“Am I, then, such a bear,” he asked himself, “that she is afraid of me?”

A light at the end of the hall caught his eye.  It was Lucy with tear-stained cheeks going to bed,—­unconscious that the flaring candle she carried was dripping upon her dress,—­unconscious that the one she both loved and feared was looking at her as she slowly went up the back-stairs.  Truly, how little the inmates of that house knew of the secrets of each other’s hearts!  It was strange,—­was it not?—­that, after so long intimacy, they could not understand each other better!  How many hearts do you really know?

CHAPTER X.

“Verily, a good day’s work,” thought Squire Clamp, as he stretched his legs in his office that Monday evening.  “Mrs. Kinloch is a very shrewd woman, an extraordinarily capable woman.  What a wife for a lawyer she’d make!—­so long as she plotted for, and not against him.  But Theophilus Clamp was not born to be overreached by one of the weaker sex.  I was sure my late lamented friend could not have left his affairs in such utter disorder,—­no schedule of property,—­no statement of debts; too good a business man for that was Walter Kinloch.  I shall now be able to know from these documents what my late client was really worth, and how large a dower the disconsolate widow has reserved for herself.  Doubtless she has put by enough to suffice for her old age,—­and mine, too, I am inclined to think; for I don’t believe I can do better than marry her when the mourning is ended.  My late spouse, to be sure, would make a quiet man rather apprehensive about a second venture; but if Mrs. Kinloch is a Tartar, she is not a vulgar shrew, but will be lady-like, even if she is bitter.  I think I shall take her.  Of course she’ll consent.  I should like to see the unmarried woman in Innisfield that would dare refuse Theophilus Clamp.  When she knows—­that I know—­what she knows, she’ll do pretty much what I tell her.  I wonder if she hasn’t set on foot a marriage between her scapegrace son and Mildred?  That would be a mishap, truly!  But, as guardian, I can stave that off until the estate is settled, my wedding over, and myself comfortably in possession.  Then, perhaps, we’ll let the young folks marry,—­at least we’ll think of it.  If my son George, now, had not that unlucky hare-lip, who knows?  H’m, well, to business again.  Let’s see.  It’s just as that remarkably keen woman suspected.  Hardwick’s shop does stand partly on the land of the estate that joins it; the line will run right through his forge, and leave the trip-hammer and water-wheel in our possession; for I paced the distance this morning.  Tomorrow Gunter will make sure of it by a survey; though I think we’d better do it while the old man is gone to dinner.  He’s sometimes apt to use emphatic language.  Perhaps now his mangy cur Caesar will seize me by the coat again!  Perhaps Mark will insult me, and the old man laugh at it in his sleeve!  I shouldn’t wonder if they managed to pay the notes, but on the title to the shop we have them fast.”