Clare, who knew what was coming, had instinctively changed her position. She had subdued her excitement, as perhaps only a woman could do, and adopted, with the speed of thought, her ordinary air of stately composure. Her look was that of one paying a dignified, yet friendly, visit to a cottage acquaintance, below her in rank, yet not beyond the range of her sympathy. And Mrs. Murray, with feminine skill so natural that it was unconscious, supported her visitor in the emergency. Not a word of explanation passed between them; but yet, they instinctively fell into their parts. Arthur Arden, however, was not in the least prepared for the sight which met his eyes as he opened the door. Partly as making an experiment, to see if it was possible to rouse her, and partly out of sheer idleness and indifference, he had suddenly suggested to Alice Pimpernel to “visit the little beauty” upstairs. “I know the mother; and I want your opinion,” he had said. “Oh, Mr. Arden!” had been Alice’s reply, as she buttoned the second button of her gloves; and thus they had come upstairs. But it would be impossible to describe in words how small Arthur Arden felt when he opened the door and found himself suddenly in the presence of his cousin Clare. Though he was a man of experience, and not easily daunted, the sudden sight of her covered him with confusion. Instead of introducing Alice into the room as he had intended, he stumbled into it before her, and changed colour and hesitated like a boy of sixteen. “Miss Arden!” he stammered forth, not knowing what he said; and forgot all about Alice Pimpernel behind him, who tried to peep over his shoulder, and mentally sank upon her knees before the majesty of Clare.

“Yes,” said Clare; and then, after a little pause—“Do you want me, Mr. Arden, or Mrs. Murray? Please tell me, and I will go away.”

“I wanted—it is nothing—I did not know,” Arthur stammered. “Miss Pimpernel was interested—that is, I told her of—— I think you know Miss Pimpernel.”

And then, much confused, he stood aside, and made visible Alice, who proferred her shy obeisance, and once more buttoned her glove, too shy to venture to speak. Clare rose, and bowed in her stately way. She was mistress of the situation; and no one could have told how violently her heart was beating against her side.

“I have paid Mrs. Murray too long a visit,” she said. “I must go now. I did not know you were in the neighbourhood, Mr. Arden. You are at the Red House, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, meekly. “I meant to have let you know—— but—— Mrs. Pimpernel is down-stairs. I intended to have continued my walk to the Hall to ask how you were——”

“Oh! I am always very well,” said Clare; and then there was a pause in the hostilities, and the two armies stopped and looked at each other. Mrs. Murray had taken no notice of the belligerents up to this moment. She had gone on quietly with her knitting, aware that her own charge was in safety. Now she looked up from her work, though without rising from her seat, and turned to the new-comers with a grave face.

“If ye were wanting me, Sir, I would like to know what it was for? I am no used to the ways of the place, and I cannot think I could be of any use.”

“Oh, Miss Arden!” said Alice Pimpernel, driven to her wits’ end, and feeling that it was now her turn to say something. The girl gave Clare a supplicating glance. “Would she knit something for mamma—or—— Oh, I don’t know what to say!”

And Arthur Arden gave no assistance. He stood speechless among them, cursing his own folly. Clare had all the advantage, whereas he had only the comfort of feeling that he had made himself look like a fool in everybody’s eyes.

“I think the young lady has come to see Jeanie,” said Clare.

“But Jeanie is no a show, that folk should come to see her,” said the grandmother. “She is as much thought of and as precious to her own folk as any young lady. It’s no that I would be uncivil to them that mean no harm, but my Jeanie is as sacred to me as any lady’s bairn.”

“Oh, Mr. Arden!” said poor Alice Pimpernel.

At this moment there was heard in the distance the sound of rustling robes and heavy feet upon the stair, a sound which carried confusion to all bosoms except that of Alice, whose relief when she heard the approach of her maternal guardian was great. Mrs. Pimpernel’s cheerful voice was heard before she could be seen. “Well,” she said, “have you seen her, and is she as wonderful as you thought? Poor thing! I am sure I am sorry for her, with this stair to go up and down; and the poor old lady——”

The poor old lady stood confronting Mrs. Pimpernel, who came in very red and heated, and almost fell into her arms. “My good woman, do give me a chair,” she cried. “I am nearly suffocated. Oh, Alice and Mr. Arden, what are you doing here? Give me a chair, please. Miss Arden, I declare! How nice it is to meet like this, when one is trying to do the little good one can among the poor! It is so charming of you to take such trouble with your people, Miss Arden. There is really next to nothing left for any one else to do. Might I ask you for a glass of water, my good woman? and wipe the glass first, please. Everything looks very clean, but one never can get quite rid of dust in a cottage. Wipe it well, please.”

Clare stood looking on with consternation while these ejaculations were uttered. She had very little sympathy with Mrs. Murray, but yet there was something about her which made Mrs. Pimpernel’s easy “my good woman” sound extraordinary enough. “What will she do? Will she scold, or turn her out?” was Clare’s question to herself. What Mrs. Murray did was to laugh—a low, soft laugh—which brightened her face as Clare had never seen it, and to bring from a side-table a bottle of water, a glass, and a snow-white napkin. She rubbed the glass for full three minutes, always with a smile upon her face. “Do you think it clean now?” she said, holding it up with amused demonstration. “If I were at home I would give you better than water; and if you should ever come to Loch Arroch I will be glad to see you—you and yours. Miss Arden, the lady means no harm,” the old woman added, turning to Clare, “and she’s simple and kind. Why should I no make clean the glass and serve her to drink? She kens no better. I take that easy, easy; but them that would make an exhibition of my poor bairn——”

“I don’t think any one meant to offend you,” said Clare; and then she turned and bowed to Mrs. Pimpernel, who started from her seat to detain her. “I must go, thank you; I am busy,” she said, with another stately gesture of leave-taking to where Arthur and Alice stood together. “Bring Jeanie to see me to-morrow,” she added, pausing as she went away. It was an impulse she could not restrain, though Jeanie’s part in it was very small. She lingered that there might be a chance for some one else to say something—a possibility. And then she made that chance impossible. “Come up as early as twelve o’clock, please, if she is well enough. I have a great deal to talk to you about.” And with these words she hurried away. She would not look at him, or permit any sympathetic glance to open the way for a word. And yet she had lingered that a look or word might come. Strange inconsistency! She ran downstairs, leaving them above, leaving them together, and went out alone, without saying a word to Sarah or her myrmidons, feeling so lonely, so sad, so solitary, so deserted by heaven and earth! It was right, quite right, of Arthur Arden to make some provision for himself; she had no fault to find with him, not a word to say. But she was very solitary, and very sad. If she only had been spared the sight of it! But no; all her fortitude would be required. He would probably live here in the neighbourhood somewhere after he had married Alice Pimpernel; and he would be well off at least, if not happy! Oh! surely not happy with that insipid creature, who buttoned her gloves and trembled to hear her own name.

Clare hurried along the village street at a pace quite unusual to her; but she had not gone far when she found that she was pursued. She would not look back for the first moment; but, notwithstanding the repugnance in her own mind to turn and speak to him, it was inconsistent to her dignity to be thus followed by her cousin, whom everybody knew. She turned round with the best grace she could muster, and addressed him with her usual manner. “Did you want me?” she said, and slackened her pace that he might come up.

“It seems so strange that you should ask,” said Arthur, “Want you? As if I dared tell you half how much—— But never mind! I went to the Pimpernels’ thinking I should be at hand and might have opportunities—— I did not know you were so prejudiced against them. May not I even come to see you while I am there?”

“Being there does not matter much,” said Clare, hastily, and then she corrected herself. “Of course, you think me prejudiced and disagreeable,” she said; “but I am as I was brought up. Edgar thinks me dreadfully prejudiced. I dare say they are very nice, and all that; but perhaps it would be as well that you did not come to Arden while you were there.”

“Why?” said Arthur, in a low voice.

“Why? Oh, I can’t tell why. Because I don’t like it. Because I am cross and testy, and like to contradict you. Because—— But you know it is no use asking. If a woman is not to chose who she will call on, she must be oppressed and trampled down indeed.”

“You are concealing your real objection,” said Arthur; and I, who went because I thought—— Why, I met Edgar there! But never mind; of course, it must be as you please. I said I would stay a fortnight. Must I never come near you all that time? It is very hard. And it is harder still that Edgar should have gone away as he did, breaking all our party up. Do you know, I have never been so happy, not all my life?”

“I am sure you must be quite as happy now,” said Clare; “and I hope you will be prosperous in everything you may undertake. Edgar, I am sure, would be very glad to hear, and I—— I do so hope, Mr. Arden, that everything you wish will thrive—as you wish——” And here Clare stopped short, breathing quickly, almost overcome by mixture of despite, and self-restraint, and sorrow for herself, which was in her mind.

“Do you, indeed?” he said. “That is very, very kind of you. It would be kinder still if you knew—but you don’t care to know. If I should ever remind you of your good wishes—not now, because I dare not, but afterwards—some time—if I should pluck up courage——”

“I don’t think there is any great courage required,” said Clare. “Trust me, I shall always be glad to hear that you have done—well for yourself. There could be no more agreeable news. Neither Edgar nor I could have any desire but to see you—happy. Excuse me, I am going to see Miss Somers. I should ask you to come in too, but she is such an invalid, and I am keeping you from your friends. You may be sure you have my very best wishes—good-bye——”

And Clare held out her hand to him, and smiled a smile which was very proud and uncomfortable. She had not in the least intended to visit Miss Somers, but it would have been utterly impossible for her (she thought) to have walked up all the length of the avenue by Arthur Arden’s side. Most likely he would have told her of his progress with Alice. And how could she bear that? It was better to part thus abruptly as long as she was capable of smiling and uttering those good wishes which, she had some faint perception, were gall and wormwood to the recipient. She could see that her benevolent hopes and desires were bitter to him, and it pleased her to see it. Yet, notwithstanding, she still believed in Alice Pimpernel. Why should he be there otherwise? He might not like it to be known until everything was settled—it might be galling to his pride. But still, why should he be there but for that? It was the only possible attraction. And no doubt it was a very sensible thing to do. She hurried across to the doctor’s house without looking back, eager to be rid of him—to get away—to forget all about it. And yet not without a thought that perhaps he would refuse to be dismissed—perhaps would insist upon explaining—perhaps—— But the door opened and closed upon her, and not a word was said to prevent her visit to Miss Somers. When she looked out of the invalid’s window Arthur was walking very slowly and quietly down the street to rejoin his friends. This was how it was to be. Well! he had been driven out of Arden, poor fellow! he had been discouraged in his dearer hopes. She herself had been unkind to him; and Edgar had been, oh, how unkind! And he was poor, and must do something to re-establish himself in the world. Was he to blame? Clare clasped her two hands tightly together, and set her lips close that no sigh might escape from them. What alternative was there for him but to act as he was doing; and what for her but to wish him well? And Edgar, too, no doubt, would wish him well—Edgar, who had done it all.