And she kissed him again, and went toward the door; but she turned back, drying her eyes, with a smile, and said—­

’No, your little Lily will stay with her darling old man, and be a pleasant old maid, like Aunt Becky:  and I’ll play and sing your favourite airs, and Sally and I will keep the house; and we’ll be happier in the Elms, I’m determined, than ever we were—­and won’t you call me, darling, when you’re going out?’

So little Lily ran away, and up stairs; and as she left the study and its beloved tenant, at every step the air seemed to darken round her, and her heart to sink.  And she turned the key in her door, and threw herself on the bed; and, with her face to the pillow, cried as if her heart would break.

So the summer had mellowed into autumn, and the fall of the leaf, and Devereux did not return; and, it was alleged in the club, on good authority, that he was appointed on the staff of the Commander of the Forces; and Puddock had a letter from him, dated in England, with little or no news in it; and Dr. Walsingham had a long epistle from Malaga, from honest Dan Loftus, full of Spanish matter for Irish history, and stating, with many regrets, that his honourable pupil had taken ill of a fever.  And this bit of news speedily took wind, and was discussed with a good deal of interest, and some fun, at the club; and the odds were freely given and taken upon the event.

The politics of Belmont were still pretty much in the old position.  The general had not yet returned, and Aunt Rebecca and Gertrude fought pitched battles, as heretofore, on the subject of Dangerfield.  That gentleman had carried so many points in his life by simply waiting, that he was nothing daunted by the obstacles which the caprice of the young lady presented to the immediate accomplishment of his plans.  And those which he once deliberately formed, were never abandoned for trifles.

So when Aunt Becky and Miss Gertrude at length agreed on an armistice—­the conditions being that the question of Mr. Dangerfield’s bliss or misery was to stand over for judgment until the general’s return, which could not now be deferred more than two or three weeks—­the amorous swain, on being apprised of the terms by Aunt Rebecca, acquiesced with alacrity, in a handsome, neat, and gallant little speech, and kissed Aunt Rebecca’s slender and jewelled hand, with a low bow and a grim smile, all which she received very graciously.

Of course, Dangerfield knew pretty well how matters stood; he was not a man to live in a dream; facts were his daily bread.  He knew to a month how old he was, and pretty exactly how time had dealt with his personal charms.  He had a very exact and cynical appreciation of the terms on which Miss Chattesworth would—­if at all—­become and continue to be his wife.  But he wanted her—­she suited him exactly, and all he needed to make his kingdom sure, when he had obtained her, was his legal rights.  He was no Petruchio; neither was it his theory to rule by love.  He had a different way.  Without bluster, and without wheedling, he had the art of making those who were under his rule perfectly submissive; sooner or later they all came to fear him as a child does a spectre.  He had no misgivings about the peace of his household.