and others, she would care nothing for the wants of any of the Courton people.  But if such were not to be the destiny of Ongar Park—­if there were to be no such Adam in that Eden—­then the mother of the little lord might take herself thither, and revel among the rich blessings of the place without delay, and with no difficulty as to price.  As to price—­had she not already found the money-bag that had come to her to be too heavy for her hands?

But she could do nothing till that question was settled; and how was she to settle it?  Every word that had passed between her and Cecilia Burton had been turned over and over in her mind, and she could only declare to herself; as she had then declared to her visitor, that it must be as Harry should please.  She would submit if he required her submission, but she could not bring herself to take steps to secure her own misery.

At last came the day on which the two Claverings were to go down to Harwich and put themselves on board Jack Stuart’s yacht.  The hail of the house in Berkeley Square was strewed with portmanteaus, gun cases, and fishing rods, whereas the wine and packets of preserved meat, and the bottled beer and fish in tins, and the large box of cigars, and the prepared soups, had been sent down by Boxall, and were by this time on board the boat.  Hugh and Archie were to leave London this day by train at 5 p.m., and were to sleep on board.  Jack Stuart was already there, having assisted in working the yacht round from Brightlingsea.

On that morning Archie had a farewell breakfast at his club with Doodles, and after that, having spent the intervening hours in the billiard-room, a farewell luncheon.  There had been something of melancholy in this last day between the friends, originating partly in the failure of Archie’s hopes as to Lady Ongar, and partly, perhaps; in the bad character which seemed to cling to Jack Stuart and his craft.  “He has been at it for years, and always coming to grief;” said Doodles.  “He is just like a man I know, who has been hunting for the last ten years, and can’t sit a horse at a fence yet.  He has broken every bone in his side, and I don’t suppose he ever saw a good thing to a finish.  He never knows whether hounds are in cover, or where they are.  His only idea is to follow another man’s red coat till he comes to grief—­and yet he will go on hunting.  There are some people who never will understand what they can do and what they can’t.”  In answer to this, Archie reminded his friend that on this occasion Jack Stuart would have the advantage of an excellent dry nurse, acknowledged to do very great on such occasions.  Would not he, Archie Clavering, be there to pilot Jack Stuart and his boat?  But, nevertheless, Doodles was melancholy, and went on telling stories about that unfortunate man who would continue to break his bones, though he had no aptitude for out-of-door sports.  “He’ll be carried home on a stretcher some day, you know,” said Doodles.