own thoughts while she held a book in her hands, that
she scarce raised her head, until Lord Etherington, advancing,
pronounced the words, "Miss Mowbray." A start, and a loud scream,
announced her deadly alarm, and these were repeated as he made one pace
nearer, and in a firmer accent said, "Clara."

"No nearer--no nearer," she exclaimed, "if you would have me look upon
you and live!" Lord Etherington remained standing, as if uncertain
whether to advance or retreat, while with incredible rapidity she poured
out her hurried entreaties that he would begone, sometimes addressing
him as a real personage, sometimes, and more frequently, as a delusive
phantom, the offspring of her own excited imagination. "I knew it," she
muttered, "I knew what would happen, if my thoughts were forced into
that fearful channel.--Speak to me, brother! speak to me while I have
reason left, and tell me that what stands before me is but an empty
shadow! But it is no shadow--it remains before me in all the lineaments
of mortal substance!"

"Clara," said the Earl, with a firm, yet softened voice, "collect and
compose yourself. I am, indeed, no shadow--I am a much-injured man, come
to demand rights which have been unjustly withheld from me. I am now
armed with power as well as justice, and my claims shall be heard."

"Never--never!" replied Clara Mowbray; "since extremity is my portion,
let extremity give me courage.--You have no rights--none--I know you
not, and I defy you."

"Defy me not, Clara Mowbray," answered the Earl, in a tone, and with a
manner how different from those which delighted society! for now he was
solemn, tragic, and almost stern, like the judge when he passes sentence
upon a criminal. "Defy me not," he repeated. "I am your Fate, and it
rests with you to make me a kind or severe one."

"Dare you speak thus?" said Clara, her eyes flashing with anger, while
her lips grew white, and quivered for fear--"Dare you speak thus, and
remember that the same heaven is above our heads, to which you so
solemnly vowed you would never see me more without my own consent?"

"That vow was conditional--Francis Tyrrel, as he calls himself, swore
the same--hath _he_ not seen you?" He fixed a piercing look on her; "He
has--you dare not disown it!--And shall an oath, which to him is but a
cobweb, be to me a shackle of iron?"

"Alas! it was but for a moment," said Miss Mowbray, sinking in courage,
and drooping her head as she spoke.

"Were it but the twentieth part of an instant--the least conceivable
space of subdivided time--still, you _did_ meet--he saw you--you spoke
to him. And me also you must see--me also you must hear! Or I will first
claim you for my own in the face of the world; and, having vindicated my
rights, I will seek out and extinguish the wretched rival who has dared
to interfere with them."

"Can you speak thus?" said Clara--"can you so burst through the ties of
nature?--Have you a heart!"

"I have; and it shall be moulded like wax to your slightest wishes, if
you agree to do me justice; but not granite, nor aught else that nature
has of hardest, will be more inflexible if you continue an useless
opposition!--Clara Mowbray, I am your Fate."

"Not so, proud man," said Clara, rising, "God gave not one potsherd the
power to break another, save by his divine permission--my fate is in the
will of Him, without whose will even a sparrow falls not to the
ground.--Begone--I am strong in faith of heavenly protection."

"Do you speak thus in sincerity?" said the Earl of Etherington;
"consider first what is the prospect before you. I stand here in no
doubtful or ambiguous character--I offer not the mere name of a
husband--propose to you not a humble lot of obscurity and hardship, with
fears for the past and doubts for the future; yet there _was_ a time
when to a suit like this you could listen favourably.--I stand high
among the nobles of the country, and offer you, as my bride, your share
in my honours, and in the wealth which becomes them.--Your brother is my
friend, and favours my suit. I will raise from the ground, and once more
render illustrious, your ancient house--your motions shall be regulated
by your wishes, even by your caprices--I will even carry my self-denial
so far, that you shall, should you insist on so severe a measure, have
your own residence, your own establishment, and without intrusion on my
part, until the most devoted love, the most unceasing attentions, shall
make way on your inflexible disposition.--All this I will consent to for
the future--all that is past shall be concealed from the public.--But
mine, Clara Mowbray, you must be."

"Never--never!" she said with increasing vehemence. "I can but repeat a
negative, but it shall have all the force of an oath.--Your rank is
nothing to me--your fortune I scorn--my brother has no right, by the law
of Scotland, or of nature, to compel my inclinations.--I detest your
treachery, and I scorn the advantage you propose to attain by
it.--Should the law give you my hand, it would but award you that of a
corpse."

"Alas! Clara," said the Earl, "you do but flutter in the net; but I will
urge you no farther, now--there is another encounter before me."

He was turning away, when Clara, springing forward, caught him by the
arm, and repeated, in a low and impressive voice, the commandment,--"Thou
shalt do no murder!"

"Fear not any violence," he said, softening his voice, and attempting to
take her hand, "but what may flow from your own severity.--Francis is
safe from me, unless you are altogether unreasonable.--Allow me but what
you cannot deny to any friend of your brother, the power of seeing you
at times--suspend at least the impetuosity of your dislike to me, and I
will, on my part, modify the current of my just and otherwise
uncontrollable resentment."

Clara, extricating herself, and retreating from him, only replied,
"There is a Heaven above us, and THERE shall be judged our actions
towards each other! You abuse a power most treacherously obtained--you
break a heart that never did you wrong--you seek an alliance with a
wretch who only wishes to be wedded to her grave.--If my brother brings
you hither, I cannot help it--and if your coming prevents bloody and
unnatural violence, it is so far well.--But by my consent you come
_not_; and, were the choice mine, I would rather be struck with
life-long blindness, than that my eyes should again open on your
person--rather that my ears were stuffed with the earth of the grave,
than that they should again hear your voice!"

The Earl of Etherington smiled proudly, and replied, "Even this, madam,
I can hear without resentment. Anxious and careful as you are to deprive
your compliance of every grace and of every kindness, I receive the
permission to wait on you, as I interpret your words."

"Do not so interpret them," she replied; "I do but submit to your
presence as an unavoidable evil. Heaven be my witness, that, were it not
to prevent greater and more desperate evil, I would not even so far
acquiesce."

"Let acquiescence, then, be the word," he said; "and so thankful will I
be, even for your acquiescence, Miss Mowbray, that all shall remain
private, which I conceive you do not wish to be disclosed; and, unless
absolutely compelled to it in self-defence, you may rely, no violence
will be resorted to by me in any quarter.--I relieve you from my
presence."

So saying, he withdrew from the apartment.




CHAPTER VI.

EXPLANATORY.

----By your leave, gentle wax.

SHAKSPEARE.


In the hall of Shaws-Castle the Earl of Etherington met Mowbray,
returned from his fruitless chase after the bearer of the anonymous
epistle before recited; and who had but just learned, on his return,
that the Earl of Etherington was with his sister. There was a degree of
mutual confusion when they met; for Mowbray had the contents of the
anonymous letter fresh in his mind, and Lord Etherington,
notwithstanding all the coolness which he had endeavoured to maintain,
had not gone through the scene with Clara without discomposure. Mowbray
asked the Earl whether he had seen his sister, and invited him, at the
same time, to return to the parlour; and his lordship replied, in a tone
as indifferent as he could assume, that he had enjoyed the honour of the
lady's company for several minutes, and would not now intrude farther
upon Miss Mowbray's patience.

"You have had such a reception as was agreeable, my lord, I trust?" said
Mowbray. "I hope Clara did the honours of the house with propriety
during my absence?"

"Miss Mowbray seemed a little fluttered with my sudden appearance," said
the Earl; "the servant showed me in rather abruptly; and, circumstanced
as we were, there is always awkwardness in a first meeting, where there
is no third party to act as master of the ceremonies.--I suspect, from
the lady's looks, that you have not quite kept my secret, my good
friend. I myself, too, felt a little consciousness in approaching Miss
Mowbray--but it is over now; and, the ice being fairly broken, I hope to
have other and more convenient opportunities to improve the advantage I
have just gained in acquiring your lovely sister's personal
acquaintance."

"So be it," said Mowbray; "but, as you declare for leaving the castle
just now, I must first speak a single word with your lordship, for which
this place is not altogether convenient."

"I can have no objections, my dear Jack," said Etherington, following
him with a thrill of conscious feeling, somewhat perhaps like that of
the spider when he perceives his deceitful web is threatened with
injury, and sits balanced in the centre, watching every point, and
uncertain which he may be called upon first to defend. Such is one part,
and not the slightest part, of the penance which never fails to wait on
those, who, abandoning the "fair play of the world," endeavour to work
out their purposes by a process of deception and intrigue.

"My lord," said Mowbray, when they had entered a little apartment, in
which the latter kept his guns, fishing-tackle, and other implements of
sport, "you have played on the square with me; nay, more--I am bound to
allow you have given me great odds. I am therefore not entitled to hear
any reports to the prejudice of your lordship's character, without
instantly communicating them. There is an anonymous letter which I have
just received. Perhaps your lordship may know the hand, and thus be
enabled to detect the writer."

"I do know the hand," said the Earl, as he received the note from
Mowbray; "and, allow me to say, it is the only one which could have
dared to frame any calumny to my prejudice. I hope, Mr. Mowbray, it is
impossible for you to consider this infamous charge as any thing but a
falsehood?"

"My placing it in your lordship's hands, without farther enquiry, is a
sufficient proof that I hold it such, my lord; at the same time that I
cannot doubt for a moment that your lordship has it in your power to
overthrow so frail a calumny by the most satisfactory evidence."

"Unquestionably I can, Mr. Mowbray," said the Earl; "for, besides my
being in full possession of the estate and title of my father, the late
Earl of Etherington, I have my father's contract of marriage, my own
certificate of baptism, and the evidence of the whole country, to
establish my right. All these shall be produced with the least delay
possible. You will not think it surprising that one does not travel with
this sort of documents in one's post-chaise."

"Certainly not, my lord," said Mowbray; "it is sufficient they are
forthcoming when called for. But, may I enquire, my lord, who the writer
of this letter is, and whether he has any particular spleen to gratify
by this very impudent assertion, which is so easily capable of being
disproved?"

"He is," said Etherington, "or, at least, has the reputation of being, I
am sorry to say, a near--a very near relation of my own--in fact, a
brother by the father's side, but illegitimate.--My father was fond of
him--I loved him also, for he has uncommonly fine parts, and is
accounted highly accomplished. But there is a strain of something
irregular in his mind--a vein, in short, of madness, which breaks out in
the usual manner, rendering the poor young man a dupe to vain
imaginations of his own dignity and grandeur, which is perhaps the most
ordinary effect of insanity, and inspiring the deepest aversion against
his nearest relatives, and against myself in particular. He is a man
extremely plausible, both in speech and manners; so much so, that many
of my friends think there is more vice than insanity in the
irregularities which he commits; but I may, I hope, be forgiven, if I
have formed a milder judgment of one supposed to be my father's son.
Indeed, I cannot help being sorry for poor Frank, who might have made a
very distinguished figure in the world."

"May I ask the gentleman's name, my lord?" said Mowbray.

"My father's indulgence gave him our family name of Tyrrel, with his own
Christian name Francis; but his proper name, to which alone he has a
right, is Martigny."

"Francis Tyrrel!" exclaimed Mowbray; "why, that is the name of the very
person who made some disturbance at the Well just before your lordship
arrived.--You may have seen an advertisement--a sort of placard."

"I have, Mr. Mowbray," said the Earl. "Spare me on that subject, if you
please--it has formed a strong reason why I did not mention my connexion
with this unhappy man before; but it is no unusual thing for persons,
whose imaginations are excited, to rush into causeless quarrels, and
then to make discreditable retreats from them."

"Or," said Mr. Mowbray, "he may have, after all, been prevented from
reaching the place of rendezvous--it was that very day on which your
lordship, I think, received your wound; and, if I mistake not, you hit
the man from whom you got the hurt."

"Mowbray," said Lord Etherington, lowering his voice, and taking him by
the arm, "it is true that I did so--and truly glad I am to observe,
that, whatever might have been the consequences of such an accident,
they cannot have been serious.--It struck me afterwards, that the man by
whom I was so strangely assaulted, had some resemblance to the
unfortunate Tyrrel--but I had not seen him for years.--At any rate, he
cannot have been much hurt, since he is now able to resume his intrigues
to the prejudice of my character."

"Your lordship views the thing with a firm eye," said Mowbray; "firmer
than I think most people would be able to command, who had so narrow a
chance of a scrape so uncomfortable."

"Why, I am, in the first place, by no means sure that the risk existed,"
said the Earl of Etherington; "for, as I have often told you, I had but
a very transient glimpse of the ruffian;