner, he found the mother and
daughter listening smilingly to Dooley's elaborate
account of all the interesting personages in
Hazlehurst. He had already related how the
kind old clergyman always spoke to him, and
called him a good boy; had sketched vividly
several thrilling adventures, in which his "pussy
kitten" and a big dog, belonging to one of the
neighbours, played the chief part, and was now
deep in the private memoirs of the pig. So
they all sat down to dinner in a merrier mood
than might have been anticipated.

Clement did not venture to put any questions
as to the result of Mrs. Saxelby' s interview with
her daughter. Mabel's manner to him was still
reserved, but kinder than when they had parted.
She felt his goodness to her mother, and Dooley's
evident fondness for "Mr. Tarlewood," inclined
her heart towards him. Mabel had always liked
Clement Charlewood, and felt that he was to be
relied upon. But her over-sensitive pride had
received a wound from Penelope's sharp tongue,
that made her still wince when she thought of
it, and caused her to guard herself carefully
from anything like softness of manner towards
Clement.

After dinner, Dooley's health was drunk with
all solemnity: Dooley himself standing up in
his chair to do honour to the toast, and quaffing
a brimming beaker of very weak sherry-and-
water—say, water-and-sherry.

There was a cheerful fire on the hearth; the
curtains were drawn, the lamp was shaded, and
the room looked snug and home-like. Mrs.
Saxelby was installed in a large easy-chair, with
her feet on a cushion; and Dooley, beginning to
show symptoms of sleepiness, curled himself up
on the hearth-rug at Mabel's feet, and hid his
face in the folds of her dress.

"At what hour does our train start?" asked
Mrs. Saxelby.

"I purposed returning by the 8.20 train, if
you have no objection," answered Clement.
"The next after that, is at midnight, and would
be too late."

"Ah!  And then we can set down Mabel on
our way to the station. There is more than an
hour before we need start. How delicious the
warmth of the fire is! It makes one quite
drowsy."

In fact, after a few desultory attempts at
polite conversation, Mrs. Saxelby leaned back in
her chair, and slumbered peacefully. Mabel
held a slight screen in her hand, to shield her
eyes from the glare of the fire, so that her face
was partly in shadow, and Clement, sitting on
the opposite side of the table, watched her
furtively, and admired the delicate turn of the
throat, the round graceful head, and the shining
gloss of the dark hair lighted up fitfully by red
gleams of firelight. But he, too, had noticed
that Mabel had grown thin and pale, and that
there were dark hollows under her eyes,
betokening suffering and weariness.

His heart yearned within him to take the
slight girlish creature in his arms, and bid her
lay down her load of care and trouble on his
breast.

"You see I was right in saying au revoir
when we, parted, Miss Earnshaw," he said, in a
subdued tone.

"Oh, I did not mean by my adieu that I should
never see you again, Mr. Charlewood. I simply
meant to express that thenceforward our paths
in life would be so very different. In that
sense our parting was a final one."

"If I believed that, it would he very painful
to me. But you would not care?"

Mabel was silent.

"You will perhaps be angry with me, but I
cannot help saying how grieved I am to learn
from Mrs. Saxelby that you are not happy, here
at Eastfield."

"Thank you. I did not expect to be happy
here."

"You think, perhaps, that I have no right
to enter into such topics with you; but Mrs.
Saxelby has thought it well to confide in
me. I did not seek her confidence, but I
appreciate and respect it. I have not been meddlesome
or importunate, believe me, Miss
Earnshaw."

"I acquit you of anything of the kind,"
said Mabel, earnestly. " I am incapable of
doing you so much injustice as to suspect you
of being meddlesome, Mr. Charlewood."

"Miss Earnshaw!" There was something
in his voice, subdued as it was almost to a
whisper, that startled Mabel, and made her
cheek flush deeply. "Miss Earnshaw, I—I
wish—I am painfully conscious of being at a
disadvantage with you; but I wish I could
persuade you to trust me as—as—a brother."

"To trust you, Mr. Charlewood? I do trust
you."

"No, not as I would have you trust me.
Mrs. Saxelby has told you that she confided to
me your project of going on the stage?"

"Mamma did tell me so."

"I strongly urged her to dissuade you from
that project."

"She also told me that."

"And have you allowed yourself to be
convinced?"

"Convinced! Mr. Charlewood, on most
questions I would defer to your judgment, but
not on this. I have a vivid recollection of my
life in my uncle's family, and I say that they
were good people—good, true, honest people,
living a much higher and nobler life than
this Mrs. Hatchett, for example, who scarcely
ever speaks a true word, or smiles a true smile,
or looks a true look, from morning to night."

"You speak harshly," said Clement, with
a pained manner.