Mr. Bartley’s views about Mary now began to waver.  It occurred to him that should Colonel Clifford die and Walter inherit his estates, he could easily come to terms with the young man so passionately devoted to his daughter.  He had only to say:  “I can make no allowance at present, but I’ll settle my whole fortune upon Mary and her children after my death, if you’ll make a moderate settlement at present,” and Walter would certainly fall into this, and not demand accounts from Mary’s trustee.  So now he would have positively encouraged Mary in her attachment, but one thing held him back a little:  he had learned by accident that the last entail of Clifford Hall and the dependent estates dated two generations back, so that the entail expired with Colonel Clifford, and this had enabled the Colonel to sell some of the estates, and clearly gave him power now to leave Clifford Hall away from his son.  Now the people who had begun to fetch and carry tales between the two magnates told him of the lawyer’s recent visits to Clifford Hall, and he had some misgivings that the Colonel had sent for the lawyer to alter his will and disinherit, in whole or in part, his absent and rebellious son.  All this taken together made Mr. Bartley resolve to be kinder to Mary in her love affair than he ever had been, but still to be guarded and cautious.

“Mary, my dear,” said he, “I am sure you’ll be on thorns till this young man comes home; perhaps now would be a good time to pay your visit to Mrs. Easton.”

“Oh, papa, how good of you! but it’s twenty miles, I believe, to where she is staying at the lakes.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Bartley; “she’s staying with her sister Gilbert; quite within a drive.”

“Are you sure, papa?”

“Quite sure, my dear; she wrote to me yesterday about her little pension; the quarter is just due.”

“What! do you allow her a pension?”

“Certainly, my dear, or rather I pay her little stipend as before:  how surprised you look, Mary!  Why, I’m not like that old Colonel, intolerant of other people’s views, when they advance them civilly.  That woman helped me to save your life in a very great danger, and for many years she has been as careful as a mother, and we are not, so to say, at daggers drawn about Walter Clifford.  Why, I only demand a little prudence and patience both from you and from her.  Now tell me.  Is there proper accommodation for you in Mrs. Gilbert’s house?”

“Oh yes, papa; it is a farm-house now, but it was a grand place.  There’s a beautiful spare room with an oriel-window.”

“Well, then, you secure that, and write to-day to have a blazing fire, and the bed properly aired as well as the sheets, and you shall go to-morrow in the four-wheel; and you can take her her little stipend in a letter.”

This sudden kindness and provision for her health and happiness filled Mary’s heart to overflowing, and her gratitude gushed forth upon Mr. Bartley’s neck.  The old fox blandly absorbed it, and took the opportunity to say, “Of course it is understood that matters are to go no further between you and Walter Clifford.  Oh, I don’t mean that you’re to make him unhappy, or drive him to despair; only insist upon his being patient like yourself.  Everything comes sooner or later to those that can wait.”