"I'm not a scamp," cried Ferdy, furiously.
Clarke raised his hand mildly. "My own son is worse than this boy--that is, he was worse, seeing that he is dead. Frank was a murderer, so who am I to blame Ferdinand for his wickedness? He is all right if he is kept in the strait way, and Prudence shall do this."
"Oh!" Anthony was too disgusted for words. "Would you force the girl to marry him?"
"No. But he shall tell Prudence everything. The acceptance, or refusal, shall rest with her."
"You hear?" cried Ferdy, in triumph. "Other people are not so hard on me as you and Clarry are. Can I go to the Vicarage?"
"Yes," said Ackworth, seeing the hopelessness of bringing Ferdy to a sense of his sins. "Go, and, for heaven's sake, never let me see you again. You are worse than a villain, Ferdy--you are a fool," and he walked out, wondering how a girl like Clarice ever came to have such a blackguard for a brother. The next morning Clarice rose, feeling as though a black cloud had been lifted from her life. Things were bad, certainly, but they were not so bad as they had been. She dressed herself with great care and ate a good breakfast in her room. Ferdy had sent up to ask her to come down to the meal, but she felt that she could not sit opposite to him again. Like Anthony, she wished to see the last of Ferdy, even though he was her twin brother. When she was getting ready to go downstairs and meet Ackworth, who was expected at eleven o'clock, Mrs. Rebson rushed in.
"Oh, deary me--oh, deary me," she cried, wringing her hands, "what bad news, Miss Clarice--what dreadful news!"
"What is it now?" asked the girl, quietly. She had received so many shocks that one more or less mattered little. "Has Ferdy----?"
"He's all right, miss--the darling boy. You have saved him, though what you had to save him from I don't know, and he won't tell his own dear Nanny."
"Better not ask, Mrs. Rebson," said Clarice, with a weary sigh. "But your news--what is it?"