have come," said she, lifting a face whose expression of mingled sweetness and power I could not but admire, even in that moment of apprehension, "to ask you without any excuse for my request, if you will allow me to accompany you upon your drive this morning?"
Mary, who had drawn herself up to meet some word of accusation or appeal, turned carelessly away to the glass. "I am very sorry," she said, "but the buggy holds only two, and I shall be obliged to refuse."
"I will order a carriage."
"But I do not wish your company, Eleanore. We are off on a pleasure trip, and desire to have our fun by ourselves."
"And you will not allow me to accompany you?"
"I cannot prevent your going in another carriage."
Eleanore's face grew yet more earnest in its expression. "Mary," said she, "we have been brought up together. I am your sister in affection if not in blood, and I cannot see you start upon this adventure with no other companion than this woman. Then tell me, shall I go with you, as a sister, or on the road behind you as the enforced guardian of your honor against your will?"
"My honor?"
"You are going to meet Mr. Clavering."
"Well?"
"Twenty miles from home."
"Well?"
"Now is it discreet or honorable in you to do this?"
Mary's haughty lip took an ominous curve. "The same hand that raised you has raised me," she cried bitterly.
"This is no time to speak of that," returned Eleanore. Mary's countenance flushed. All the antagonism of
