sounded very pleasant in that sad old house.

'Yes; I am the little girl,' said Clara smiling.

'Dear, dear! and that's twenty years ago now,' said he.

'But you oughtn't to remind me of that, Mr Belton.'

'Oughtn't I? Why not?'

'Because it shows how very old I am.'

'Ah, yes to be sure. But there's nobody here that signifies. How well I
remember this room and the old tower out there. It isn't changed a bit!'

'Not to the outward eye, perhaps,' said the squire.

'That's what I mean. So they're making hay still. Our hay has been all
up these three weeks. I didn't know you ever meadowed the park.' Here
he trod with dreadful severity upon the corns of Mr Amedroz, but he did
not perceive it. And when the squire muttered something about a tenant,
and the inconvenience of keeping land in his own hands, Belton would
have gone on with the subject had not Clara changed the conversation.
The squire complained bitterly of this to Clara when they were alone,
saying that it was very heartless.

She had a little scheme of her own a plan arranged for the saying of a
few words to her cousin on the earliest opportunity of their being
alone together and she contrived that this should take place within
half an hour after his arrival, as he went through the hall up to his