hat a wide and glorious world of bright hopes
and angel aspirations--of beautiful thoughts and unutterable
dreamings--in all of which thou wert a part--hast thou crushed even as
the foolish child grinds the gay butterfly to powder between his
fingers. And art thou, indeed, so heartless a _coward_, that, because
men's tongues have dared to wag against the beloved of thy soul, thou
durst not own him thenceforth, and hast cast him off forever! Murmur
not, oh, woman! that thou art made the sport and plaything for rakes
and libertines to beguile a weary hour withal. Search thine own heart;
and, in that deep and dark recess, where lurk the demons of thy
destiny--pride, vanity, frowardness--behold reflected the blackness
and the _justice_ of thy fate! Who setteth his whole soul upon a
flower, and findeth its fragrance at last to be a deadly poison, if
he escape from its contact, placeth no more flowers in his bosom. In
vain they woo him with their beauteous eyes and breath of perfume. He
heeds them not, or, at best, plucks them disdainfully, to gaze upon in
listless indifference for a moment, and then cast them behind him, to
be crushed beneath the stranger's heel.

Clara's heart smote her to the quick as she caught that wild glance of
her lover, and saw the haggard ghost that looked out from those hollow
eyes. She screamed slightly, and sunk back in the carriage as pale as
marble. Allington and her mother exchanged glances, and were silent,
while the young man made a motion, as if he would support her in his
arms, and the carriage was turned homeward, and the horses urged to
their utmost speed. Clara made no resistance to the attentions of
Allington, and it was doubtful whether she was conscious--so pale, and
cold, and pulseless were her beautiful cheeks and temples; but a
tremulous quivering of the upper lip told of a storm that raged
within.

By the time she arrived at home Clara had recovered herself
completely, and, pushing aside the arm of Allington, almost rudely,
she sprang upon the _banquette_ and into the house; and, turning upon
him a look of lively indignation, darted up stairs to her chamber.
Here she was quickly rejoined by her mother, whose obtuse apprehension
had at length discovered that something was wrong, and who now came to
offer her maternal consolations.

"Mother!" exclaimed Clara, the moment she entered the room, "I am a
wretch. It was I who compelled Medwin to promise me, upon his honor as
a man, t