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"Oh! do not say that:" said Gwenthlean. "We are all happy again now, and rejoice with you. Besides I shall be so glad to visit you at Hastings Abbey, and to make myself useful and agreeable as your spinster sister. Good-natured old maid sisters, are always welcome guests.”

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"Do not talk of spinster-sisters, dearest," exclaimed Clare, as she gazed with fond admiration on Gwenthlean; "but just sing me this song which I found in Tasso. Nay, I will have it and no hour can be so fitting for it as this. You see the moon is just rising, whilst the sun is going to bed, so you must lay aside your work, and let me hear how these pretty words suit the air for which they are written."

Clare gave Gwenthlean a copy of verses which were addressed to her, and set to the music of an old Welsh air. They had been written by Herbert before he went abroad.

Gwenthlean blushed, and declared she could not sing them.

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Only one verse," entreated Clare. "The words are so applicable to you, and I promise not to ask who wrote them."

Gwenthlean sighed, but taking the paper, sang, in a low voice, the following song, without an accompaniment.

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The bright stars glitter far and wide,
The moon lights up the sea;
Then come, and down the flowing tide,
Gwenthlean, row with me.

How calm the night-how still the wave

How lightly falls the oar;

No echo comes from rock or cave,

No sound from hill or shore.

The sea-gull's wild and plaintive cry
Is hushed in silence deep;

The breezes that are lingering nigh,
Have sunk awhile to sleep.

The rocks are bathed in mellow light,
The mountains gleam afar ;

No cloud obscures the moon to-night,
No shadow dims a star.

And thou art silent, too, my love,

Or whisperest quietly :

As if afraid thy voice might move
The anger of the sea.

But thy soft eyes, so gently kind,
Are like yon glowing sphere,
And speak as surely to the mind,
As language to the ear.

Beneath their cloudless light I see
A heaven of peace and love,
Where all is truth and purity,
As in yon heaven above.

When Gwenthlean came to the end of

the fourth verse, she paused, and Clare urged her to continue. At the last verse she paused again, thinking she heard a footstep in the Verandah; but again Clare insisted upon her completing the song. She did so, and although her voice occasionly trembled, when she thought of the period at which the words were written, she sang it with her usual sweetness and pathos. Again she fancied she heard a footstep, and the rustling of the myrtle leaves near the window.

"I wish Herbert could have heard you sing that song," said Clare;

you when you were singing it.

"and seen

How blind and dull he is. I wish I were a man to

throw myself at your feet, and declare myself yours for ever.”

Gwenthlean smiled as she said

"Herbert would not care to hear it sung now ;" and almost whilst she spoke, Herbert entered the room.

He might or might not have been listening; but, at all events, he appeared

His

agitated. When the common salutations were over, he sat down, and Clare observed that his eyes were fixed upon Gwenthlean, as she bent, even more earnestly than before, over her frame, forgetful of the pearl ornament she wore. manners were altered. Hitherto he had been perfectly calm, though rather constrained in Gwenthlean's presence; now he seemed scarcely able to speak. Clare had the conversation to herself, and perceiving the embarrassment of her companions, talked incessantly, as she afterwards said, out of pure compassion. She displayed her new treasures to Herbert, and even ventured to ask whether he did not think Gwenthlean looked better in the pearl coronet than she should look; but the painfully deep blush that overspread Gwenthlean's face, when she felt that Herbert's eyes were fixed on her, made her change the subject.

She then proposed an evening's row upon the "moonlit deep," which, she said,

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