Mr. Fielding looked at him with critical gravity, which by-and-bye melted into a smile. “If black and white put together ever produced red,” he said, “I should be able to understand you, Edgar. But I can’t somehow. It must be one of the old Ardens asserting his right to be represented; that sometimes occurs in an old family; some great-grandfather tired of letting the other side of the house have it all their own way; for you know that dark beauty came in with the Spanish lady in Queen Elizabeth’s time. You must be like your mother in your disposition--for you are not a bit of an Arden. The difference is that you don’t take things to heart much--and she did.” “Don’t I take things much to heart?” “My dear boy, you ought to know better than I do. I should not think you did. The world comes more easily to you; and then, a man--and a young man in your position--can’t be kept down as she was. I am not blaming your father, Edgar. He meant no harm. To him it seemed quite proper and natural. Men should mind when they have a life and soul to deal with; but they never do until it is too late. Yes, of course, you are like her,” Mr. Fielding added; “I can see the marks of her bonds upon you. She taught herself to give in, and submit, and prefer another’s will to her own; and you do that same for your diversion, because you like it. Yes, my boy, you carry the marks of her bonds--you are the son of her heart.” “That is a delusion,” said Edgar. “I always please myself.” But he was soothed by the kind speech of the old man, who was a friend to him, as he had been to his mother, and her story had moved him very deeply. She, too, had suffered like himself. “Thanks for telling me so much,” he added, humbly. “I never heard anything about her before. And Clare has a little picture, which she showed me. I have been thinking a very great deal about her for the last two or three days.” “What has made you think of her more than usual?” asked Mr. Fielding, with some sharpness. Edgar paused, unwilling to answer. It seemed to him that the Rector knew or divined how it was. He had made several allusions to the Doctor, as if contradicting beforehand an adverse authority. But Edgar felt it impossible to allow that he had heard of any suspicion against his mother. He made a dash into indifferent subjects--the management of the estate, the building of the new cottages. Mr. Fielding was not deceived: but he was judicious enough to allow the conversation to be turned into another channel, and on this subject to ask no more. CHAPTER XXI. Clare rode down the avenue about ten minutes later, the groom behind her leading Edgar’s horse, and her own thoughts very heavy with a hundred important affairs.