“But you don’t think him so mad now, dear?”

“He doesn’t know a word about it yet—­not a word.  He hasn’t been in the house since, and papa and he didn’t speak—­not in a friendly way—­till the news came of peer Hugh’s being drowned.  Then he came up to papa, and, of course, papa took his hand.  But he still thinks he is going away.”

“And when is he to be told that he needn’t go?”

“That is the difficulty.  Mamma will have to do it, I believe.  But what she will say I’m sure I, for one, can’t think.”

“Mrs. Clavering will have no difficulty.”

“You mustn’t call her Mrs. Clavering.”

“Lady Clavering, then.”

“That’s a great deal worse.  She’s your mamma now—­not quite so much as she is mine, but the next thing to it.”

“She’ll know what to say to Mr. Saul.”

“But what is she to say?”

“Well, Fanny, you ought to know that.  I suppose you do—­love him?”

“I have never told him so.”

“But you will?”

“It seems so odd.  Mamma will have to—­ Suppose he were to turn round and say he didn’t want me.”

“That would be awkward.”

“He would in a minute, if that was what he felt.  The idea of having the living would not weigh with him a bit.”

“But when he was so much in love before, it won’t make him out of love, will it?”

“I don’t know,” said Fanny.  “At any rate, mamma is to see him to-morrow, and after that I suppose—­I’m sure I don’t know—­but I suppose he’ll come to the rectory as he used to do.”

“How happy you must be,” said Florence, kissing her.  To this Fanny made some unintelligible demur.  It was undoubtedly possible that, under the altered circumstances of the case, so strange a being as Mr. Saul might have changed his mind.

There was a great trial awaiting Florence Burton.  She had to be taken up to call on the ladies at the great house—­on the two widowed ladies who were still remaining there when she came to Clavering.  It was only on the day before her arrival that Harry had seen Lady Ongar.  He had thought much of the matter before he went across to the house, doubting whether it would not be better to let Julia go without troubling her with a further interview.  But he had not then seen even Lady Clavering since the tidings of her bereavement had come, and he felt that it would not be well that he should let his cousin’s widow leave Clavering without offering her his sympathy.  And it might be better, also, that he should see Julia once again, if only that he might show himself capable of meeting her without the exhibition of any peculiar emotion.  He went, therefore, to the house, and having inquired for Lady Clavering, saw both the sisters together.  He seen found that the presence of the younger one was a relief to him.  Lady Clavering was so sad, and so peevish in her sadness—­so broken-spirited, so far as yet from recognizing the