"Patty, take me away," said Clarissa. "I must never see him again,--never!--nor her." "She will not accept him, Clary." "Yes, she will. I know she will. She is a sly, artful creature. And I have been so good to her." "No, Clary;--I think not;--but what does it matter? He is unworthy. He can be nothing to you now. Papa was right. He is unworthy." "I care nothing for that. I only care for him. Oh, Patty, take me away. I could not bear to see them when they come out." Then Patience took her sister up to their joint room, and laid the poor sufferer on the bed, and throwing herself on her knees beside the bed, wept over her sister and caressed her. That argument of Ralph's unworthiness was nothing to Clarissa. She did not consider herself to be so worthy but what she might forgive any sin, if only the chance of forgiving such sin were given to her. At this moment in her heart of hearts her anger was more against her rival than against the man. She had not yet taught herself to think of all his baseness to her,--had only as yet had time to think that that evil had come upon her which she had feared from the first moment of her cousin's arrival. Presently Patience heard the door opened of the room down-stairs and heard Mary's slow step as she crossed the hall. She understood well that some one should be below, and with another single word of affection to her sister, she went down-stairs. "Well, Mary," she said, looking into her cousin's face. "There is nothing particular to tell," said Mary, with a gentle smile. "Of course we all knew what he wanted." "Then of course you all knew what I should say to him." "I knew," said Patience. "I am sure that Clary knew," said Mary. "But he is all alone there, and will not know what to do with himself. Won't you go to him?" "You will go up to Clary?" Mary nodded her head, and then Patience crossed the hall to liberate the rejected suitor. Mary stood for awhile thinking. She already knew from what Patience had said, that Clarissa had suspected her, and she felt that there should have been no such suspicion. Clarissa had not understood, but ought to have understood. For a moment she was angry, and was disposed to go to her own room. Then she remembered all her cousin's misery, and crept up-stairs to the door. She had come so softly, that though the door was hardly closed, nothing had been heard of her approach. "May I come in, dear?" she said very gently. "Well, Mary; tell me all," said Clarissa. "There is nothing to tell, Clary;--only this, that I fear Mr. Newton is not worthy of your love." "He asked you to take him?" "Never mind, dearest. We will not talk of that. Dear, dearest Clary, if I only could make you happy." "But you have refused him?" "Don't you know me better than to ask me? Don't you know where my heart is? We will carry our burdens together, dearest, and then they will be lighter." "But he will come to you again;--that other one."