Why indeed except that it was needful for him that she should know the depth of his passion.  ’If you will forgive me, Clara, I will not offend you so again,’ he said.

’You have offended me.  What am I to say?  What am I to do?  I have no other friend.’

‘I am a wretch.  I know that I am a wretch.’

‘I did not suspect that you would be so cruel.  Oh, Will!’

But before he went she told him that she had forgiven him, and she had preached to him a solemn, sweet sermon on the wickedness of yielding, to momentary impulses.  Her low, grave words sank into his ears as though they were divine; and when she said a word to him, blushing as she spoke, of the sin of his passion and of what her sin would be, if she were to permit it, he sat by her weeping like an infant, tears which were certainly tears of innocence.  She had been very angry with him; but I think she loved him better when, her sermon was finished than she had ever loved him before.

There was no further question as to her going to Aylmer Castle, nor was any mention made of Mrs Askerton’s invitation to the cottage.  The letter for Lady Aylmer was sent, and it was agreed between them that Will should remain at Redicote till the answer from Yorkshire should come, and should then convey Clara as far as London on her journey.  And when he took leave of her that afternoon, she was able to give him her hand in her old hearty, loving way, and to call him Will with the old hearty, loving tone.  And he he was able to accept these tokens of her graciousness, as though they were signs of a pardon which she had been good to give, but which he certainly had not deserved.

As he went back to Redicote, he swore to himself that he would never love any woman but her even though she must be the wife of Captain Aylmer.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST DAY AT BELTON

In course of post there came an answer from Lady Aylmer, naming a day for Clara’s journey to Yorkshire, and also a letter from Captain Aylmer, in, which he stated that he would meet her in London and convey her down to Aylmer Park.  ‘The House is sitting,’ he said, ’and therefore I shall be a little troubled about my time; but I cannot allow that your first meeting with my mother should take place in my absence.’  This was all very well, but at the end of the letter there was a word of caution that was not so well.  ’I am sure, my dear Clara, that you will remember how much is due to my mother’s age, and character, and position.  Nothing will be wanted to the happiness of our marriage, if you can succeed in gaining her affection, and therefore I make it my first request to you, that you should endeavour to win her good opinion.’  There was nothing perhaps really amiss, certainly nothing unreasonable, in such words from a future husband to his future wife; but Clara, as she read them, shook her head and pressed her foot against the ground in anger.  It would not do.  Sorrow would come and trouble and disappointment.  She did not say so, even to herself in words; but the words, though not spoken, were audible enough to herself.  She could not, would not, bend to Lady Aylmer, and she knew that trouble would come of this visit.