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Strange to say they were held to ransom, on conditions, we may suppose, sufficiently hard. Other days of blood were yet to decide the claims of the family of de Clare.
The shades of evening were sinking fast, when John Clare reached Bridge Casterton, on his way to Walkherd Cottage. He was just in view of the smiling little garden in front of the house, when a figure, but too well known, crossed has path. It was Patty. She wanted to speak, and she wanted to fly; her lips moved, but she did not utter a word.
"There is no use in my trying to make this child a Christian child, unless I save her from all the chances and reverses of slavery; and, if you really are willing I should have her, I want you to give me a deed of gift, or some legal paper." "Well, well," said St. Clare, "I will;" and he sat down, and unfolded a newspaper to read. "But I want it done now," said Miss Ophelia. "What's your hurry?"
She paused, gathered voice and strength and proceeded: "The Lady Clare hated the name of Marmion, mourned her dishonored lover, and fled to the convent of Whitby. The King, incensed at her action, declared she should be his favorite's bride even though she were a nun confessed. Marmion was sent to Scotland and I, cast off, determined to plan a sure escape for Clare and for myself.
Clare, who just then entered with some fruit he had been out to get for her. "Papa, I just want aunty to cut off some of my hair; there's too much of it, and it makes my head hot. Besides, I want to give some of it away." Miss Ophelia came, with her scissors. "Take care, don't spoil the looks of it!" said her father; "cut underneath, where it won't show. Eva's curls are my pride."
He was angry with Clare for being so cold and indifferent, and he was ashamed of himself for wishing that she would admire him a little for having knocked down a tipsy carter. It was not much of an exploit. What she had done had been very much more remarkable. The man would not have killed him, of course, but he might have given him a very dangerous wound with that ugly clasp-knife.
An unmistakable cis-Rubicon voice replied: "Certainly, if it's good fellowship; though I confess I don't think mutual sickness a very engaging ceremony." Can one never escape from one's relatives? Richard ejaculated inwardly. Without a doubt those people were Mrs. Doria, Clare, and Adrian. He had them under his eyes.
Her cousin Flora greeted her with the remark, "Why, dear me, how wery, wery large you are, cousin Fanny; I thought you would be smaller than me." Little Wolf found letters awaiting her from the Hanfords, and Antoinette Le Clare, urging her to come with her friends and spend a few weeks at Fairy Knoll.
There is no death to such as thou, dear Eva! neither darkness nor shadow of death; only such a bright fading as when the morning star fades in the golden dawn. Thine is the victory without the battle, the crown without the conflict. So did St. Clare think, as, with folded arms, he stood there gazing.
We ran in and found Lady de Clare on the floor, and it was some time before she returned to her senses. As soon as she did, she fell down on her knees, holding up her hands as in prayer, and then stretched her arms out to Fleta. "My child! my long-lost child! it is it is indeed!"
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