But Claude, what could I do for him? I could do nothing but pray for him, for he never gave me an opportunity of speaking to him again about what had so troubled me.
His college days passed by, and every vacation that he was at home he came frequently to see us, and each time he came I felt more persuaded that his new views had not improved his character. He had occasionally an imperious and dictatorial manner, such as he had never had before, and he looked restless and dissatisfied, as if something was preying on his mind.
And yet Claude was very kind to us, to Maggie and to me. He never came home without bringing us some little present, and he never seemed tired of our company.
[CHAPTER II.]
MY CHOICE.
ONE day, about six weeks before the time at which my little story commences, I had been spending the day at the Parsonage. I did not often go there now, but Claude was away, and his aunt, Miss Richards, who had lived there since Claude's mother died, invited me to spend the afternoon with her. Claude had just left Oxford, and was staying for a few weeks with some friends in Scotland, before settling down at home.
After dinner Miss Richards and I took our work into the little summer-house, and sat there until the evening. We talked on various subjects, the village, the people round, Mr. Ellis's health, and of many other things. And then we talked of Claude.