"He had judged me and condemned me," she said at last, "and therefore, as a matter of course, we were not such friends when we last met as we used to be before my marriage."

"But, Julia, there was much for which you owed him grat.i.tude."

"We will say nothing about that now, Hermy."

"I do not know why your mouth should be closed on such a subject because he has gone. I should have thought that you would be glad to acknowledge his kindness to you. But you were always hard."

"Perhaps I am hard."

"And twice he asked you to come here since your return, but you would not come."

"I have come now, Hermy, when I have thought that I might be of use."

"He felt it when you would not home before. I know he did." Lady Ongar could not but think of the way in which he had manifested his feelings on the occasion of his visit to Bolton Street. "I never could understand why you were so bitter."

"I think, dear, we had better not discuss that. I also have had much to bear--I as well as you. What you have borne has come in no wise from your own fault."

"No, indeed; I did not want him to go. I would have given anything to keep him at home."

Her sister had not been thinking of the suffering which had come to her from the loss of her husband, but of her former miseries. This, however, she did not explain. "No," Lady Ongar continued to say, "you have nothing for which to blame yourself, whereas I have much--indeed everything. If we are to remain together, as I hope we may, it will be better for us both that by-gones should be by-gones."

"Do you mean that I am never to speak of Hugh?"

"No, I by no means intend that; but I would rather that you should not refer to his feelings toward me. I think he did not quite understand the sort of life that I led while my husband was alive, and that he judged me amiss. Therefore I would have by-gones be by-gones."

Three or four days after this, when the question of leaving Clavering Park was being mooted, the elder sister started a difficulty as to money matters. An offer had been made to her by Mrs. Clavering to remain at the great house, but this she had declined, alleging that the place would be distasteful to her after her husband's death. She, poor soul!

did not allege that it had been made distasteful to her forever by the solitude which she had endured there during her husband's lifetime! She would go away somewhere, and live as best she might upon her jointure.

It was not very much, but it would be sufficient. She did not see, she said, how she could live with her sister, because she did not wish to be dependent. Julia, of course, would live in a style to which she could make no pretence.

Mrs. Clavering, who was present, as was also Lady Ongar, declared that she saw no such difficulty. "Sisters together," she said, "need hardly think of a difference in such matters."

Then it was that Lady Ongar first spoke to either of them of her half-formed resolution about her money, and then too, for the first time, did she come down altogether from that high horse on which she had been, as it were, compelled to mount herself while in Mrs. Clavering's presence. "I think I must explain," said she, "something of what I mean to do--about my money, that is. I do not think that there will be much difference between me and Hermy in that respect."

"That is nonsense," said her sister, fretfully.

"There will be a difference in income, certainly," said Mrs. Clavering, "but I do not see that that need create any uncomfortable feeling."

"Only one doesn't like to be dependent," said Hermione.

"You shall not be asked to give up any of your independence," said Julia, with a smile--a melancholy smile, that gave but little sign of pleasantness within. Then, on a sudden, her face became stern and hard.

"The fact is," she said, "I do not intend to keep Lord Ongar's money."

"Not to keep your income!" said Hermione.

"No; I will give it back to them--or at least the greater part of it.

Why should I keep it?"

"It is your own," said Mrs. Clavering.

"Yes, legally it is my own. I know that. And when there was some question whether it should not be disputed, I would have fought for it to the last shilling. Somebody--I suppose it was the lawyer--wanted to keep from me the place in Surrey. I told them that then I would not abandon my right to an inch of it. But they yielded, and now I have given them back the house."

"You have given it back!" said her sister.

"Yes; I have said they may have it. It is of no use to me. I hate the place."

"You have been very generous," said Mrs. Clavering.

"But that will not affect your income," said Hermione.

"No, that would not affect my income." Then she paused, not knowing how to go on with the story of her purpose.

"If I may say so, Lady Ongar," said Mrs. Clavering, "I would not, if I were you, take any steps in so important a matter without advice."

"Who is there that can advise me? Of course the lawyer tells me that I ought to keep it all. It is his business to give such advice as that.

But what does he know of what I feel? How can he understand me? How, indeed, can I expect that any one shall understand me?"

"But it is possible that people should misunderstand you," said Mrs.

Clavering.

"Exactly. That is just what he says. But, Mrs. Clavering, I care nothing for that. I care nothing for what any body says or thinks. What is it to me what they say?"

"I should have thought it was every thing," said her sister.

"No, it is nothing--nothing at all." Then she was again silent, and was unable to express herself She could not bring herself to declare in words that self-condemnation of her own conduct which was now weighing so heavily upon her. It was not that she wished to keep back her own feelings either from her sister or from Mrs. Clavering, but that the words in which to express them were wanting to her.

"And have they accepted the house?" Mrs. Clavering asked.

"They must accept it. What else can they do? They can not make me call it mine if I do not choose. If I refuse to take the income which Mr.

Courton's lawyer pays in to my bankers, they can not compel me to have it."

"But you are not going to give that up too?" said her sister.

"I am. I will not have his money--not more than enough to keep me from being a scandal to his family. I will not have it. It is a curse to me, and has been from the first. What right have I to all that money, because--because--because--" She could not finish her sentence, but turned away from them, and walked by herself to the window.

Lady Clavering looked at Mrs. Clavering as though she thought that her sister was mad. "Do you understand her?" said Lady Clavering, in a whisper.

"I think I do," said the other. "I think I know what is pa.s.sing in her mind." Then she followed Lady Ongar across the room, and, taking her gently by the arm, tried to comfort her--to comfort her and to argue with her as to the rashness of that which she proposed to do. She endeavored to explain to the poor woman how it was that she should at this moment be wretched, and anxious to do that which, if done, would put it out of her power afterward to make herself useful in the world.

It shocked the prudence of Mrs. Clavering--this idea of abandoning money, the possession of which was questioned by no one. "They do not want it, Lady Ongar," she said.

"That has nothing to do with it," answered the other.

"And n.o.body has any suspicion but what it is honorably and fairly your own."

"But does any body ever think how I got it?" said Lady Ongar, turning sharply round upon Mrs. Clavering. "You--you--you--do you dare to tell me what you think of the way in which it became mine? Could you bear it, if it had become yours after such a fashion? I can not bear it, and I will not." She was now speaking with so much violence that her sister was awed into silence, and Mrs. Clavering herself found a difficulty in answering her.

"Whatever may have been the past," said she, "the question now is how to do the best for the future."

"I had hoped," continued Lady Ongar, without noticing what was said to her, "I had hoped to make every thing straight by giving his money to another. You know to whom I mean, and so does Hermy. I thought, when I returned, that, bad as I had been, I might still do some good in the world. But it is as they tell us in the sermons. One can not make good come out of evil. I have done evil, and nothing but evil has come out of the evil which I have done. Nothing but evil will come from it. As for being useful in the world, I know of what use I am! When women hear how wretched I have been, they will be unwilling to sell themselves as I did." Then she made her way to the door and left the room, going out with quiet steps, and closing the lock behind her with a sound.