r extension of their views in regard to millinery, seeing that
Florence was to marry the eldest son and heir of a baronet. And old Mrs.
Burton was awed almost into acquiescence by the reflections which came
upon her when she thought of the breakfast, and of the presence of Sir
Henry Clavering. She at once summoned her daughter-in-law from Ramsgate
to her assistance, and felt that all her experience, gathered from the
wedding breakfasts of so many elder daughters, would hardly carry her
through the difficulties of the present occasion.

The two widowed sisters were still at the great house when Sir Henry
Clavering, with Harry and Fanny, went to Stratton, but they left it on
the following day. The father and son went up together to bid them
farewell, on the eve of their departure, and to press upon them, over
and over again, the fact that they were still to regard the Claverings
of Clavering Park as their nearest relations and friends. The eldest
sister simply cried when this was said to her--cried easily with
plenteous tears, till the weeds which enveloped her seemed to be damp
from the ever-running fountain. Hitherto to weep had been her only
refuge; but I think that even this had already become preferable to her
former life. Lady Ongar assured Sir Henry, or Mr. Clavering, as he was
still called till after their departure, that she would always remember
and accept his kindness. "And you will come to us?" said he. "Certainly;
when I can make Hermy come. She will be better when the Summer is here.
And then after that, we will think about it." On this occasion she
seemed to be quite cheerful herself, and bade Harry farewell with all
the frank affection of an old friend.

"I have given up the house in Bolton Street," she said to him.

"And where do you mean to live?"

"Anywhere; just as it may suit Hermy. What difference does it make? We
are going to Tenby now, and though Tenby seems to me to have as few
attractions as any place I ever knew, I dare say we shall stay there,
simply because we shall be there. That consideration weighs most with
such old women as we. Good-by, Harry."

"Good-by, Julia. I hope I may yet see you--you and Hermy, happy before
long."

"I don't know much about happiness, Harry. There comes a dream of it
sometimes--such as you have got now. But I will answer for this--you
shall never hear of my being downhearted--at least not on my own
account," she added, in a whisper. "Poor Hermy may sometimes