in Aylmer!

The Monday and Tuesday were rainy days, and the rain was some excuse
for her not going to the cottage. On the Wednesday her father was
ill, and his illness made a further excuse for her remaining at home.
But on the Wednesday evening there came a note to her from Mrs.
Askerton. "You naughty girl, why do you not come to me? Colonel
Askerton has been away since yesterday morning, and I am forgetting
the sound of my own voice. I did not trouble you when your divine
cousin was here,--for reasons; but unless you come to me now I
shall think that his divinity has prevailed. Colonel Askerton is in
Ireland, about some property, and will not be back till next week."

Clara sent back a promise by the messenger, and on the following
morning she put on her hat and shawl, and started on her dreaded
task. When she left the house she had not even yet quite made up her
mind what she would do. At first she put her lover's letter into
her pocket, so that she might have it for reference; but, on second
thoughts, she replaced it in her desk, dreading lest she might be
persuaded into showing or reading some part of it. There had come a
sharp frost after the rain, and the ground was hard and dry. In order
that she might gain some further last moment for thinking, she walked
round, up among the rocks, instead of going straight to the cottage;
and for a moment,--though the air was sharp with frost,--she sat upon
the stone where she had been seated when her cousin Will blurted out
the misfortune of his heart. She sat there on purpose that she might
think of him, and recall his figure, and the tones of his voice, and
the look of his eyes, and the gesture of his face. What a man he
was;--so tender, yet so strong; so thoughtful of others, and yet so
self-sufficient! She had, unconsciously, imputed to him one fault,
that he had loved and then forgotten his love;--unconsciously,
for she had tried to think that this was a virtue rather than a
fault;--but now,--with a full knowledge of what she was doing, but
without any intention of doing it,--she acquitted him of that one
fault. Now that she could acquit him, she owned that it would have
been a fault. To have loved, and so soon to have forgotten it! No; he
had loved her truly, and alas! he was one who could not be made to
forget it. Then she went on to the cottage, exercising her thoughts
rather on the contrast between the two men than on the subject to
which she should have applied th