“Clare spoke not, but smiling at the downcast eyes of her cousin, kissed her on the forehead, and soon retired to rest.
“‘Tell me nothing!’ thought Lady Emma, when in her own room, pondering; ‘yet it cannot be; but if it should be so—oh, poor, poor Clare! Heaven forgive me. I would not thwart you, my cousin, for all the world.’
“Lady Emma remained long awake, revolving all manner of schemes to enliven her cousin, but the same expression came repeatedly to her lips, ‘If it should be! Poor cousin, poor Clare!’
“And even her strong nature bent under some secret mental weight, and tear-drops flowed freely upon her weary pillow.
“The dark and lofty college tower visited Clare in dreams.
“She once more strolled through its grand quadrangle, and saw the students march, with band and banner.
“She walked in its vineyards and orchards, amid fruit and flowers.
“And then her footsteps strayed into a grassy court, with fountains rising and falling, and splashing in the quiet of a summer afternoon, and there saw, sitting at his window, a handsome, book-worn youth, with desk and pen, absorbed in study.
“A faint smile for an instant lit up her marble features, and she sighed.
“Her lips murmured inarticulate sounds, and she moved restlessly, unconsciously throwing the spotless covering from her heaving bosom, on which reposed a tiny gem of jet, resting as if set in alabaster.