ntre 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?"

Clary looked up inquiringly.

"To show me Juliet's portfolio."

"Oh, yes, and there are some lines about love, that I will sing and play
to you," said Clary, rising.

"Have you got the music?"

"It is all here," said the fair girl, placing her hand upon her breast.
"The heart is the fountain from which all my inspiration flows." And she
bounded off to fetch her harp and the portfolio.

Anthony looked after her, but no regretful sigh rose to his lips. His
heart was true to the first impression to which love had set his seal;
its affections had been consecrated at another