When Clara and her cousin left the cottage they did not return to the house immediately, but took a last walk round the park, and through the shrubbery, and up to the rocks on which a remarkable scene bad once taken place between them.  Few words were spoken as they were walking, and there had been no agreement as to the path they would take.  Each seemed to understand that there was much of melancholy in their present mood, and that silence was more fitting than speech.  But when they reached the rocks Belton sat himself down, asking Clara’s leave to stop there for a moment.  ’I don’t suppose I shall ever come to this place again,’ said he.

‘You are as bad as Mrs Askerton,’ said Clara.

‘I do not think I shall ever come to this place again,’ said he, repeating his words very solemnly.  At any rate, I will never do so willingly, unless’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so.’

‘Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible.’

‘Then it is impossible that I should come here again.’

‘You know that I am engaged to another man.’

’Of course I do.  I am not asking you to break your engagement.  I am simply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you as well as I did love you before you had made it.  I have a right to let you know the truth.’  As if she had not known it without his telling it to her now!  ’It was here that I told you that I loved you.  I now repeat it here; and will never come here again unless I may say the same thing over and over and over.  That is all.  We might as well go on now.’  But when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling to leave the spot.  It was still winter, and the rock was damp with cold drippings from the trees, and the moss around was wet, and little pools of water had formed themselves in the shallow holes upon the surface.  She did not speak as she seated herself; but he was of course obliged to wait till she should be ready to accompany him.  ’It is too cold for you to sit there,’ he said.  ’Come, Clara; I will not have you loiter here.  It is cold and wet.’

‘It is not colder for me than for you.’

‘You are not used to that sort of thing as I am.’

‘Will,’ she said, ’ you must never speak to me again as you spoke just now.  Promise me that you will not.’

‘Promises will do no good in such a matter.’

’It is almost a repetition of what you did before though of course it is not so bad as that.’

‘Everything I do is bad.’

’No, Will dear Will!  Almost everything you do is good.  But of what use can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that which can never be?  Cannot you think of me as your sister and only as your sister?

‘No; I cannot.’

‘Then it is not right that we should be together.’

’I know nothing of right.  You ask me a question, and I suppose you don’t wish that I should tell you a lie.’