"I do not believe in a future state. Let that answer you."

"Do you never fear the dark?" returned Mathews, glancing stealthily around. "Never feel that eyes are looking upon you--cold, gla.s.sy eyes, that peer into your very soul--eyes which are not of this world, and which no other eyes can see? Snuff the candles, Mary. The room looks as dismal as a vault."

G.o.dfrey burst into a loud laugh. "If I were troubled with such ocular demonstrations I would wear spectacles. By Jove! Bill Mathews, waking or sleeping, I never was haunted by an evil spirit worse than yourself. But here's Skinner at last! Fetch a bottle of brandy and some gla.s.ses to yon empty table, Mary. I must try to win back from him what I lost last night."

CHAPTER XVII.

Oh! speak to me of her I love, And I shall think I hear The voice whose melting tones, above All music, charms mine ear.--S.M.

Whilst G.o.dfrey Hurdlestone was rapidly traversing the broad road that leads down to the gates of death, Anthony was regaining his peace of mind in the quiet abode of domestic love. Day after day the young cousins whiled away the charmed hours in delightful converse. They wandered hand in hand through green quiet lanes, and along sunny paths, talking of the beloved. Clary felt no jealous envy mar the harmony of her dove-like soul, as she listened to Anthony's rapturous details of the hours he had spent with Juliet, his poetical descriptions of her lovely countenance and easy figure. Nay, she often pointed out graces which he had omitted, and repeated, with her musical voice, sweet strains of song by her young friend, to him unknown.

Was there no danger in this intercourse? Clarissa Wildegrave felt none.

In her young heart's simplicity, she dreamed not of the subtle essence which unites kindred spirits. She never asked herself why she loved to find the calm n.o.ble-looking youth for ever at her side; why she prized the flowers he gathered, and loved the songs he loved; why the sound of his approaching steps sent the quick blood glowing to her pallid cheek, and lighted up those thoughtful dreamy eyes with a brilliancy which fell with the serene l.u.s.tre of moon or star-light upon the heart of her cousin--to him as holy and as pure.

She loved to talk of Juliet, for it brought Anthony nearer. She loved to praise her, for it called up a smile upon his melancholy face; the expression of his brow became less stern, and his glance met hers, full of grateful tenderness. She loved to see her own girlish face reflected in the dark depths of those beautiful eyes, nor knew that the mysterious fire they kindled in her breast was destined to consume her young heart, and make it the sepulchre of her new-born affections.

"It must be a blessed thing to be loved as you love Juliet, Anthony,"

she said, as they were sitting together beneath the shadow of the great oak which graced the centre of the lawn in front of the house. "Could you not share your heart with another?"

"Why, my little Clary, what would you do with half a heart?" said Anthony, smiling; for he always looked upon his fragile companion as a child. "Love is a selfish fellow, he claims the whole, concentrates all in himself, or scatters abroad."

"You are right, Anthony. I am sure if I had the half, I should soon covet the whole. It would be a dangerous possession, and stand between me and heaven. No, no, it would not be right to ask that which belongs to another; only it seems so natural to wish those to love us whom we love."

"I do love you, sweet Clary, and you must continue to love me; though it is an affection quite different from that which I feel for Juliet. You are the sister whom nature denied me--the dear friend whom I sought in vain amidst the world and its heartless scenes; my good angel, whose pure and holy influence subdues the evil pa.s.sions of my nature, and renders virtue more attractive. I love you, Clary. I feel a better and humbler creature in your presence; and when you are absent, your gentle admonitions stimulate me to further exertions."

"I am satisfied, dear Anthony," said Clary, lifting her inspired countenance, and gazing steadily upon him. "As yon heavens exceed in height and glory the earth beneath, so far, in my estimation, does the love you bear to me exceed that which you feel for Juliet. One is of the earth, and like the earth must perish; the other is light from heaven.

Evermore let me dwell in this light."

With an involuntary movement, Anthony pressed the small white hand he held in his own to his lips. Was there the leaven of earth in that kiss, that it brought the rosy glow into the cheek of Clary, and then paled it to death-like whiteness? "Clary," he said, "have you forgotten the promise you made me a few days ago?"

Clary looked up inquiringly.

"To show me Juliet's portfolio."

"Oh, yes, and there are some lines about love, that I will sing and play to you," said Clary, rising.

"Have you got the music?"

"It is all here," said the fair girl, placing her hand upon her breast.

"The heart is the fountain from which all my inspiration flows." And she bounded off to fetch her harp and the portfolio.

Anthony looked after her, but no regretful sigh rose to his lips. His heart was true to the first impression to which love had set his seal; its affections had been consecrated at another shrine, and he felt that his dear little cousin could never stand in a tenderer relation to him.

Clary returned quite in a flutter with the exertion she had used.

Anthony sprang forward to relieve her of the harp, and to place it in a convenient situation.

"Juliet had a great fear of being married for her money," said Clary. "I used to laugh at her, and tell her that no one who knew her would ever remember her money; the treasures of her mind so far surpa.s.sed the dross of the world. Yet, for all that, she wrote and gave me this ballad the next morning. I felt very much inclined to scold her for her want of faith."

"Do let me hear it."

"Patience, Mr. Anthony. You must give me time to tune my harp. Such a theme as love requires all the strings to sound in perfect unison. There now--let me think a few minutes. The air must be neither very sad, nor yet gay. Something touching and tender. I have it now--"

THE MAIDEN'S DREAM.

In all the guise that beauty wears, Well known by many a fabled token, Last night I saw young Love in tears, With stringless bow and arrows broken.

Oh, waving light in wanton flow, Fair, sunny locks his brows adorn, And on his cheeks the roseate glow With which Aurora decks the morn.

The living light in those blind eyes No mortal tongue could ere disclose; Their hue was stol'n from brighter skies, Their tears were dew-drops on the rose.

Around his limbs of heavenly mould A rainbow-tinted vest was flung, Revealing through each lucid fold The faultless form by poets sung.

He sighed; the air with fragrance breath'd; He moved; the earth confess'd the G.o.d; Her brightest chaplets nature wreath'd, Where'er his dimpled feet had press'd the sod.

"Why weeps Love's young divinity alone, While men have hearts, and woman charms beneath Tell me, fair worshipp'd boy of ages flown, Is ev'ry flowret faded in Love's wreath?"

With that he raised his dewy, azure eyes, And from his lips words of soft music broke; But still the truant tears would crowding rise, And snowy bosom heave before he spoke.

"Oh, come and weep with me," he cried, "fair maid Weep that the gentle reign of Love is o'er; Come, venture nearer--cease to be afraid, For I have hearts and worshippers no more.

"In vain I give to woman's lovely form All that can rapture on the heart bestow; The fairest form no dastard heart can warm While gold has greater power than Love below.

In vain I breathe a freshness on her cheek; In vain the Graces round her footsteps move, And eyes of melting beauty softly speak The soul-born, silent eloquence of Love.

"It was not thus," the urchin, sighing, said, "When hope and gladness crowned the new-born earth.

In Eden's bowers, beneath a myrtle's shade, Before man was, Love sprang to birth.

While Heaven around me balmy fragrance shed, With rosy chains the infant year I bound; And as my bride young Nature blushing led In vestal beauty o'er the verdant ground.

"The first fond sigh that young Love stole Was wafted o'er those fields of air, To kindle light in man's stern soul, And render Heaven's best work more fair.

Creation felt that tender sigh, And earth received Love's rapturous tears, Their beauty beamed in woman's eye, And music broke on human ears.

"Whether I moved upon the rolling seas, Or sank on Nature's flowery lap to rest, Or raised my light wings on the sportive breeze, The conscious earth with joy her G.o.d confess'd.

While Mirth and Gladness round my footsteps play'd, And bright-haired Hope led on the laughing Hours.

As man and beast in holy union stray'd To share the lucid streams and virgin flowers.

"Ah, useless then yon shafts and broken bow Till man abused the balm in mercy given; Whilst gold has greater charms than Love below, I flee from earth to find a home in heaven!"

A sudden glory round his figure spread, It rose upon the sun's departing beam; With the sad vision sleep together fled: Starting, I woke--and found it all a dream!

"When I try to compose music for love songs," said Clary, suddenly turning to Anthony, whom she found buried in profound thought, "I never succeed. If you understood this glorious science of music, and could make the harp echo the inborn melodies that float through the mind, you would not fail to give them the proper effect."

"Why do you think that I should be more fortunate than your sweet self, Clary?"

"Because you 'love one bright, particular star,' with your whole heart, Anthony. The heart has a language of its own. It speaks in music. There are few that can comprehend its exquisite tones; but those who are so gifted are the best qualified to call them forth. Love must have existed before Music. The first sigh he breathed gave birth to melodious sounds.

The first words he spake were song; so Juliet tells us, in this little poem, and surely she is inspired."

"What else have we here?" said Anthony, peeping into the portfolio and drawing out a sheet of paper. "Is this bold energetic-looking hand my beautiful Juliet's autograph?"

"You are disappointed, cousin Anthony. You expected to find an elegant flowing hand, as fair and graceful as the white fingers that held the pen. Now, be it known unto you, my wise cousin, that persons of genius, especially those who deal in rhymes, rarely write fine hands; their thoughts flow too rapidly to allow them the necessary time and care required to form perfect characters. Most boarding-school misses write neat and graceful hands, but few of such persons are able to compose a truly elegant sentence. The author thinks his ideas of more consequence than his autograph, which is but the mechanical process he employs to represent them on paper."