be so much afraid. Clara has her faults,—I see them as well as any one,—but I'll never believe she'd darken your life of her own free will."
There was an unevenness, a jerky vehemence, in his voice, which told how difficult it was for him to take this side in argument. He often hesitated, obviously seeking phrases which should do least injury to the father's feelings. The expression of pain on his forehead and about his lips testified to the sincerity with which he urged his views, at the same time to a lurking fear lest impulse should be misleading him. Hewett kept silence, in aspect as far as ever from yielding. Of a sudden he raised his hand, and said, "Husht!" There was a familiar step on the stairs. Then the door opened and admitted Clara.
The girl could not but be aware that the conversation she interrupted had reference to herself Her father gazed fixedly at her; Sidney glanced towards her with self-consciousness, and at once averted his eyes;
