Now Mr. Brewer's influence was to make those to whom he addressed himself honest, open, and good. He was loved and trusted. It did not generally enter into people's minds to deceive Mr. Brewer. Candor grew and gained strength in his presence. Candor took to herself the teachings of wisdom; candor listened to the advice of humility; candor threw aside all vain-glorious garments when Mr. Brewer called for her company, and candor put on, forthwith, the crown of truth. "My darling!" said Mr. Brewer, as he kissed Claudia; "my darling!" "Oh, my dear father--my father, my dear father!" so answered Claudia. Then she pushed forward a chair; and then Eleanor made ready to leave the room. "Yes, go; go for half an hour, Mrs. Evelyn. But don't be out of the way; I have a fancy for a little chat with you, too, to-day." A grave smile spread itself over Eleanor's placid face as she said she should come back when Lady Greystock sent for her, and then she went away. Once more, when she was gone, Mr. Brewer stood up and taking Claudia's hand, kissed her. "My darling," he said, "I have something to say, and I can only say it to you--I have some help to ask for, and only you can help me. But are you strong enough to help me; are you loving enough to trust me?" "I will try to be all you want, father; I _am_ strong; I _can_ trust--but if you want to know how much I love you--why, you know I can't tell you that--it is more than I can measure, I am afraid. Don't look grave at me. It can't be anything very solemn, if _I_ can help you; or anything of much importance, if my help is worth your having." "Your help is absolutely necessary; at least necessary to my own comfort--now, Claudia. Tell your father why you broke off your engagement with Horace Erskine." "_He_ did it"--she trembled. Her father took her little hand into the grasp of his strong one, and held it with an eloquent pressure. "He wanted more money, father. It came as a test. He was in debt. I had loved him, as if--as if he had been what _you_ must have been in your youth. You were my one idea of man. I had had no heart to study but yours. I learnt that Horace Erskine was unworthy. He was a coward. The pressure of his debts had crushed him into meanness. He asked me to bear the trial, and to save him. I did. I did, father!" "Yes, my darling." He never looked at her. Only the strong fingers closed with powerful love on the little hand within their grasp. "But you were fond of Sir Geoffrey?" "Yes; and glad, and grateful. I should have been very happy--but--" "But he died," said her father, helping her.