ver. Not the agitation of exercise--not that
which arose from the pain and confusion of this unexpected interview,
had called to poor Clara's cheek even the momentary semblance of colour.
Her complexion was marble-white, like that of the finest piece of
statuary.

"Is it possible?" said Tyrrel; "can grief have made such ravages?"

"Grief," replied Clara, "is the sickness of the mind, and its sister is
the sickness of the body--they are twin-sisters, Tyrrel, and are seldom
long separate. Sometimes the body's disease comes first, and dims our
eyes and palsies our hands, before the fire of our mind and of our
intellect is quenched. But mark me--soon after comes her cruel sister
with her urn, and sprinkles cold dew on our hopes and on our loves, our
memory, our recollections, and our feelings, and shows us that they
cannot survive the decay of our bodily powers."

"Alas!" said Tyrrel, "is it come to this?"

"To this," she replied, speaking from the rapid and irregular train of
her own ideas, rather than comprehending the purport of his sorrowful
exclamation,--"to this it must ever come, while immortal souls are
wedded to the perishable substance of which our bodies are composed.
There is another state, Tyrrel, in which it will be otherwise--God grant
our time of enjoying it were come!"

She fell into a melancholy pause, which Tyrrel was afraid to disturb.
The quickness with which she spoke, marked but too plainly the irregular
succession of thought, and he was obliged to restrain the agony of his
own feelings, rendered more acute by a thousand painful recollections,
lest, by giving way to his expressions of grief, he should throw her
into a still more disturbed state of mind.

"I did not think," she proceeded, "that after so horrible a separation,
and so many years, I could have met you thus calmly and reasonably. But
although what we were formerly to each other can never be forgotten, it
is now all over, and we are only friends--Is it not so?"

Tyrrel was unable to reply.

"But I must not remain here," she said, "till the evening grows darker
on me.--We shall meet again, Tyrrel--meet as friends--nothing more--You
will come up to Shaws-Castle and see me?--no need of secrecy now--my
poor father is in his grave, and his prejudices sleep with him--my
brother John is kind, though he is stern and severe sometimes--Indeed,
Tyrrel, I believe he loves me, though he has taught me to tremble at his
frown when I am in spirits