and his own loss of self-control had forced him
to _accept_ a challenge, and then recall that acceptance, and to offer
an insult to a stranger, for the express purpose of drawing out
another.

Upon the day after his refusal to fight with Allington, he had called
at Mr. Harland's, but was told that Clara had been taken suddenly
ill, and could not be seen. This was a new and deeper anxiety, added
to his already overburdened spirit; and he really had begun to be
deserted of hope, and to contemplate a speedy relief from the pains of
existence. Nothing but the confidence which he reposed upon Clara's
love, rendered the bright sunshine an endurable blessing to the sadly
distempered youth. But he could not see her. Day after day he called,
and always the same cold, formal reply--"Miss Harland was yet very
ill, but in no danger, and could not be spoken with." Could he but see
her for an instant--could he touch her hand, or meet her smile, or
drink in the sweet music of her voice, he would feel his heart nerved
against every disaster, and would wait in patience; but all, all
alone, amid lowering brows, or sneering faces, which ever glowered
like phantoms about him--whether in reality, as he walked the streets,
or in dreams, as he tossed upon his pillow--it was too much. His heart
seemed to be on fire.

It was in this frame of mind, with reason tortured to her utmost power
of endurance, and insanity peeping into that soul which might so soon
become her own, that Medwin, while walking up the Shell-Road, and
looking wistfully at the muddy canal, which swam away sluggishly on
one hand, while the green and stagnant swamp stretched interminably
upon the other, that he was startled by the rapid approach of a
carriage, and the sound of gay and noisy mirth. He looked up. The
brilliant equipage of Mrs. Harland was hurrying by, and he had barely
time to distinguish Clara, looking as fresh and blooming as a newly
flowered rose, and laughing and chatting in a lively and even
boisterous manner with--Mr. Allington!

She leaned over the carriage-side as they whirled along, and, for an
instant, her eyes met those of her bewildered lover.

CHAPTER III.

Alas! poor, silly Clara! How dared you thus rudely tamper with a soul
of such exquisite and refined fire, that it constantly trembled and
fluttered around its earthly shrine, like the flame of burning
essence, as if doubtful whether to blaze or go out forever! Oh!
shallow-hearted woman! w