ding departure for the country. She was
unfit enough to obey such a summons at such a time; but with her usual
courage in disciplining her own feelings into subserviency to the
wishes of any one whom she loved, she determined to obey immediately
the message which had been delivered to her. A few moments of silence;
a slight trembling soon repressed; a parting kiss for me; these few
farewell words of encouragement at the door; "Don't grieve about what
papa has said; you have made _me_ feel happy about you, Basil; I will
make _him_ feel happy too," and Clara was gone.

With those few minutes of interruption, the time for the disclosure of
my secret had passed by. As soon as my sister was out of the room, my
former reluctance to trust it to home-keeping returned, and remained
unchanged throughout the whole of the long year's probation which I had
engaged to pass. But this mattered little. As events turned out, if
I had told Clara all, the end would have come in the same way, the
fatality would have been accomplished by the same means.

I went out shortly after my sister had left me. I could give myself to
no occupation at home, for the rest of that night; and I knew that it
would be useless to attempt to sleep just then. As I walked through
the streets, bitter thoughts against my father rose in my mind--bitter
thoughts against his inexorable family pride, which imposed on me the
concealment and secrecy, under the oppression of which I had already
suffered so much--bitter thoughts against those social tyrannies, which
take no account of human sympathy and human love, and which my father
now impersonated, as it were, to my ideas. Gradually these reflections
merged in others that were better. I thought of Clara again; consoling
myself with the belief, that, however my father might receive the news
of my marriage, I might count upon my sister as certain to love my
wife and be kind to her, for my sake. This thought led my heart back to
Margaret--led it gently and happily. I went home, calmed and reassured
again--at least for the rest of the night.

The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of my
life, passed with ominous rapidity.

The marriage license was procured; all remaining preliminaries with Mr.
Sherwin were adjusted; I saw Margaret every day, and gave myself up more
and more unreservedly to the charm that she exercised over me, at each
succeeding interview. At home, the bustle of approaching