ll dear
cousin Godfrey, and overcome by these sad reflections, as the glad sun
broke over the hills, bringing life and joy to the earth, he sunk into a
deep, dreamless sleep, from which he did not awaken until the broad
shadows of evening were deepening into night.

When old Ruth dusted out the parlor, she was surprised to find him
asleep upon the sofa. He looked so pale and ill, that she flung Miss
Clary's large cloak over him, and went up stairs to inform her mistress
of such an unusual occurrence.

All day Clary had sat beside him, holding, almost unconsciously, his
burning hand in hers. Often she bathed his temples with sal-volatile and
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,
except dear Frederic. Will you not let your little cousin share your
grief?"

"My sweet child," said Anthony, winding his arm around her slender
waist, and leaning his head on her shoulder, "you could render me no
assistance; the knowledge of my sorrow wo