"I can go;—can go at once. I will go at once. You shall never have to say that my presence prevented his coming to his own house. I ought not to be here. I know it now. I will go away, and you may tell him that I am gone."
"No, dear; you will not go."
"Yes;—I must go. I fancied things might be otherwise, because he once told me that—he—would—be—a brother to me. And I said I would hold him to that;—not only because I want a brother so badly, but because I love him so dearly. But it cannot be like that."
"You do not think that he will ever desert you?"
"But I will go away, so that he may come to his own house. I ought not to be here. Of course I ought not to be at Belton,—either in this house or in any other. Tell him that I will be gone before he can come, and tell him also that I will not be too proud to accept from him what it may be fit that he should give me. I have no one but him;—no one but him;—no one but him." Then she burst into tears, and throwing back her head, covered her face with her hands.
Miss Belton, upon this, rose slowly from the chair on which she was sitting, and making her way painfully across to Clara, stood leaning on the weeping girl's chair. "You shall not go while I am here," she said.
"Yes; I must go. He cannot come till I am gone."
"Think of it all once again, Clara. May I not tell him to come, and that while he is coming you will see if you cannot soften your heart towards him?"
"Soften my heart! Oh, if I could only harden it!"
"He would wait. If you would only bid him wait, he would be so happy in waiting."