Never did toast apparently conduce so little to the health of the subject.  Unprepared as Clara was for such a declaration, it was to her as if she had been publicly denounced as the supplanter of her brother.  She became deadly white, and sat bolt upright, stiff and motionless, barely stifling a scream, and her eyes fixed between command and entreaty on her cousin without seeing, far less acknowledging, the bows levelled at her.  Louis, alarmed by her looks, saw that no time was to be lost; and rising hastily before any one was ready, perilled his fame for eloquence by rapidly assuring the gentlemen and ladies that Miss Dynevor was truly sensible of the kindness of their welcome, and their manner of receiving the toast.  Then pushing back his chair, with ‘never mind,’ to Mrs. Smithers and her scent-bottle, he was at the back of Clara’s chair almost before her confused eyes had missed him in her gasps for breath, and impulse to do something desperate; and so she might, if his voice had not been in her ear, his hand grasping hers, both to console and raise her.  ‘Clara, come, take care.’  She obeyed, but trembling so much that he was obliged to support her.  Others would have risen in alarm, but he silenced them by signs, and entreaties that no one would frighten her grandmother.  There was a large glass door standing open under the Gothic window, and through it he led her out upon a wide green lawn.  She drew her breath in sobs, but could not speak.  Louis asked her to untie her bonnet, and touched the string, which was merely a streamer.  This brought a kind of laugh, but she unfastened the bonnet herself, and the first use she made of her breath was fiercely to exclaim—­’How could you!  Why did you not tell them I never will—­’

‘Sit down,’ said Louis, gently.  ‘Let me fetch some water.’

‘No—­no—­let me get away from this place!’ and she almost dragged him along, as fresh cheers and peals of music broke out, till they had entered a lonely walk in a sort of wilderness of shrubs.  Still she hurried on, till they came out on a quiet little garden, where the tinkling of a little fountain was the only sound; the water looked clear and fresh with the gold-fish darting in it, and the sun shone calmly on the bright flowers and wavy ferns adorning the rockwork.

‘What are you doing, Clara?  You must rest here,’ said he, drawing her down on a rustic bench, intended to represent a crocodile.

‘I can’t rest here!  I must go home!  I’m going home to Jem!’ she exclaimed, obeying, however, because, though she could run, she could not stand.

‘Dear Clara,’ he said, affectionately, ’it was much worse than I expected.  I never believed he could have committed himself to such an open declaration, especially without warning.’

‘I’ll not stay!’ cried Clara, with all the vehemence of her Dynevor nature.  ’I’ll go straight home to Northwold to-morrow morning—­to-night if I could.  Yes, I will!  I never came here for this!’