“Poor Clara,” he sighed looking after her, “she feels this affliction most deeply. For myself I could endure it. Books, friends, and, above all, Clara’s dear society will make the time pass cheerfully. She will yet be resigned to it. How strong must be that love which shows itself by such profound and unextinguishable sorrow! Ah, mother! have you seen the Doctor?” “Yes, dear Leslie,” she answered with emotion. “And he has told you I shall be lame for life?” “Alas, my dear child, alas! may Heaven give you strength and patience to bear this affliction!” “It has, dear mother. I am perfectly resigned,” he answered calmly. “God bless you—God be blessed!” and the mother wept in gratitude upon her son’s neck. There was a few moments’ silence which the invalid at length broke. “I could bear this affliction, dearest mother, without a murmur if I stood alone. But, dear Clara! She weeps as if her heart was breaking. I fear it will be the death of her—she feels so much for me. I wish you could convince her that I care nothing about it if she will not.” Mrs. Pierpoint did not reply but shook her head gravely and sighed very heavily. “What means that sigh, mother?” asked Leslie with surprise and a misgiving of he knew not what. “Nothing, son. But I fear Clara’s tears are devoted rather to the shrine of her own vanity than shed upon the altar of her love.” “How mean you, mother?” demanded Leslie, with heightened color. “Clara Clayton, dear boy, loves herself more than she loves any body else. I have known Clara from a child. I should never have chosen her as your wife; but you loved her and there was no alternative but acquiescence. Though I approved not, I spoke not, knowing how vain a parent’s words are with children in affairs of the heart. Clara is proud that she has captivated the handsomest young man in the town whom all the young ladies were sighing for; but she loves you not, Leslie, as a true woman should love.” “My dear mother, how you wrong the angelic girl! Has she not watched over my sick bed like a sister, yea, like a beloved and loving wife? Has she not sympathized in all my afflictions? Did she not just now quit the chamber overcome by the intensity of her grief? You wrong her, dear mother, indeed you wrong her!” “I hope I do. Time will determine, my son.” “But why this suspicion? What has Clara done?” “Nothing. I judge from my knowledge of her character.” “Then you do not know her, and have built your judgment upon a false foundation. Clara is every thing I wish her to be. Send for her, mother; I would see her. I will convince you that you are in error respecting her. But should you be right, _I_ love _her_ and after we are married, as I mean to be in a few weeks, we shall live very happy together, and in time I shall teach her to love _me_ better than she loves _herself_.”