“That seems hard laws,” said Arthur. “I am Miss Arden’s nearest relative. It may be necessary that she should go at present; but why should you take upon you to pronounce that nothing shall stay?” “I am her brother,” said Edgar gravely. “Mr. Arden, you will find Mr. Fazakerly in the library with a communication to make to you. Be content with that, and let me go my own way.” “No, by Jove!” cried Arthur; “not if your way includes that of Clare. What business have you, who are nothing to her, to carry her away?” The servants stood gaping round, taking in every word. Mr. Fazakerly, alarmed by the sound of the discussion, came to the door; and Edgar made the discovery then, to his great surprise, that it hurt him to have this revelation made to the servants. It was a poor shabby little remnant of pride, he thought. What was the opinion of Wilkins or of Mrs. Fillpot to him? and yet he would rather these words had been spoken in his absence. But the point was one in which he was resolute not to yield. He gave his orders to Wilkins peremptorily, without so much as looking at the new heir. And then he himself went out, glad--it is impossible to say how glad--to escape from it all. He gave a sigh of relief when he emerged from the Arden woods. Even that avenue he had been so proud of was full of the heavy atmosphere of pain and conflict. The air was freer outside, and would be freer still when Arden itself and everything connected with it had become a thing of the past. When he reached the Rectory, Mr. Fielding was about sitting down to dinner, with Clare opposite to him--a mournful meal, which the old man did his best to enliven, although the girl, worn out in body and mind, was incapable of any response. Things were a little better, to Mr. Fielding at least, when Edgar joined them; but Clare could scarcely forgive him when she saw that he could eat, and that a forlorn inclination for rest and comfort was in her brother’s mind in the midst of his troubles. He was hungry. He was glad of the quiet and friendly peace of the familiar place. Oh, he was no Arden! every look, every word bore out the evidence against him. “It looks unfeeling,” he said, “but I have neither eaten nor slept for two days, and I am so sick of it all. If Clare were but safe and comfortable, it would be the greatest relief to me to get away----” “Clare is safe here. I don’t know whether she can make herself comfortable,” said the Rector looking at her wistfully. “Miss Arden, from Estcombe, would come to be with you, my dear child, I am sure, if that would be any advantage--or good Mrs. Selden----” “I am as comfortable as I can be,” said Clare, shortly. “What does it matter? There is nothing more necessary. I will live through it as best I can.” “My dear child,” said good Mr. Fielding, after a long pause; “think of Edgar--it is worse for him than for you----”