--and the whispering,
too, what is all that?--and why are they all so sad?--Clara has been
weeping.

"God bless you, my child--good by," said my aunt, as she folded her in
her arms for the third time.

"Good by, good by," I heard on every side. At length, approaching me,
Clara took my hand and said--

"My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I am going to Italy."

"To Italy, Clara? Oh! no--say no. Italy! I shall never see you again."

"Won't you wear this ring for me, Harry? It is an old favourite of
yours--and when we meet again"--

"Oh! dearest Clara," I said, "do not speak thus."

"Good by, my poor boy, good by," said Clara hurriedly; and, rushing
out of the room, she was lifted by Mortimer into the carriage, who,
immediately jumping in after her, the whip cracked, the horses clattered,
and all was out of sight in a second.

"Why is she gone with him?" said I, reproachfully, turning towards my
aunt.

"Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She was married this morning."

This was my first love.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

WISE RESOLVES.

Musing over this boyish adventure, I fell into a deep slumber, and on
awakening it took me some minutes before I could recall my senses
sufficiently to know where I was. The whole face of things in my room
was completely changed. Flowers had been put in the china vases upon the
tables--two handsome lamps, shaded with gauzes, stood upon the consoles
--illustrated books, prints, and caricatures, were scattered about. A
piano-forte had also, by some witchcraft, insinuated itself into a recess
near the sofa--a handsome little tea service, of old Dresden china,
graced a marquetry table--and a little picquet table stood most
invitingly beside the fire. I had scarcely time to turn my eyes from one
to the other of these new occupants, when I heard the handle of my door
gently turn, as if by some cautious hand, and immediately closed my eyes
and feigned sleep. Through my half-shut lids I perceived the door
opened. After a pause of about a second, the skirt of a white muslin
dress appeared--then a pretty foot stole a little farther--and at last
the slight and graceful figure of Emily Bingham advanced noiselessly into
the room. Fear had rendered her deadly pale; but the effect of her rich
brown hair, braided plainly on either side of her cheek, suited so well
the character of her features, I thought her far handsomer than ever.
She came forward towards the table, and