My father moved nearer to me a step or two, and looked in my face intently, with the firm, penetrating expression which peculiarly characterized him.

“This seems an extraordinary resolution,” he said, his tones and manner altering ominously while he spoke.  “I thought your sudden absence for the last two days rather odd; but this plan of remaining in London by yourself is really incomprehensible.  What can you have to do?”

An excuse—­no! not an excuse; let me call things by their right names in these pages—­a lie was rising to my lips; but my father checked the utterance of it.  He detected my embarrassment immediately, anxiously as I strove to conceal it.

“Stop,” he said coldly, while the red flush which meant so much when it rose on his cheek, began to appear there for the first time.  “Stop!  If you must make excuses, Basil, I must ask no questions.  You have a secret which you wish to keep from me; and I beg you will keep it.  I have never been accustomed to treat my sons as I would not treat any other gentlemen with whom I may happen to be associated.  If they have private affairs, I cannot interfere with those affairs.  My trust in their honour is my only guarantee against their deceiving me; but in the intercourse of gentlemen that is guarantee enough.  Remain here as long as you like:  we shall be happy to see you in the country, when you are able to leave town.”

He turned to Clara.  “I suppose, my love, you want me no longer.  While I settle my own matters of business, you can arrange about the bookcases with your brother.  Whatever you wish, I shall be glad to do.”  And he left the room without speaking to me, or looking at me again.  I sank into a chair, feeling disgraced in my own estimation by the last words he had spoken to me.  His trust in my honour was his only guarantee against my deceiving him.  As I thought over that declaration, every syllable of it seemed to sear my conscience; to brand Hypocrite on my heart.

I turned towards my sister.  She was standing at a little distance from me, silent and pale, mechanically twisting the measuring-string, which she still held between her trembling fingers; and fixing her eyes upon me so lovingly, so mournfully, that my fortitude gave way when I looked at her.  At that instant, I seemed to forget everything that had passed since the day when I first met Margaret, and to be restored once more to my old way of life and my old home-sympathies.  My head drooped on my breast, and I felt the hot tears forcing themselves into my eyes.

Clara stepped quietly to my side; and sitting down by me in silence, put her arm round my neck.

When I was calmer, she said gently: 

“I have been very anxious about you, Basil; and perhaps I have allowed that anxiety to appear more than I ought.  Perhaps I have been accustomed to exact too much from you—­you have been too ready to please me.  But I have been used to it so long; and I have nobody else that I can speak to as I can to you.  Papa is very kind; but he can’t be what you are to me exactly; and Ralph does not live with us now, and cared little about me, I am afraid, when he did.  I have friends, but friends are not—­”