istants. He counted the hours in an agony,
less by the watch than by the visits which Mrs. Dods, faithful to her
promise, made from interval to interval, to tell him that Clara was not
better--that she was worse--and, at last, that she did not think she
could live over morning. It required all the deprecatory influence of
the good landlady to restrain Tyrrel, who, calm and cold on common
occasions, was proportionally fierce and impetuous when his passions
were afloat, from bursting into the room, and ascertaining, with his own
eyes, the state of the beloved patient. At length there was a long
interval--an interval of hours--so long, indeed, that Tyrrel caught from
it the flattering hope that Clara slept, and that sleep might bring
refreshment both to mind and body. Mrs. Dods, he concluded, was
prevented from moving, for fear of disturbing her patient's slumber;
and, as if actuated by the same feeling which he imputed to her, he
ceased to traverse his apartment, as his agitation had hitherto
dictated, and throwing himself into a chair, forbore to move even a
finger, and withheld his respiration as much as possible, just as if he
had been seated by the pillow of the patient. Morning was far advanced,
when his landlady appeared in his room with a grave and anxious
countenance.

"Mr. Tyrrel," she said, "ye are a Christian man."

"Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake!" he replied; "you will disturb Miss
Mowbray."

"Naething will disturb her, puir thing," answered Mrs. Dods; "they have
muckle to answer for that brought her to this!"

"They have--they have indeed," said Tyrrel, striking his forehead; "and
I will see her avenged on every one of them!--Can I see her?"

"Better not--better not," said the good woman; but he burst from her,
and rushed into the apartment.

"Is life gone?--Is every spark extinct?" he exclaimed eagerly to a
country surgeon, a sensible man, who had been summoned from Marchthorn
in the course of the night. The medical man shook his head--Tyrrel
rushed to the bedside, and was convinced by his own eyes that the being
whose sorrows he had both caused and shared, was now insensible to all
earthly calamity. He raised almost a shriek of despair, as he threw
himself on the pale hand of the corpse, wet it with tears, devoured it
with kisses, and played for a short time the part of a distracted
person. At length, on the repeated expostulation of all present, he
suffered himself to be again conducted to another a