It was a sad pity, the young man thought, that so amiable and beautiful a creature as Clara should be under the influence and spiritual direction of such an ill-looking, morose, and sour priest. He thought that her understanding was sufficiently strong to be above the influence of superstition; and his only fear was the reverence in which she held her mother would overpower every other consideration, and prevent her from giving due weight to such arguments as might be urged against her hereditary faith. In his own mind there was some portion of imagination; and he could readily understand how a system of religious faith and ceremony, blended with early recollections and associated with thoughts of parental kindness, might be too powerful in its hold upon the mind to admit of being moved or shaken by the coldness and dryness of argument. At all events, whatever might be Clara’s faith, and to whatever church she might be attached, there were other objections which rendered it not by any means consistent with Markham’s notions of propriety to propose or even to take any steps towards proposing, under present circumstances. When he arrived at his chambers, he found that during his absence many inquiries had been made for him. Among others, he saw that Sir Andrew Featherstone had called. As Markham had no acquaintance with, and but little knowledge of, that worthy baronet, he supposed that the call was one of business; and knowing the intimacy which subsisted between that gentleman and the Martindale family, he thought that it might be agreeable to the old gentleman if he should return that call very promptly. He therefore interrogated his clerk as to whether Sir Andrew had given any intimation of the object of his call. The clerk said that Sir Andrew looked in low spirits, and expressed great anxiety to see Mr. Markham, and made very particular inquiries as to the probable time of his return. “And what answer did you give him?” asked Markham. “I told him, sir, that I could not be sure of your return to chambers before four or five o’clock, and that you might not then stay longer than merely to dress for dinner.” “But did not you tell him where he might find me?” “I did, sir; I said that if Sir Andrew was very desirous of seeing you, he would probably find you at Mr. Martindale’s house in Piccadilly. When I mentioned Mr. Martindale’s name he shook his head and said, ‘No, that will not do;’ and then, after a little hesitation, he said that he would call again in the course of the morning.” This colloquy between Markham and his clerk was scarcely finished, when Sir Andrew Featherstone made his appearance. The worthy baronet was indeed very serious in his looks; and as his usual manner was one of great levity, his serious moods were clumsily gloomy. “Mr. Markham,” said the baronet, “have you recently seen our good old friend, Mr. Martindale?” “I saw him, Sir Andrew,” replied Markham, “a few days ago on his way to Trimmerstone.”