“I am very tired,” said Clare. “I don’t know why I should be so stupid to-night. Here are some papers which I found in the bureau--in the library. I have not opened them as you will see. I read one sentence through a tear in the envelope---- and I thought--it appeared to me---- I imagined--that you ought to see them. I think I shall go to bed now. Perhaps you will take them and--examine them--when you feel disposed. I am so stupid to-night.” “Surely I will examine them--or anything else you like me to do,” said Edgar. “My sister ought to know I would do anything to please her. Must it be done to-night? for do you know I am unhappy to see you look so strangely at me--and a little tired too.” “Oh, not to-night, unless you wish--when you think proper. They have never been out of my hands,” said Clare, with growing seriousness. “I should like you, please, till you look at them, to keep them very safe.” “Certainly,” he said, with the promptest goodwill, and put the parcel into his breast pocket, which was scarcely large enough to contain it, and bulged out. “It does not look very graceful, does it?” he said with a smile as he lighted her candle for her, and then looked wistfully into her eyes. “I hope you will be better, dear, to-morrow,” he said tenderly. “I am so sorry to have annoyed you to-night.” “Not annoyed me,” Clare said, choking, and made a few steps across the threshold. Then she came back quickly, almost running to him, where he stood holding the door in his hand looking wistfully after her. “Oh Edgar, forgive me. I can’t help it!” she moaned; and held up a pale cheek to him, and turned and fled.