“Alas, my dear child, alas! may Heaven give you strength and patience to bear this affliction!”
“It has, dear mother. I am perfectly resigned,” he answered calmly.
“God bless you—God be blessed!” and the mother wept in gratitude upon her son’s neck.
There was a few moments’ silence which the invalid at length broke.
“I could bear this affliction, dearest mother, without a murmur if I stood alone. But, dear Clara! She weeps as if her heart was breaking. I fear it will be the death of her—she feels so much for me. I wish you could convince her that I care nothing about it if she will not.”
Mrs. Pierpoint did not reply but shook her head gravely and sighed very heavily.
“What means that sigh, mother?” asked Leslie with surprise and a misgiving of he knew not what.
“Nothing, son. But I fear Clara’s tears are devoted rather to the shrine of her own vanity than shed upon the altar of her love.”
“How mean you, mother?” demanded Leslie, with heightened color.
“Clara Clayton, dear boy, loves herself more than she loves any body else. I have known Clara from a child. I should never have chosen her as your wife; but you loved her and there was no alternative but acquiescence. Though I approved not, I spoke not, knowing how vain a parent’s words are with children in affairs of the heart. Clara is proud that she has captivated the handsomest young man in the town whom all the young ladies were sighing for; but she loves you not, Leslie, as a true woman should love.”