How sweetly can the closed eye, by its own internal light, call up bright scenes which time and space have put far from us! and as sweetly in night’s silence and its wakeful repose rings in our ear again the voice of the absent and the beloved. When Clara read to Markham, there was a tremulousness in her voice, and there was a tear in her eye; the tear was hardly visible, and not large enough to fall; but she felt it there, and her tremulousness increased. Scenes of this nature frequently occurred, and they produced their very natural effect. Clara felt herself very happy in Markham’s company, always asked his opinion on matters of taste and literature, was continually finding out new poetical beauties in Markham’s favorite authors, and perpetually discovering some philological difficulties in the English language, of which no one but Markham could give her a solution. It was not till she knew him that her mind was powerfully impressed with the absolute necessity of learning with very strict and minute attention the niceties of the English language. There was another circumstance which contributed to increase Clara’s partiality to Horatio Markham; namely, his affectionate attention to his parents, and his respectful deference to their wishes. This she had no opportunity of observing, but she had heard Mr. John Martindale speak of it in highly complimentary terms. She was very well pleased to hear Markham praised. She did not say to herself that she was not in love, nor indeed did she know or suspect that she was. But she was very much pleased with Horatio Markham, and never spoke of him to any one, though she listened with great pleasure to any one who spoke of him favorably. This was certainly symptomatic, but the young woman was not aware of the nature of the symptoms, or of what they portended. When she learned the vocabulary, she did not find that admiration meant love; she did not find that gratitude meant love; she did not find that habit meant love; she did not find that approbation meant love; but in process of time she began to suspect that all these put together produced a feeling very much like love. CHAPTER XVIII. “If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.” SHAKSPEARE.