Then at last there came a voice, "Oh, Will, why have you done this? Why have you treated me so badly?" When he had last seen her face her mouth had been full of scorn, but there was no scorn now in her voice. "Why--why--why?" Why indeed;--except that it was needful for him that she should know the depth of his passion. "If you will forgive me, Clara, I will not offend you so again," he said. "You have offended me. What am I to say? What am I to do? I have no other friend." "I am a wretch. I know that I am a wretch." "I did not suspect that you would be so cruel. Oh, Will!" But before he went she told him that she had forgiven him, and she had preached to him a solemn, sweet sermon on the wickedness of yielding to momentary impulses. Her low, grave words sank into his ears as though they were divine; and when she said a word to him, blushing as she spoke, of the sin of his passion, and of what her sin would be if she were to permit it, he sat by her weeping like an infant, tears which were certainly tears of innocence. She had been very angry with him; but I think she loved him better when her sermon was finished, than she had ever loved him before. There was no further question as to her going to Aylmer Castle, nor was any mention made of Mrs. Askerton's invitation to the cottage. The letter for Lady Aylmer was sent, and it was agreed between them that Will should remain at Redicote till the answer from Yorkshire should come, and should then convey Clara as far as London on her journey. And when he took leave of her that afternoon, she was able to give him her hand in her old hearty, loving way, and to call him Will with the old hearty, loving tone. And he,--he was able to accept these tokens of her graciousness, as though they were signs of a pardon which she had been good to give, but which he certainly had not deserved. As he went back to Redicote, he swore to himself that he would never love any woman but her,--even though she must be the wife of Captain Aylmer. CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST DAY AT BELTON.