The Belton Estate

the house door, between that and the old tower, there stood one of Farmer Stovey's hay-carts, now empty, with an old horse between the shafts looking as though he were asle

yet out of his room. She had taken his breakfast to him in bed, as was her custom; for he had fallen into idle ways, and the luxury of his bed was, of all his remaining luxuries, the one that he liked the best. After a while he came down to her, having an open letter in his hand. C

let him the road up to the hall door. I suppose

r like i

ou're lucky in your tastes. I

Shall I ask him to have th

s it matter? There'll be an end of it soon. He pays his rent, and I su

he asked, wishing to turn his min

be doing better if I burned it, and said nothing more about it.

it. He thought that Farmer Stovey was cruel in that he had left the hay-cart near the house, to wound his eyes by reminding him that he was no longer master of the ground before his own hall door. He thought that the women and children were cruel to chatter so near his ears. He almost accused his

from, papa?

hat you should know that it has been written."

Hall, - Ju

uble of explaining to her, that though the place was called a hall, the house was no more than a farmhouse. He had never seen Plaistow Hall, and had never been in Norfolk; but so much he could take upon himself to say, "They call all the farms halls down there." I

Hall, - J

ear

oping that I may make you understand how greatly I was distressed by what has occurred. I believe I am now the nearest male relative that you have, and as such I am very anxious to be of service to you if it may be possibl

t would suit you, and would stay with you for a week. Pray give my kindest regards to my cousin Clara, whom I can only just remember as

ectionat

Bel

at she herself should exercise her own opinion on many points, almost without reference to him. She alone knew how utterly destitute she would be when he should die. He, in the first days of his agony, had sobbed forth his remorse as to her ruin; but, even when doing so, he had comforted himself with the remembrance of Mrs. Winterfield's money, and Mrs. Winterfield's affection for his daughter. And the aunt, when she had declared her purpose to Clara, had told herself that the provision made for Clara by her father was sufficient. To neither of them had Clara told her own position. She could not inform her aunt that her father had given up to the poor

," sa

nk my cousin

ns very badly. What business has he to

shes to be friendly. The property will be his some day, and I do

licacy in regard to money. They have so little to do with it, and th

ficient frequency to make delicacy very desirable, if only it were practicable. Bu

hould I trouble mys

the trouble o

will you s

to come here,

la

ight be a comfort to you. I can't tell you whether the tenants and people are treating you well, but he can do so; and, moreover, I think he means to be

ent off by Clara, in which Mr. Belton was told that Mr. Amedroz would be happy to receive him at Belton Castle. The letter was written by the daughter, but the father was responsible for the formality. He sat over her while she wro

ear

e will be happy to receive you at Belto

s tr

a Am

le on the fifteenth of August. "They can do without me for about ten days," he said in his postscript, writing in a familiar tone, which did not seem to

said as he read this. "Partridges! to ta

feeling on her own part that her cousin's good humour towards her and Mr. Amedroz should have been repressed by

regarded even this single friend, the intimacy was the effect rather of circumstances than of real affection. S

hop. His two curates lived at Redicote, where there was a second church. Belton Cottage, which was occupied by Colonel Askerton and Mrs. Askerton, was on the Amedroz property, and had been hired some two years since by the Colonel, who was then a stranger in the country and altogether unknown to the Belton people. But he had come there for shooting, and therefore his coming had been understood. Even as long ago as two years since, there had been neither use nor propriety in keeping the shooting for the squire's son,

o loved scandal, and was very ill-natured. "A very nice woman," the rector had said; "but she does not seem to have any belongings in particular." "She has got a husband," Clara had replied with some little indignation, for she had never loved Mr. Wright. "Yes; I suppose she has got a husband." Then Clara had, in her own judgment, accused the rector of lying, evil-speaking, and slandering, and had increased the measure of her cordiality to Mrs. Askerton. But something m

gainst her, aunt?" Clar

ar; I cannot say that I do. But I think that young ladies, before t

bsolute knowledge. She understood that the weakness of her aunt's caution was due to the old lady's sense of charity and dislike of slander. But Clara had buckled on her armour for Mrs. Askerton, and was glad, therefore, to achieve her little victory. When we buckle on our armour in any cause, we ar

wo years; and thus,-so said Mrs. Askerton to Clara,-did they intend to live as long as they could keep the cottage at Belton. Society at Belton they had none, and,-as they said,-desired none. Between them and Mr. Wright there was only a speaking acquaintance. The married curate at Redicote would not let his wife call on Mrs. Askerton, and the unmarried curate was a hard-worked, clerical hack,-a parochial minister at all times and seasons, who went to no houses except the houses of the poor, and who would hold communion with no man, and certainly with

t to be a good fellow, you will have gained a great deal. And should he be a bad fellow, you will have lost no

should an

noy him. At least, he will say so; though I do not in the least d

re will be much

your propriety, allow me to say that that is impossible. Of course, he i

sense, Mrs.

e? It's just what he ought to do. He hasn't got a w

y have not

at Perivale does not s

much, or at any rate better, than Captain Aylmer; but I hate the idea that no girl can become acquainted with a

istress of the old place after all. And then to go back to the old family name! If I were yo

at I will not speak t

of making love for the last twenty years at least; but I don't know wh

f that kind, I shall go," said Clara. "And till this man has com

say nothing more about him, you need not go on his account