and icy stateliness which the Ardens knew so well how to use. But the feeling in her heart was only hatred because it had been so nearly love. And now that the tables had been so strangely turned, now that Arthur was coming to Arden as Edgar’s guest, Clare was seized with a sudden giddiness of mind and heart, which made the outer world invisible to her, or at least changed, and threw it so awry that no clear impression came to her brain. As Edgar’s friend---- She could not feel quite sure whether her feelings were those of excited expectation and delight or of alarm and terror. And she was not sure either what to think of her brother. Was he magnanimous beyond all the powers of the Arden mind to conceive, as had been her first idea; or was he simply careless, insensible--not capable of the amount of feeling which came natural to the Ardens? This second thought was less pleasant than the first, and yet in one way it was a kind of relief from an overpowering and scarcely comprehensible excellence. “He does not feel it,” Clare said to herself; but surely Arthur would feel it; Arthur would be moved by a forgiveness so generous. Even now, when Edgar was fully aware what his kinsman had done against him, it did not occur to him to withdraw his invitation or forbid his enemy to the house. Such a sublime magnanimity could not fail to impress the mind of the other. But yet, Clare recollected that Arthur was a true Arden, and the Ardens were tenacious, not addicted to forgiving or giving up their own way, as was her strange brother. Arthur might come, concealing his enmity, watching his foe’s weak points and the crevices in his armour, and laying up in his mind all these particulars for future use. Such a proceeding was not so foreign to the Arden mind as was that magnanimity or indifference--which was it?--that made Edgar a wonder in his race. If her cousin was to do this, what horrible thing might happen? Between Arthur’s watchfulness and Edgar’s unwariness, Clare trembled. But then, would not she be there to guard the one and keep the other in check? Thus, Clare was so fully occupied with thoughts of her own that she did not notice the change in her brother’s looks, nor his sudden love of solitude. When Mr. Fielding expressed to her his fear that Edgar was ill, the thought filled her with surprise. “Ill! Oh, no, there is nothing the matter with him,” she said. “Here he comes to speak for himself: he looks just the same as usual. Edgar, you are not ill? Mr. Fielding has been giving me a fright.” “I am not ill in the least,” he said, “but I wanted to see you. Are you going into the village? I will walk there with Mr. Fielding, Clare, and you can pick me up on your way.”