ace of miserable men!"

How strangely we all spend our lives in the anxious labour of straining
out gnats, while we scarcely detect the moment when we swallow the
camel!

A long private conversation between Clarice's parents resulted the next
day in Sir Gilbert taking her in hand. His comprehension was even less
than her mother's, though it lay in a different direction.

"Well, Clarice, my dame tells me thou art not altogether well pleased
with thy wedding. What didst thou wish otherwise, lass?"

"The man," said Clarice, shortly enough.

"What, is not one man as good as another?" demanded her father.

"Not to me, Sir," said his daughter.

"I am afeared, Clarice, thou hast some romantic notions. They are all
very pretty to play with, but they don't do for this world, child. Thou
hast better shake them out of thine head, and be content with thy lot."

"It is a bad world, I know," replied Clarice. "But it is hard to be
content, when life has been emptied and spoiled for one."

"Folly, child, folly!" said Sir Gilbert. "Thou mayest have as many silk
gowns now as thou couldst have had with any other knight; and I dare be
bound Sir Vivian should give thee a gold chain if thou wert pining for
it. Should that content thee?"

"No, Sir."

Sir Gilbert was puzzled. A woman whose perfect happiness could not be
secured by a gold chain was an enigma to him.

"Then what would content thee?" he asked.

"What I can never have now," answered Clarice. "It may be, as time goes
on, that God will make me content without it--content with His will, and
no more. But I doubt if even He could do that just yet. The wisest
physician living cannot heal a wound in a minute. It must have its
time."

Sir Gilbert tried to puzzle his way through this speech.

"Well, child, I do not see what I can do for thee."

"I thank you for wishing it, fair Sir. No, you can do nothing. No one
can do anything for me, except let me alone, and pray to God to heal the
wound."

"Well, lass, I can do that," said her father, brightening. "I will say
the rosary all over for thee once in the week, and give a candle to our
Lady. Will that do thee a bit of good, eh?"

Clarice had an instinctive feeling, that while the rosary and the candle
might be a doubtful good, the rough tenderness of her father was a
positive one. Little as Sir Gilbert could enter into her ideas, his
affection was truer and more unselfish than that of her mother. Neith