hrubbery path which led to Combe-Raven. Mr. Clare returned to the
cottage.

On reaching the passage, he looked through the open door of his little
parlor and saw Frank sitting there in idle wretchedness, with his head
resting wearily on his hand.

"I have had an answer from your employers in London," said Mr. Clare.
"In consideration of what has happened, they will allow the offer they
made you to stand over for another month."

Frank changed color, and rose nervously from his chair.

"Are my prospects altered?" he asked. "Are Mr. Vanstone's plans for me
not to be carried out? He told Magdalen his will had provided for her.
She repeate d his words to me; she said I ought to know all that his
goodness and generosity had done for both of us. How can his death make
a change? Has anything happened?"

"Wait till Mr. Pendril comes back from Combe-Raven," said his father.
"Question him--don't question me."

The ready tears rose in Frank's eyes.

"You won't be hard on me?" he pleaded, faintly. "You won't expect me to
go back to London without seeing Magdalen first?"

Mr. Clare looked thoughtfully at his son, and considered a little before
he replied.

"You may dry your eyes," he said. "You shall see Magdalen before you go
back."

He left the room, after making that reply, and withdrew to his study.
The books lay ready to his hand as usual. He opened one of them and set
himself to read in the customary manner. But his attention wandered;
and his eyes strayed away, from time to time, to the empty chair
opposite--the chair in which his old friend and gossip had sat and
wrangled with him good-humoredly for many and many a year past. After a
struggle with himself he closed the book. "D--n the chair!" he said: "it
_will_ talk of him; and I must listen." He reached down his pipe from
the wall and mechanically filled it with tobacco. His hand shook, his
eyes wandered back to the old place; and a heavy sigh came from him
unwillingly. That empty chair was the only earthly argument for which
he had no answer: his heart owned its defeat and moistened his eyes in
spite of him. "He has got the better of me at last," said the rugged old
man. "There is one weak place left in me still--and _he_ has found it."

Meanwhile, Mr. Pendril entered the shrubbery, and followed the path
which led to the lonely garden and the desolate house. He was met at the
door by the man-servant, who was apparently waiting in expectation of
his arrival.