Dame Worthington, for reasons to be hereafter made known—and good ones, too—was crazed with care, and scarcely left him for one moment, either by night or day, but carefully watched his bedside with more than maternal care. Mistress Haylark, the fair Clara’s mother, also was loud in her advice, and concocted various little palatable dishes and drinks, which Clara, in her curls, and with a serio-comic voice and gesture, administered to the patient with great grace of manner and captivating attitude. She would read to him, and tell him stories, Dame Worthington always being present, sitting in her chair at a distance, in the shadows of the room, rocking herself in thought, and gazing with a look of care and anxiety upon her “poor, sick boy,” and when Charles was able to move about again, Clara would invariably go to the harp and play a few soft, plaintive airs, which soothed her patient, and won his affection more deeply than the index of his eyes had ever before betrayed to the gay and light-hearted Clara. At the close of an afternoon spent in this manner, and his courage being greatly stimulated by a glass of brandy prescribed by the doctor, Charley said, “Oblige me, Clara, by singing that beautiful air again.” His accents seemed so earnest that, as Clara complied, her voice and fingers trembled with unusual excitement. At the close of the piece, no one being nigh, Charles approached her, and without a gesture of warning, kissed her! She rose as if shot, looked at him inquiringly for a moment, burst into tears, and left the room! No one could imagine why Clara absented herself from the parlour for several days following, and not even her mother—although, from the soft and mysterious conversations held by Mistress Haylark and Dame Worthington upon the landings, and in the passages, on several occasions, it was apparent that womanly sagacity had intuitively suggested the real facts to their minds, although they only smiled and nodded and winked in that peculiar manner known to mothers and very elderly persons. Sir Richard Warbeck, it may be taken for granted, was not remiss in visiting his protegé, but evinced the greatest anxiety for his health and speedy recovery. His visits were daily, and he always brought some trifle which might be grateful to a sick palate; but Mistress Haylark—that aged thermometer of passing events—always noticed that Dame Worthington always was in unusual spirits upon his coming, but suddenly depressed whenever he departed. There was “something mysterious” between them, Mistress Haylark thought, but what it was it seemed impossible to divine. As Clara seemed to be constantly in high spirits, and delighted always in company with the good-looking Charley, Mistress Haylark began to assume airs of great matronly dignity, and, if the truth must be told, confessed that she began to feel older and older every day, and that “her sole thought was concerning the future happiness of her darling beautiful daughter.”