sped away to his own quarters higher up. Then came a sound which
made me open my door to listen. Dear little Emily! She had burst
out of her own room in her dressing-gown, and flung herself upon her
brother as he was plodding wearily upstairs in the dark, clinging
round his neck sobbing, 'Dear, dear Clarry! I can't bear it! I
don't care. You're my own dear brother, and they are all wicked,
horrid people.'

That was all I heard, except hushings on Clarence's part, as if the
opening of my door and the thread of light from it warned him that
there was risk of interruption. He seemed to be dragging her up to
her own room, and I was left with a pang at her being foremost in
comforting him.

My father enacted that he should be treated as usual. But how could
that be when papa himself did not know how changed were his own ways
from his kindly paternal air of confidence? All trust had been
undermined, so that Clarence could not cross the threshold without
being required to state his object, and, if he overstayed the time
calculated, he was cross-examined, and his replies received with a
sigh of doubt.

He hung about the house, not caring to do much, except taking me out
in my Bath chair or languidly reading the most exciting books he
could get;--but there was no great stock of sensation then, except
the Byronic, and from time to time one of my parents would exclaim,
'Clarence, I wonder you can find nothing more profitable to occupy
yourself with than trash like that!'

He would lay down the book without a word, and take up Smith's