She was still in her bedroom, having fallen into that half-waking slumber which the numbness of sorrow so often produces, when word was brought to her that Mrs. Askerton was in the house. It was the first time that Mrs. Askerton had ever crossed the door, and the remembrance that it was so came upon her at once. During her father's lifetime it had seemed to be understood that their neighbour should have no admittance there;--but now,--now that her father was gone,--the barrier was to be overthrown. And why not? Why should not Mrs. Askerton come to her? Why, if Mrs. Askerton chose to be kind to her, should she not altogether throw herself into her friend's arms? Of course her doing so would give mortal offence to everybody at Aylmer Park; but why need she stop to think of that? She had already made up her mind that she would not obey orders from Aylmer Park on this subject. She had not seen Mrs. Askerton since that interview between them which was described some few chapters back. Then everything had been told between them, so that there was no longer any mystery either on the one side or on the other. Then Clara had assured her friend of her loving friendship in spite of any edicts to the contrary which might come from Aylmer Park; and after that what could be more natural than that Mrs. Askerton should come to her in her sorrow. "She says she'll come up to you if you'll let her," said the servant. But Clara declined this proposition, and in a few minutes went down to the small parlour in which she had lately lived, and where she found her visitor. "My poor dear, this has been very sudden," said Mrs. Askerton. "Very sudden;--very sudden. And yet, now that he has gone, I know that I expected it." "Of course I came to you as soon as I heard of it, because I knew you were all alone. If there had been any one else I should not have come." "It is very good of you." "Colonel Askerton thought that perhaps he had better come. I told him of all that which we said to each other the other day. He thought at first that it would be better that I should not see you." "It was very good of you to come," said Clara again, and as she spoke she put out her hand and took Mrs. Askerton's,--continuing to hold it for awhile; "very good indeed." "I told him that I could not but go down to you,--that I thought you would not understand it if I stayed away." "At any rate it was good of you to come to me." "I don't believe," said Mrs. Askerton, "that what people call consolation is ever of any use. It is a terrible thing to lose a father." "Very terrible. Ah, dear, I have hardly yet found out how sad it is. As yet I have only been thinking of myself, and wishing that I could be with him." "Nay, Clara."