The blood rushed to Clare’s cheek, and her heart thumped wildly in her breast, but she did all she could to keep her stiff demeanour. “I am glad you acknowledge it,” she said, ungraciously; and then with a little rush of petulance, which was more agitation than anger--“If that was how you thought of my brother--if you intended to hate him--why did you come here?” A pause followed upon this hasty question--a pause which had the highest dramatic effect, and told immensely upon the questioner, notwithstanding all her power of self-control. “Must I answer?” said Arthur Arden, at last, subduing his voice, and permitting a certain tremulousness to appear in it--for he had full command of his voice; “I will, if I must; but in that case you must promise not to be angry, for it will not be my fault.” “I do not want any answer,” said Clare, seeing her danger. “I meant, how could you come with that opinion of Edgar? and why should you have formed such an opinion of Edgar? He has done nothing to make any man think ill of him--of that, I am very sure. An old prejudice that never had any foundation; because he did not resemble the rest of us----” “Dear Miss Arden, do not I confess it?” said her cousin, humbly. “The echo of a prejudice--that was all--which could never stand for a moment before the charm of his good nature. If there are any words which will express my recantation more strongly teach them to me, and I will repeat them on my knees.” “Edgar would be much surprised to see you on your knees,” said Clare, who felt the clouds melting away from her face, in spite of herself. “He need not see me,” said Arthur; “the offence was not committed in his knowledge. I am in that attitude now, though no one can see it. Will not the Lady Clare forgive her poor kinsman when he sues--on his knees?” “Pray--pray, don’t be ridiculous!” said Clare, in momentary alarm; but Arthur Arden was not the kind of man to go the length of making himself ridiculous. Emotion which is very great has not time to think of such restraints; but he was always conscious of the limitations which it is wise to put to feeling. His homage was spiritual, not external; but still, he allowed her to feel that he might at any moment throw himself at her feet, and betray that which he had the appearance of concealing so carefully. Clare went on, unconsciously quickening her steps, surrounded by an atmosphere of suppressed passion. He did not attempt to take her hand--to arrest her in any way; but yet he spread round her that dazzling web which was woven of looks and tones, and hints of words that were not said.