As regarded her position with Captain Aylmer, the more she thought of it the more sure she became that everything was over in that quarter.  She had, indeed, told him that such need not necessarily be the case but this she had done in her desire at the moment to mitigate the apparent authoritativeness of her own decision, rather than with any idea of leaving the matter open for further consideration.  She was sure that Captain Aylmer would be glad of a means of escape, and that he would not again place himself in the jeopardy which the promise exacted from him by his aunt had made so nearly fatal to him.  And for herself, though she still loved the man so loved him that she lay back in the corner of her carriage weeping behind her veil as she thought of what she had lost still she would not take him, though he should again press his suit upon her with all the ardour at his command.  No, indeed.  No man should ever be made to regard her as a burden imposed upon him by an extorted promise!  What! let a man sacrifice himself to a sense of duty on her behalf!  And then she repeated the odious words to herself, till she came to think that it had fallen from his lips and not from her own.

In writing to her father from Perivale, she had merely told him of Mrs Winterfield’s death and of her own intended return.  At the Taunton station she met the well-known old fly and the well-known old driver, and was taken home in the accustomed manner.  As she drew nearer to Belton the sense of her distress became stronger and stronger, till at last she almost feared to meet her father.  What could she say to him when he should repeat to her, as be would be sure to do, his lamentation as to her future poverty?

On arriving at the house she learned that he was upstairs in his bedroom.  He had been ill, the servant said, and though he was not now in bed, he had not come down-stairs.  So she ran up to his room, and finding him seated in an old arm-chair by the fire-side, knelt down at his feet, as she took his hand and asked him as to his health.

‘What has Mrs Winterfield done for you in her will?’ These were the first words he spoke to her.

‘Never mind about wills now, papa.  I want you to tell me of yourself.’

‘Nonsense, Clara.  Answer my question.’

‘Oh, papa, I wish you would not think so much about money for me.’

’Not think about it?  Why am I not to think about it?  What else have I got to think of?  Tell me at once, Clara, what she has done.  You ought to have written to me directly the will was made known.’

There was no help for her, and the terrible word must be spoken.  ’She has left her property to Captain Aylmer, papa; and I must say that I think she is right.’

‘You do not mean everything?’

‘She has provided for her servants.’

‘And has made no provision for you?’

‘No, papa.’