but the acting creditor, Mr. Nibbs, is merely my instrument. As to those clamorous fellows whom you saw outside the house, not one of them will get a farthing. My claims are paramount. They can touch nothing."

"Egad, you are a devilish clever fellow, Fairlie. I have an infinite respect for you. And now, since you are fully in a position to carry out our arrangement respecting your daughter, it is time. to bring it before you."

"Nay, Sir Randal, it is premature to touch upon it now. Whatever I may be in reality, I am not yet ostensibly master of the property. Once in possession, I shall be willing to listen to your proposals."

"My proposals! 'Sdeath! sir, I have gone beyond proposals. The affair is settled. I require fulfilment of our compact."

"Fulfilled it shall be in due time, Sir Randal. Why should you doubt me?"

"Because-but no matter-I won't be left in any uncertainty. I must be satisfied your daughter will accept me."

"You will only defeat your object by precipitancy, Sir Randal. I must have time to prepare her. She has been very ill of late -very ill indeed-and I have been so much engaged in winding up Monthermer's affairs that I have had no time to think of anything else but I will attend to this business immediately."

At this juncture, a seasonable interruption was offered by Pudsey. The butler came to say that Mr. Freke was without, and desired to have a word with Mr. Fairlie.

"Say Mr. Fairlie is engaged, Pudsey," Sir Randal cried.

"Hold, Pudsey!" the steward interposed; "I must see Mr. Freke."

The butler bowed, and retired.

"'Sdeath! this is provoking," Sir Randal cried. "I don't want to meet Freke. I'll leave by the private door, as I've often done before."

"Pray do so, Sir Randal," the steward cried, delighted to get rid of him.

"Have a care how you attempt to play me false, Fairlie!" the baronet cried, proceeding towards the side door as if with the intention of passing out. But perceiving that the steward's back was turned, he opened the door quickly, and as quickly closed it; contriving to slip, unobserved, behind the screen. The next moment Beau Freke was ushered in by Pudsey.

"I dare say you guess my errand, Fairlie?" Beau Freke remarked, as soon as the butler had withdrawn.

"You give me credit for greater penetration than I possess, sir,' the steward replied, bowing. "I am not aware to what circumstances I am indebted for the pleasure of seeing you this morning." "Really-you surprise me. I fancied you would expect me to complete the terms of our arrangement."

"In my turn, I must express surprise, Mr. Freke. I thought all our arrangements were concluded."

"You affect an astonishment which I am sure you do not feel, Fairlie. But there is no need of circumlocution. I will come to the point at once. My errand refers to your daughter."

"You have heard, then, of her illness, and are come to inquire about her ?"

"Her illness! no. I hope it is nothing serious."

"I hope not, also, sir; but I have been very uneasy about her -very uneasy, I assure you."

"She has always looked charming whenever I have had the happiness of beholding her," Beau Freke replied, looking as if he did not place implicit credence in the steward's assertions. After coughing slightly, he added, "I cannot believe that you design to behave unhandsomely to me, Fairlie, though my confidence in you has been somewhat shaken by finding that you have promised your daughter to Sir Randal."

"May I ask from whom you derived your information, sir?" "From the best authority-Sir Randal himself."

"Sir Randal is the very worst authority you could have, my dear Mr. Freke. He has a motive for deceiving you."

"Then you deny having given him such a promise?"

"Flatly deny it. He has often spoken to me about my daughter, and, being desirous to continue on good terms with him, I have not altogether discouraged him. He has construed some slight expressions of assent on my part into an absolute promisethat is all."

"This alters my view of the matter unquestionably, Fairlie. I can quite understand why you should not wish to quarrel with Sir Randal; and I can also readily understand how his vanity may have led him to believe he would be irresistible with the young lady-but he would never do for her husband."

Sir

66 Never, my dear Mr. Freke-such a man would never do. Randal is the very last person I should desire for a son-in-law, while you are the first I should select. I assure you I should esteem it a high honour to be connected with a gentleman of your birth and distinction."

Of course not a syllable of these remarks was lost upon Sir Randal as he stood behind the screen, and he had some difficulty in controlling his rage.

"I am much flattered by your good opinion, Fairlie,” Beau Freke said; " and I have now no hesitation in asking you to ratify our agreement by at once affiancing me to your daughter."

"I must crave the delay of a few days, my dear Mr. Freke. As soon as Monthermer's affairs are entirely settled I will attend to it; but just at this moment I have more on my hands than I can easily manage; neither do I think the present a favourable

opportunity so far as my daughter is concerned. She is far too unwell to be troubled just now."

"I don't believe a word about her illness," Beau Freke thought. "The rascal means to throw me over. But I'll tie him down.No occasion in the world to trouble Miss Fairlie," he added, aloud. "Reduce your promise to writing, and I shall be perfectly content." "A written promise, Mr. Freke! Won't my word suffice?"

"In such cases it is best to have some evidence of the intentions of the parties. I must have a written undertaking, with a penalty -a heavy penalty-in case of non-performance. You have taught me caution, Fairlie."

Thus driven into a corner, Fairlie scarcely knew what to do, and Sir Randal was considering whether he should step forward and put an end to the scene, when, to the steward's inexpressible relief, Mr. Pudsey again made his appearance, and said that Miss Fairlie had just arrived, and wished to be admitted to her father's presence without delay.

The steward replied that he would see her in a moment, and as Pudsey withdrew, he added, "We will settle this matter some other time, my dear Mr. Freke. You must not meet my daughter. Pass through the private door, sir-there!—you know the way. Quick, sir, quick!-she'll be here before you are gone."

Fairlie fancied he had got rid of his troublesome visitor. But he was mistaken. Beau Freke practised the same manœuvre as Sir Randal, and with equal dexterity and success. But, instead of gliding behind the screen, he slipped into the closet, the door of which, we have said, stood conveniently open. He had scarcely ensconced himself in this hiding-place, when Clare Fairlie entered the room.

XXIX.

HOW CLARE FAIRLIE ENDEAVOURED TO PREVAIL UPON HER FATHER TO PAY GAGE'S DEBTS.

FAIRLIE had not exceeded the truth in declaring that his daughter was unwell; but she was far worse than he supposed. In appearance she was greatly altered since we first beheld her. Her beauty was unimpaired; but it now inspired uneasiness, rather than excited admiration. To look at her, you could not help apprehending that that insidious disease which seeks its victims amongst the fairest and most delicate had begun its work upon her already fragile frame. Her complexion was transparently clear, and tinged with a hectic flush, which heightened the lustre of her large dark eyes. A settled melancholy sat upon her marble brow, and there was an air of lassitude about her that proclaimed extreme debility.

Since their arrival in town, now more than three months ago, Fairlie had seen little of his daughter. He had provided apart

ments for her in Jermyn-street, at the house of an elderly lady, Mrs. Lacy, with whom he was acquainted, and she had resided there, during the whole of the time, with only one attendant, Lettice Rougham. Fairlie was so much occupied with Monthermer's affairs-so bent upon bringing his machinations to a successful issue that he had little leisure for the performance of domestic duties. Clare never came near him, and a week would sometimes elapse between his visits to her. Ever since the occurrence at Bury St. Edmund's, when Clare had meditated flight, and accident only had brought her back, an estrangement had taken place between father and daughter. Fairlie could not altogether forgive her disobedience, and she only consented to remain with him, on condition that she was no longer to be compelled to reside under Monthermer's roof.

Poor Clare's existence was blighted. She had ceased to take interest in almost all that yielded pleasure to persons of her own age; neither mixing in society nor going to any public places of amusement; and avoiding in her walks, as much as possible, all spots to which gay crowds resorted. One friend was constant to her. Lucy Poynings strove to dispel her gloom, and beheld with great anxiety the inroads that secret sorrow was making upon her health. But even Lucy's well-meant efforts failed. In vain did the lively girl essay to tempt the poor sufferer with glowing descriptions of fêtes and reviews, of operas and theatres, of ridottos at Marylebone Gardens, and masquerades at RanelaghClare was not to be moved. She could not even be prevailed to go into the Parks or to the Mall, except at such hours as she knew no one was likely to be there-much to Lettice Rougham's discontent. But we must not misjudge Lettice. The little damsel, though volatile, had a really good heart, and felt the sincerest sympathy for her young mistress. She often shed tears on her account, and declared her belief to Lucy that Miss Clare was dying of a broken heart. And Lucy began to share her appre

hensions.

The person who was last to notice the altered state of Clare's health was the very first who ought to have discerned it; and he might have continued still longer unconscious of the change-for Clare made no complaint to him-if Mrs. Lacy had not thought it her duty to communicate her misgivings to him. To do him justice, Fairlie was greatly shocked. He enjoined that every attention should be paid his daughter, and that she should have the best advice. Mrs. Lacy shook her head despondingly, as if she thought this would be of no avail; but she promised compliance, and left him. For several days after this, Fairlie was extremely solicitous about Clare, and paid her frequent visits, but by degrees he became less uneasy, and in the end succeeded in persuading himself that his fears were groundless. Clare was ill, no doubt but not dangerously so. And he was confirmed in this opinion, because,

notwithstanding Mrs. Lacy's entreaties, she declined all medical advice. Fairlie's heart was so hardened by covetousness, that it was scarcely susceptible of any tender emotion, and in his blind pursuit of gain he cared not if he sacrificed all that should have been dear to him. Compared with the vast stake for which he was playing, all other matters appeared of minor interest; but when the object he aimed at was obtained, he promised himself to watch over his daughter carefully. Meantime (so he thought), she could take little harm.

From what has been premised, it will be easily imagined that Clare's unexpected visit occasioned her father great surprise, and some little misgiving. Both were silent for a few minutes, during which Fairlie regarded her with natural anxiety. She had evidently collected all her energies for the interview-and the flush on her cheek deceived him. He thought her looking better; and told her so.

What

"I know not if I am better or worse," she replied, in feeble accents; "but I did not come to speak about my ailments. I have to say relates to yourself and Gage."

Fairlie's brow darkened, and he appeared disposed to check her. "Father, I beseech you to listen to me," she pursued. "You have wronged this young man, who was entrusted to your care, and over whose interests it was your duty to watch, grievously wronged him—but it is not too late to remedy the injustice."

The steward shook his head, but made no other reply.

"For the sake of his father, who was your patron, and to whom you owe everything-for the poor misguided young man's own sake, whom you once professed to regard-for my sake, if you have any love left for me-I implore you to save him."

Still Fairlie maintained an obstinate silence. "Do not turn a deaf ear to all my entreaties. beg of you."

"What can I say? I can do nothing for him."

Speak to me,

I

"Father," Clare said, with a solemn earnestness, "this is the last request I have to make of you. Discharge Gage's debts. Set him free."

"What monstrous absurdity you talk, girl!" Fairlie cried, angrily. "I pay this prodigal's debts. Stuff and nonsense! What good would it do him if I did? He would be exactly in the same position two months hence. I am sorry you have troubled yourself to come to me, Clare, if this is your sole business. Believe me, Gage deserves no consideration."

I

"He deserves every consideration on your part, father. am told he is in danger of arrest. Is this true? You do not deny it. Father, will you stand by quietly and allow the son of your benefactor to be dragged to gaol? Oh! shame!

shame!"

And she burst into a paroxysm of tears.