They had both again been silent for a short time, when the door opened, and in came the earl.  His usual pomposity of demeanour was somewhat softened by a lachrymose air, which, in respect to his ward’s grief, he put on as he turned the handle of the door; and he walked somewhat more gently than usual into the room.

“Well, Fanny, how are you now?” he said, as he crept up to her.  “You shouldn’t brood over these sad thoughts.  Your poor brother has gone to a better world; we shall always think of him as one who had felt no sorrow, and been guilty of but few faults.  He died before he had wasted his fortune and health, as he might have done:—­this will always be a consolation.”

It was singular how nearly alike were the platitudes of the daughter and the father.  The young man had not injured his name, or character, in the world, and had left his money behind him:  and, therefore, his death was less grievous!

Fanny did not answer, but she sat upright on the sofa as he came up to her—­and he then sat down beside her.

“Perhaps I’m wrong, Fanny, to speak to you on other subjects so soon after the sad event of which we heard last night; but, on the whole, I think it better to do so.  It is good for you to rouse yourself, to exert yourself to think of other things; besides it will be a comfort to you to know that I have already done, what I am sure you strongly wished to have executed at once.”

It was not necessary for the guardian to say anything further to induce his ward to listen.  She knew that he was going to speak about Lord Ballindine, and she was all attention.

“I shall not trouble, you, Fanny, by speaking to you now, I hope?”

“No;” said Fanny, with her heart palpitating.  “If it’s anything I ought to hear, it will be no trouble to me.”

“Why, my dear, I do think you ought to know, without loss of time that Lord Ballindine has been with me this morning.”

Fanny blushed up to her hair—­not with shame, but with emotion as to what was coming next.

“I have had a long conversation with him,” continued the earl, “in the book-room, and I think I have convinced him that it is for your mutual happiness”—­he paused, for he couldn’t condescend to tell a lie; but in his glib, speechifying manner, he was nearly falling into one—­“mutual happiness” was such an appropriate prudential phrase that he could not resist the temptation; but he corrected himself—­“at least, I think I have convinced him that it is impossible that he should any longer look upon Miss Wyndham as his future wife.”

Lord Cashel paused for some mark of approbation.  Fanny saw that she was expected to speak, and, therefore, asked whether Lord Ballindine was still in the house.  She listened tremulously for his answer; for she felt that if her lover were to be rejected, he had a right, after what had passed between them, to expect that she should, in person, express her resolution to him.  And yet, if she had to see him now, could she reject him? could she tell him that all the vows that had been made between them were to be as nothing?  No! she could only fall on his shoulder, and weep in his arms.  But Lord Cashel had managed better than that.