and, reading her assent in her countenance, he quitted the room.
"The doctor is very obliging," said Sir Ambrose; "but he never did like Rosabella. He hated her father, and when Duke Edgar—but, I forget! his history is a secret which must rest for ever in my own breast."
"Do tell me, uncle!" cried Clara coaxingly; "I should so like to hear it, and every body says you know all about him."
"And what can his history have to do with such a little chit as you?"
"I don't know," said Clara with the utmost innocence; "but I am sure I should like to hear it."
"Why?" again asked Sir Ambrose.
"Because every body says it is a secret," replied Clara, clinging round him, and fondly stroking his face;—"so do tell me, my dear uncle, pray do?"
"You are a little coaxing witch," said Sir Ambrose, patting her long silky hair; "I would tell you any thing in reason, but the history of the father of Rosabella—"
