"I seemed drawn here. I could not help it. That would be too horrible. Take me back." He drew her arm once more through his, and led her up the steps and back to the Barclays' house, where he paused upon the steps. "Always yours, Claire. I am going to work again in your service. I am yours, and yours alone." She shook her head sadly as the door was opened by Mrs Barclay, who shrank back with a smile to let both enter; but Claire glided in, and Richard Linnell remained. "I am glad," whispered Mrs Barclay. "Why don't you come in?" "Hush!" he whispered. "Poor girl! she is half mad with her misery. Mrs Barclay, you must not let her go out of your sight. Good-night. Good-night." He walked rapidly away, and Mrs Barclay followed Claire into the dining-room, where the poor girl was kneeling by a chair and weeping bitterly for the lost love that she felt could never be hers; but as she wept the tears seemed to give rest and lightness to her over-taxed brain, and at last she sank fast asleep like a weary child, her head upon her old friend's lap, and her breathing coming more regularly and deep than at any time since the night of the murder. Volume Three, Chapter XXIII. A REVELATION. "Don't, pray don't talk to me, Mrs Barclay," said Claire piteously. "Let me lie back here and think and rest for a few minutes, and then I must go up to May." "No, no, no, my dear; you let poor May alone a bit. She's getting on right enough, and you want more attention than she does. And don't think, my dear. Have patience. Things may turn out all right." "No," said Claire, with a sigh. "There is no hope now." "Oh, yes, there is!" said Mrs Barclay decisively. "Jo-si-ah says a reprieve may come at any moment, for Lord Carboro is trying might and main, and Mr Richard Linnell--ah, does that touch you?" "No, no, hush!" cried Claire, in agony. "Don't mention his name." "I shall," cried Mrs Barclay. "I shall say what I think will do you good, my dear. Mr Richard Linnell has been working night and day, just as he did at the trial. Now he has been getting a petition signed by everyone in Saltinville, and that's going to win, I think." Claire caught her arm and looked at her with dilating eyes. "Yes, I think that's going to do some good, and we've got to trust in Providence, my dear, and wait." "Yes, yes. I do pray fervently for help." "And you've got to rouse yourself up, my dear, and do something to keep from thinking." "I can't--I can't, dear Mrs Barclay." "Oh, yes, you can, my dear. Not for yourself; I want you to help me." "Help you?" "Yes, my dear; help me." "I'll try," said Claire sadly. "That's my pet; I knew you would." She embraced Claire tenderly, and then smoothed her hair, as if proud of her. "What shall I do?" she said to herself. "Booking? No: jools always please womenfolk. I like 'em myself." "What am I to do?" said Claire. "I will try, Mrs Barclay. I must have been a great trouble to you."