“No, indeed,” said her brother.  “Sorrow should not be killed too quickly.  I always think that those who are impervious to grief most be impervious also to happiness.  If you have feelings capable of the one, you must have them capable also of the other.”

“You should, wait, at any rate, till you get an answer from Mrs. Clavering,” said Cecilia.

“I do not know that she has any answer to send to me.”

“Oh yes, she must answer you, if you will think of it.  If she accepts what you have said—­”

“She can not but accept it.”

“Then she must reply to you.  There is something which you have asked her to send to you; and I think you should wait, at any rate, till it reaches you here.  Mind, I do not think her answer will be of that nature, but it is clear that you should wait for it, whatever it may be.”  Then Florence, with the concurrence of her brother’s opinion, consented to remain in London for a few days, expecting the answer which would be sent by Mrs. Clavering; and after that no further discussion took place as to her trouble.

Chapter XLVII

The Sheep Returns To The Fold

Harry Clavering had spoken solemn words to his mother, during his illness, which both he and she regarded as a promise that Florence should not be deserted by him.  After that promise nothing more was said between them on the subject for a few days.  Mrs. Clavering was contented that the promise had been made, and Harry himself; in the weakness consequent upon his illness, was willing enough to accept the excuse which his illness gave him for postponing any action in the matter.  But the fever had left him, and he was sitting up in his mother’s room, when Florence’s letter reached the parsonage, and with the letter, the little parcel which she herself had packed up so carefully.  On the day before that a few words had passed between the rector and his wife, which will explain the feelings of both of them in the matter.

“Have you heard,” said he, speaking in a voice hardly above a whisper, although no third person was in the room, “that Harry is again thinking of making Julia his wife?”

“He is not thinking of doing so,” said Mrs. Clavering.  “They who say so do him wrong.”

“It would be a great thing for him as regards money.”

“But he is engaged—­and Florence Burton has been received here as his future wife.  I could not endure to think that it should be so.  At any rate, it is not true.”

“I only tell you what I heard,” said the rector, gently sighing, partly in obedience to his wife’s implied rebuke, and partly at the thought that so grand a marriage should not be within his son’s reach.  The rector was beginning to be aware that Harry would hardly make a fortune at the profession which he had chosen, and that a rich marriage would be an easy way out of all the difficulties which such a failure promised.  The rector was a man who dearly loved easy ways out of difficulties.  But in such matters as these his wife he knew was imperative and powerful, and he lacked the courage to plead for a cause that was prudent, but ungenerous.