on arrived, and received him as he
entered, enveloped in his damp great-coats. "It is so good of you to
come in such weather," she said.

"Nice seasonable weather, I call it," he said. It was the same
comfortable, hearty, satisfactory voice which had done so much
towards making his way for him on his first arrival at Belton Castle.
The voices to which Clara was most accustomed were querulous,--as
though the world had been found by the owners of them to be but a bad
place. But Belton's voice seemed to speak of cheery days and happy
friends, and a general state of things which made life worth having.
Nevertheless, forty-eight hours had not yet passed over his head
since he was walking about London in such misery that he had almost
cursed the hour in which he was born. His misery still remained with
him, as black now as it had been then; and yet his voice was cheery.
The sick birds, we are told, creep into holes, that they may die
alone and unnoticed; and the wounded beasts hide themselves that
their grief may not be seen of their fellows. A man has the same
instinct to conceal the weakness of his sufferings; but, if he be a
man, he hides it in his own heart, keeping it for solitude and the
watches of the night, while to the outer world he carries a face on
which his care has made no marks.

"You will be sorry to hear that papa is too ill to come down-stairs."

"Is he, indeed? I am truly sorry. I had heard he was ill; but did not
know he was so ill as that."

"Perhaps he fancies himself weaker than he is."

"We must try and cure him of that. I can see him, I hope?"

"Oh dear, yes. He is most anxious for you to go to him. As soon as
ever you can come up-stairs I will take you." He had already stripped
himself of his wrappings, and declaring himself ready, at once
followed Clara to the squire's room.

"I'm sorry, sir, to find you in this way," he said.

"I'm very poorly, Will;--very," said the squire, putting out his
hand as though he were barely able to lift it above his knee. Now it
certainly was the fact that half an hour before he had been walking
across the passage.

"We must see if we can't soon make you better among us," said Will.

The squire shook his head with a slow, melancholy movement, not
raising his eyes from the ground. "I don't think you'll ever see me
much better, Will," he said. And yet half an hour since he had been
talking of being down in the dining-room on the next day. "I shan't
trouble y