Belton had been at the house some hours before he made any sign of leaving her, and when he did so he had to explain something of his plans. He would remain, he said, for about a week in the neighbourhood. She of course was obliged to ask him to stay at the house,--at the house which was in fact his own; but he declined to do this, blurting out his reason at last very plainly. "Captain Aylmer would not like it, and I suppose you are bound to think of what he likes and dislikes." "I don't know what right Captain Aylmer would have to dislike any such thing," said Clara. But, nevertheless, she allowed the reason to pass as current, and did not press her invitation. Will declared that he would stay at the inn at Redicote, striving to explain in some very unintelligible manner that such an arrangement would be very convenient. He would remain at Redicote, and would come over to Belton every day during his sojourn in the country. Then he asked one question in a low whisper as to the last sad ceremony, and, having received an answer, started off with the declared intention of calling on Colonel Askerton. The next two or three days passed uncomfortably enough with Will Belton. He made his head-quarters at the little inn of Redicote, and drove himself backwards and forwards between that place and the estate which was now his own. On each of these days he saw Colonel Askerton, whom he found to be a civil pleasant man, willing enough to rid himself of the unpleasant task he had undertaken, but at the same time, willing also to continue his services if any further services were required of him. But of Mrs. Askerton on these occasions Will saw nothing, nor had he ever spoken to her since the time of his first visit to the Castle. Then came the day of the funeral, and after that rite was over he returned with his cousin to the house. There was no will to be read. The old squire had left no will, nor was there anything belonging to him at the time of his death that he could bequeath. The furniture in the house, the worn-out carpets and old-fashioned chairs, belonged to Clara; but, beyond that, property had she none, nor had it been in her father's power to endow her with anything. She was alone in the world, penniless, with a conviction on her own mind that her engagement with Frederic Aylmer must of necessity come to an end, and with a feeling about her cousin which she could hardly analyse, but which told her that she could not go to his house in Norfolk, nor live with him at Belton Castle, nor trust herself in his hands as she would into those of a real brother.