“I do not love the world, nor the world’s ways, Frederic,” said his sister, gravely.  “It contains but one happy spot, my own dear tranquil home, and I love it so well, that I never wish to leave it.”

“But you must not expect to live at home for ever, Clary,” said her brother, as he took his place at the tea-table.  “Suppose I was to take it into my head to marry, what would you do then?  Perhaps you would not love my wife so well as you do me.”

“It is time to prepare for that when she comes,” said Clary.  “I think I shall live along with you, dear Fred, as long as I require an earthly home.”

Something like a sad smile passed over the pensive face of the fair child, for a child she still was, in stature and simplicity.

“And so you shall, my darling.  I have no idea of bringing home a new mistress to Millbank; and long may you live to enjoy your birds, and lambs, and dogs, and cats, and all the numerous pets that you have taken upon yourself to adopt and cherish.”

“Ah!  Fred, that reminds me of a pair of lovely Barbary doves I got to-day from some unknown friend.  They came from London by the coach, in a pretty green cage, with no note or message; but simply directed to ‘Miss Wildegrave.’  I must bring them to show you; they are such loves.”

Away ran Clary to fetch her new pets.  Frederic looked after her, and laughed.  “I sent for the doves, Anthony, as a little surprise.  How delighted she is.  She is a fragile creature, Cousin Hurdlestone; and I much fear that she will not require my care long.  My mother died in giving her birth; and, since the death of my sister Lucy, who was a mother to Clary, the child has drooped sadly.  She was always consumptive, and during the last two months I can perceive a great change in her for the worse.”

“I do not wonder at your anxiety.  Oh, that I had such a sister to love!”

“Love! she was made to love.  So gentle, affectionate, and confiding.  It would break my heart to lose her.”

“You must not anticipate evil.  And, after all, Cousin Wildegrave, is death such a dreadful evil to a fair young creature, too good and amiable to struggle with the ills of life?  If I were in her place, I think I could exclaim, ‘that it was a good and blessed thing to die!’”

“You are right,” whispered the sweet low voice of Clarissa Wildegrave.  “Death is our best friend.  I see, Mr. Hurdlestone, that you and I are related—­that we shall love each other, for we think alike.”

This would have been a strange speech, could it have been taken in any other sense than the one in which it was meant; and Anthony, as he took the dove, the emblem of purity, from the fair hand of Clary, thought that a beautiful harmony existed between the bird and its mistress.

“I am sure we shall love each other, Miss Wildegrave.  Will you accept me as a second brother?”

“I don’t want two brothers, Mr. Hurdlestone.  I love Frederic so well that I never mean him to have a rival.  No; you shall remain my cousin.  Cousins often love as well as sisters and brothers.”