It was past midnight when he returned to Clavering Park. He was
exceedingly pale and agitated. "Is Lady Clavering up yet?" he asked.
Yes, she was in her own sitting-room. He went up to her, and there
found the poor lady in a piteous state of tears and agitation. "It is
I--Arthur," he said, looking in; and entering, he took her hand very
affectionately and kissed it. "You were always the kindest of friends
to me, dear Lady Clavering," he said. "I love you very much. I have
got some news for you."
"Don't call me by that name," she said, pressing his hand. "You were
always a good boy, Arthur; and it's kind of you to come now--very
kind. You sometimes look very like your ma, my dear."
"Dear, good _Lady Clavering_," Arthur repeated, with particular
emphasis, "something very strange has happened."
"Has any thing happened to him?" gasped Lady Clavering. "O, it's
horrid to think I should be glad of it--horrid!"
"He is well. He has been and is gone, my dear lady. Don't alarm
yourself--he is gone, and you are Lady Clavering still.
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