ll, you chose your course, my dear; and you must abide by it. Having
put your hand to the plough, it will be foolish to turn back.'

'It would, I suppose. Yet I wish I could get a living by some simple
humble occupation, and drop the name of Petherwin, and be Berta Chickerel
again, and live in a green cottage as we used to do when I was small. I
am miserable to a pitiable degree sometimes, and sink into regrets that I
ever fell into such a groove as this. I don't like covert deeds, such as
coming here to-night, and many are necessary with me from time to time.
There is something without which splendid energies are a drug; and that
is a cold heart. There is another thing necessary to energy, too--the
power of distinguishing your visions from your reasonable forecasts when
looking into the future, so as to allow your energy to lay hold of the
forecasts only. I begin to have a fear that mother is right when she
implies that I undertook to carry out visions and all. But ten of us are
so many to cope with. If God Almighty had only killed off three-quarters
of us when we were little, a body might have done something for the rest;
but as we are it is hopeless!'

'There is no use in your going into high doctrine like that,' said
Chickerel. 'As I said before, you chose your course. You have begun to
fly high, and you had better keep there.'

'And to do that there is only one way--that is, to do it surely, so that
I have some groundwork to enable me to keep up to the mark in my
profession. That way is marriage.'

'Marriage? Who are you going to marry?'

'God knows. Perhaps Lord Mountclere. Stranger things have happened.'

'Yes, so they have; though not many wretcheder things. I would sooner
see you in your grave, Ethelberta, than Lord Mountclere's wife, or the
wife of anybody like him, great as the honour would be.'

'Of course that was only something to say; I don't know the man even.'

'I know his valet. However, marry who you may, I hope you'll be happy,
my dear girl. You would be still more divided from us in that event; but
when your mother and I are dead, it will make little difference.'

Ethelberta placed her hand upon his shoulder, and smiled cheerfully.
'Now, father, don't despond. All will be well, and we shall see no such
misfortune as that for many a year. Leave all to me. I am a rare hand
at contrivances.'

'You are indeed, Berta. It seems to me quite wonderful that we should be
living