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 noble-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 lustre 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 passions 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?”