water, but so deep were his slumbers, so blessed was the perfect
cessation from mental misery, that he continued to sleep until the sun
disappeared behind the oak hills, and then, with a deep sigh, he once
more awoke to a painful consciousness of his situation.

Clary dropped the hand she held, and started from the sofa, over which
she had been leaning, the vivid flush burning upon her cheek, and sprang
away to order up tea. Anthony rose, marvelling at his long sleep, and
went to his chamber to make his toilet; when he returned to the parlor,
he found Clary waiting for him.

"My kind little cousin," he said, taking her hand, "you have been
ill--are you better?"

"I am quite well, and should be quite happy, dear Anthony, if I could
see you looking so. But you are ill and low-spirited; I read it all in
your dim eye and dejected looks. Come, sit down, and take a cup of tea.
You have eaten nothing all day. Here is a nice fowl, delicately cooked,
which Ruth prepared for your especial benefit. Do let me see you take
something."

"I cannot eat," said Anthony, pushing the plate from him, and eagerly
swallowing the cup of refreshing tea that Clary presented. "I am ill,
Clary, but mine is a disease of the mind. I am, indeed, far from happy;
I wish I could tell you all the deep sorrow that lies so death-like at
my heart."

"And why do you make it worse by concealment?" said Clary, rising and
going round to the side of the table on which he was leaning; "you need
not fear to trust me, Anthony; there is no one I love on earth so well,