An expression of surprise and pleasure passed over her face; she rose, and putting her hands on my shoulders, as if to keep me still in the place I occupied, looked at me intently.

“Basil!” she exclaimed, “if that is all the secret you have been keeping from us, how glad I am!  When I see a new locket drop out of my brother’s waistcoat—­” she continued, observing that I was too confused to speak—­“and when I find him colouring very deeply, and hiding it again in a great hurry, I should be no true woman if I did not make my own discoveries, and begin to talk about them directly.”

I made an effort—­a very poor one—­to laugh the thing off.  Her expression grew serious and thoughtful, while she still fixed her eyes on me.  She took my hand gently, and whispered in my ear:  “Are you going to be married, Basil?  Shall I love my new sister almost as much as I love you?”

At that moment the servant came in with tea.  The interruption gave me a minute for consideration.  Should I tell her all?  Impulse answered, yes—­reflection, no.  If I disclosed my real situation, I knew that I must introduce Clara to Margaret.  This would necessitate taking her privately to Mr. Sherwin’s house, and exposing to her the humiliating terms of dependence and prohibition on which I lived with my own wife.  A strange medley of feelings, in which pride was uppermost, forbade me to do that.  Then again, to involve my sister in my secret, would be to involve her with me in any consequences which might be produced by its disclosure to my father.  The mere idea of making her a partaker in responsibilities which I alone ought to bear, was not to be entertained for a moment.  As soon as we were left together again, I said to her: 

“Will you not think the worse of me, Clara, if I leave you to draw your own conclusions from what you have seen? only asking you to keep strict silence on the subject to every one.  I can’t speak yet, love, as I wish to speak:  you will know why, some day, and say that my reserve was right.  In the meantime, can you be satisfied with the assurance, that when the time comes for making my secret known, you shall be the first to know it—­the first I put trust in?”

“As you have not starved my curiosity altogether,” said Clara, smiling, “but have given it a little hope to feed on for the present, I think, woman though I am, I can promise all you wish.  Seriously, Basil,” she continued, “that telltale locket of yours has so pleasantly brightened some very gloomy thoughts of mine about you, that I can now live happily on expectation, without once mentioning your secret again, till you give me leave to do so.”

Here my father entered the room, and we said no more.  His manner towards me had not altered since dinner; and it remained the same during the week of my stay at the Hall.  One morning, when we were alone, I took courage, and determined to try the dangerous ground a little, with a view towards my guidance for the future; but I had no sooner begun by some reference to my stay in London, and some apology for it, than he stopped me at once.