can make nothing of it."

"I scarcely know more of it myself, sir. All I do know is that he has
come out from England to take me away with him, and place me, mamma
says, at some Pensionnat."

"No, no; this mustn't be,--this is impossible! You belong to us, dear
Clara. I 'll not permit it Your poor mamma would be heart-broken to lose
you."

Clara turned away, and wiped two large tears from her eyes; her lips
trembled so that she could not utter a word.

"No, no," continued he; "a guardian is all very well, but a mother's
rights are very different,--and such a mother as yours, Clara! Oh! by
Jove! that _was_ a pang! Give me that toast-and-water, child!"

It was with a rude impatience he seized the glass from her hand, and
drank off the contents. "This pain makes one a downright savage, my poor
Clara," said he, patting her cheek, "but old grandpapa will not be such
a bear to-morrow."

"To-morrow, when I'm gone!" muttered she, half dreamily.

"And his name? What is it?"

"Stocmar, sir."

"Stocmar,--Stocmar? never heard of a Stocmar, except that theatrical
fellow near St. James's. Have you seen him, child?"

"No, sir. I was out walking when he called."

"Well, do the same to-morrow," cried he, peevishly, for another twitch
of gout had just crossed him. "It's always so," muttered he; "every
annoyance of life lies in wait for the moment a man is laid up with
gout, just as if the confounded malady were not torture enough by
itself. There's Charley going out as a volunteer to India, for what or
why no one can say. If there had been some insurmountable obstacle to
his marriage with May, he 'd have remained to overcome it; but because
he loves her, and that she likes _him_--By Jove, that was a pang!"
cried he, wiping his forehead, after a terrible moment of pain. "Isn't
it so, Clara?" he resumed. "_You_ know better than any of us that May
never cared for that tutor fellow,--I forget his name; besides, that's
an old story now,--a matter of long ago. But he _will_ go. He says that
even a rash resolve at six-and-twenty is far better than a vain and
hopeless regret at six-and-forty; but I say, let him marry May Leslie,
and he need neither incur one nor the other. And so this guardian's name
is Harris?"

"No, grandpapa, Stocmar."

"Oh, to be sure. I was confounding him with another of those stage
people. And what business has he to carry you off without your mother's
consent?"

"Mamma _does_ consent, sir. She says tha