For the first time in her life, Lady Clara shrank from meeting her father.
"Do not leave me yet," said Rachael, passing swiftly toward the window. "They are together still. I cannot see their faces, but they both stand up sternly in the moonlight. What can they be saying?"
"Something harsh, I know. Lord Hope, when he came up so still and stern, did not seem like my father. His face looked like marble. He would not kiss me, and—and put me aside, when I offered, as if I had done something terribly wrong, in just getting naturally in love with the most splendid fellow that ever lived. I should think he might remember when he fell so desperately in love with you himself, and have some mercy on a poor little girl." Here Clara seemed to catch a restless infection from Rachael, and joined her in a quick, unequal walk up and down the room, pausing now and then to dash the tears from her eyes, or gaze in wonder at Lady Hope's face, which bore an expression she had never seen in all its gloominess till then.
All at once Rachael paused in her walk, and taking Clara in her arms, looked at her with such earnest tenderness, that the girl hushed her sobs to listen.
"My darling, do you love him so much?"
"Better than my father; better than you. Oh! forgive me, but it is so—better than my own life. I think it is worship, not love, dearest mamma."
"Great heavens! what trouble I have brought upon us all! Oh why, why did he come here!" cried Rachael, beginning to pace the floor again, clasping her hands and tearing them apart, as if angry with herself. "They were such friends once, and loved each other like brothers. How could I think it would turn out like this? I so needed him—this one brother; had such hope in his influence, but it is all over."
"What is all over? You will not permit it? You will not let him be sent away?"
"How can I help it? What power or influence is left to me?" answered Rachael, desperately.
"Oh, mamma Rachael, will you fail me? You!"