.

as she had not heard him talk since her poor brother's death, and was quite animated on the subject of woodcraft. "We don't know much about timber down where I am," said Will, "just because we've got no trees."

      "I'll show you your way," said the old man. "I've managed the timber on the estate myself for the last forty years." Will Belton of course did not say a word as to the gross mismanagement which had been apparent even to him. What a cousin he was! Clara thought,—what a paragon among cousins! And then he was so manifestly safe against love-making! So safe, that he only cared to talk about timber, and oxen, and fences, and winter-forage! But it was all just as it ought to be; and if her father did not call him Will before long, she herself would set the way by doing so first. A very paragon among cousins!

      "What a flatterer you are," she said to him that night.

      "A flatterer! I?"

      "Yes, you. You have flattered papa out of all his animosity already. I shall be jealous soon; for he'll think more of you than of me."

      "I hope he'll come to think of us as being nearly equally near to him," said Belton, with a tone that was half serious and half tender. Now that he had made up his mind, he could not keep his hand from the work before him an instant. But Clara had also made up her mind, and would not be made to think that her cousin could mean anything that was more than cousinly.

      "Upon my word," she said, laughing, "that is very cool on your part."

      "I came here determined to be friends with him at any rate."

      "And you did so without any thought of me. But you said you would be my brother, and I shall not forget your promise. Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have come,—both for papa's sake and my own. You have done him so much good that I only dread to think that you are going so soon."

      "I'll be back before long. I think nothing of running across here from Norfolk. You'll see enough of me before next summer."

      Soon after breakfast on the next morning he got Mr. Amedroz out into the grounds, on the plea of showing him the proposed site for the cattle shed; but not a word was said about the shed on that occasion. He went to work at his other task at once, and when that was well on hand the squire was quite unfitted for the consideration of any less important matter, however able to discuss it Belton might have been himself.

      "I've got something particular that I want to say to you, sir," Belton began.

      Now Mr. Amedroz was of opinion that his cousin had been saying something very particular ever since his arrival, and was rather frightened at this immediate prospect of a new subject.

      "There's nothing wrong; is there?"

      "No, nothing wrong;—at least, I hope it's not wrong. Would not it be a good plan, sir, if I were to marry my cousin Clara?"

      What a terrible young man! Mr. Amedroz felt that his breath was so completely taken away from him that he was quite unable to speak a word of answer at the moment. Indeed, he was unable to move, and stood still, where he had been fixed by the cruel suddenness of the proposition made to him.

      "Of course I know nothing of what she may think about it," continued Belton. "I thought it best to come to you before I spoke a word to her. And I know that in many ways she is above me. She is better educated, and reads more, and all that sort of thing. And it may be that she'd rather marry a London man than a fellow who passes all his time in the country. But she couldn't get one who would love her better or treat her more kindly. And then as to the property; you must own it would be a good arrangement. You'd like to know it would go to your own child and your own grandchild;—wouldn't you, sir? And I'm not badly off, without looking to this place at all, and could give her everything she wants. But then I don't know that she'd care to marry a farmer." These last words he said in a melancholy tone, as though aware that he was confessing his own disgrace.

      The squire had listened to it all, and had not as yet said a word. And now, when Belton ceased, he did not know what word to speak. He was a man whose thoughts about women were chivalrous, and perhaps a little old-fashioned. Of course, when a man contemplates marriage, he could do nothing better, nothing more honourable, than consult the lady's father in the first instance. But he felt that even a father should be addressed on such a subject with great delicacy. There should be ambages in such a matter. The man who resolved to commit himself to such a task should come forward with apparent difficulty,—with great diffidence, and even with actual difficulty. He should keep himself almost hidden, as behind a mask, and should tell of his own ambition with doubtful, quivering voice. And the ambages should take time. He should approach the citadel to be taken with covered ways,—working his way slowly and painfully. But this young man, before he had been in the house three days, said all that he had to say without the slightest quaver in his voice, and evidently expected to get an answer about the squire's daughter as quickly as he had got it about the squire's land.

      "You have surprised me very much," said the old man at last, drawing his breath.

      "I'm quite in earnest about it. Clara seems to me to be the very girl to make a good wife to such a one as I am. She's got everything that a woman ought to have;—by George she has!"

      "She is a good girl, Mr. Belton."

      "She is as good as gold, every inch of her."

      "But you have not known her very long, Mr. Belton."

      "Quite long enough for my purposes. You see I knew all about her beforehand,—who she is, and where she comes from. There's a great deal in that, you know."

      Mr. Amedroz shuddered at the expressions used. It was grievous to him to hear his daughter spoken of as one respecting whom some one knew who she was and whence she came. Such knowledge respecting the daughter of such a family was, as a matter of course, common to all polite persons. "Yes," said Mr. Amedroz, stiffly: "you know as much as that about her, certainly."

      "And she knows as much about me. Now the question is, whether you have any objection to make?"

      "Really, Mr. Belton, you have taken me so much by surprise that I do not feel myself competent to answer you at once."

      "Shall we say in an hour's time, sir?" An hour's time! Mr. Amedroz, if he could have been left to his own guidance, would have thought a month very little for such a work.

      "I suppose you would wish me to see Clara first," said Mr. Amedroz.

      "Oh dear, no. I would much rather ask her myself;—if only I could get your consent to my doing so."

      "And you have said nothing to her?"

      "Not a word."

      "I am glad of that. You would have behaved badly, I think, had you done so while staying under my roof."

      "I thought it best, at any rate, to come to you first. But as I must be back at Plaistow on this day week, I haven't much time to lose. So if you could think about it this afternoon, you know—"

      Mr. Amedroz, much bewildered, promised that he would do his best, and eventually did bring himself to give an answer on the next morning. "I have been thinking about this all night," said Mr. Amedroz.

      "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you," said Belton, feeling rather ashamed of his own remissness as he remembered how soundly he had himself slept.

      "If you are quite sure of yourself—"

      "Do you mean sure of loving her? I am as sure of that as anything."

      "But men are so apt to change their fancies."

      "I don't know much about my fancies; but I don't often change my purpose when I'm in earnest. In such a matter as this I couldn't change. I'll say as much as that for myself, though it may seem bold."

      "Of course, in regard to money such a marriage would be advantageous to my child. I don't know whether you know it, but I shall have nothing to give her—literally nothing."

      "All the better, sir, as far as I am concerned. I'm not one who wants to be saved from working by a wife's