“Never mind my interests.  Clara!  I can only think of Clara!”

“But you have interests, and you must think of them.  I told my father of the death of that unhappy woman, and of your noble behaviour when she was dying.  Don’t interrupt me, Basil—­it was noble; I couldn’t have done what you did, I can tell you!  I saw he was more struck by it than he was willing to confess.  An impression has been made on him by the turn circumstances have taken.  Only leave that impression to strengthen, and you’re safe.  But if you destroy it by staying here, after what has happened, and keeping Clara in this new dilemma—­my dear fellow, you destroy your best chance!  There is a sort of defiance of him in stopping; there is a downright concession to him in going away.”

“I will go, Ralph; you have more than convinced me that I ought!  I will go to-morrow, though where—­”

“You have the rest of the day to think where. I should go abroad and amuse myself; but your ideas of amusement are, most likely, not mine.  At any rate, wherever you go, I can always supply you with money, when you want it; you can write to me, after you have been away some little time, and I can write back, as soon as I have good news to tell you.  Only stick to your present determination, Basil, and, I’ll answer for it, you will be back in your own study at home, before you are many months older!”

“I will put it out of my power to fail in my resolution, by writing to Clara at once, and giving you the letter to place in her hands to-morrow evening, when I shall have left London some hours.”

“That’s right, Basil! that’s acting and speaking like a man!”

I wrote immediately, accounting for my sudden absence as Ralph had advised me—­wrote, with a heavy heart, all that I thought would be most reassuring and cheering to Clara; and then, without allowing myself time to hesitate or to think, gave the letter to my brother.

“She shall have it to-morrow night,” he said, “and my father shall know why you have left town, at the same time.  Depend on me in this, as in everything else.  And now, Basil, I must say good bye—­unless you’re in the humour for coming to look at my new house this evening.  Ah!  I see that won’t suit you just now, so, good bye, old fellow!  Write when you are in any necessity—­get back your spirits and your health—­and never doubt that the step you are now taking will be the best for Clara, and the best for yourself!”

He hurried out of the room, evidently feeling more at saying farewell than he was willing to let me discover.  I was left alone for the rest of the day, to think whither I should turn my steps on the morrow.

I knew that it would be best that I should leave England; but there seemed to have grown within me, suddenly, a yearning towards my own country that I had never felt before—­a home-sickness for the land in which my sister lived.  Not once did my thoughts wander away to foreign places, while I now tried to consider calmly in what direction I should depart when I left London.