THE MATRIMONIAL PROSPECTS OF MISS CLARA.
The sudden and unexpected return of Charles from prison, and the
unmistakable tokens of affection he had shown to Miss Clara since his
abrupt appearance in the parlour, and the unceremonious departure
of Augustus Fumbleton, Esq., had so weighed upon the tender and
susceptible feelings of that young lady, that she was somewhat
bewildered and in a maze of delightful torment.
She could scarcely be said to be of sound mind, for her imagination
was uncontrollable, and she gave herself away wildly to day dreams.
She was deeply in love but would not confess it, yet, as Charles
had never declared his passion, she began to doubt if his apparent
fondness was genuine, and whether it might not dwindle away into mere
flirtation.
She paid particular attention to her toilet, and resorted to every
means in her power to dispel the sorrow, care, and anxiety which of
late had possessed him, and made his face so pale, careworn, and sad.
She played and sang more charmingly than ever, and always selected
the most lively airs.
Yet all her gaiety seemed to have no power over him.
She began to imagine that Miss Josephine Smith next door, or
some unknown lady, had snatched him from her, and that both Dame
Worthington and Sir Richard Warbeck were fully cognizant of the fact.
The result of all her imaginings tended to make Clara languid in
manner and much depressed in spirit.
She began to look upon the good old dame with distrust, and seldom
spoke to any one.
Her appearance in the parlour was seldom.
She had no taste or inclination for gay society, and sought
retirement.
Mistress Haylark had watched every movement of her daughter, and
began to imagine that her many lectures regarding discountenancing
Charley Warbeck’s addresses were beginning to have their anticipated
effect.
She congratulated herself that no child of hers would be foolish
enough to look so lowly as to encourage a person of suspected
character.
She often said she would not have stayed a day in Dame Worthington’s
house, if public opinion had not considered there were many
extenuating circumstances in Charley’s guilt.
The true cause of Charley’s altered manner could easily be explained.
He was looked upon as a dangerous person, and one that should not be
trusted.
Former friends and acquaintances passed him in the streets without
the slightest indication of recognition.
He had applied for business engagements in various places.
But his name was more than enough to thwart his prospects.
When he informed gentlemen that his last occupation had been as clerk
in the India House they put him off with specious promises, but never
employed him.
He sometimes felt upon the verge of distraction, and more than once
meditated self-destruction.
But some good angel stood by his side in the moment of temptation and
bade him hope.
As often as he saw “little curly-head,” as he called Clara, flitting
through the house, his heart smote him, and he gazed upon her averted
face with fondness and sadness.
And then the angel by his side whispered hope more loudly than ever.
“I could not think of dragging her into my disgrace,” thought
Charley, sentimentally; “it is enough that my name is stained without
causing her a life of live-long distrust, poverty and reproach.
“No, I will not address her. I love her, but she can never be my
wife.”
Mr. Charley Warbeck’s high-toned ideas of life-long self-sacrifice
were very commendable and heroic.
But changes came o’er the spirit of his dream.
“What makes her maintain such provoking privacy, I wonder?” thought
he.
“How altered she is of late; how sad-looking and pale! I wonder if
Fumbleton has anything to do with it?
“He’s a nice-looking fellow enough, well-to-do, and all that; but I
wish he was at the bottom of the sea, and out of the way.
“I hate that fellow.
“I saw him a few evenings since; if I meet him again I’ll have a
little private chat with him, and _sound_ him!
“I shouldn’t wonder, though, if he _is_ after her.
“I see her go out frequently in the afternoon for a walk; I would lay
a wager that she meets him!”
This latter thought stung Charley to the quick, and he sighed very
deeply.
As he entered the parlour one bright afternoon, he discovered Clara
sitting in the shadows of the window-curtains.
She held something in her hand, and kissed it!
The heart of Charley Warbeck beat very quickly.
She was apparently absorbed in thought, and knew nothing of his
presence in the apartment.
He noiselessly approached nearer to her, and observed that she had a
note in her lap, and frequently glanced at it.
There was no longer room for doubt, he imagined.
His worst suspicions were realized.
“She loves another,” was his conclusion; and he involuntarily sighed
aloud.
This awoke Miss Clara from her reverie.
She placed the note and likeness in her bosom, and rose to depart.
Her manner was cold, and tinged with sadness.
As she passed him, she slightly bowed, never raised her eyes, and
moved towards the door with a dignified and graceful step.
Charley never felt so sick at heart in his life before, and thought
that Clara looked more blooming than ever.
In truth Miss Clara certainly _did_ look captivating on this
particular afternoon.
She was a brunette, of medium height, and symmetrically developed;
her curls waved about her shoulders with every gust of air.
Her dress was of light blue, somewhat low-necked, and over her bust
she wore beautiful lace, with sleeves of the same material.
Charley had not intended to speak to her.
But, as she was about to leave the room, he mustered all his
firmness, and calmly said—
“Miss Clara, I——”
She turned her face, now slightly flushed, and said—
“Sir?” very coldly.
He placed a chair for her in the deepest shadows of the room, and
said—
“Miss Haylark, you will really excuse me being so rude, but your
looks are so sad of late, and your manners so altered towards me,
that I am perplexed and concerned to know the cause.
“You, Clara, who were my only friend in hours of adversity, surely
you will not follow the example of the world, and look upon me with
contempt or disdain?
“I am unworthy to address you, it is true, but do—I beg of you to
explain what I have done to destroy that friendship which has so long
existed between us?
“Tell me why you avert your face, and why your eyes are filled with
tears?”
Charley could say no more.
His heart was full.
“Forgive me, Clara, if I have offended you,” were the only words he
uttered.
And as he stood beside her chair, and saw her weeping, without making
any reply, he felt like a child, and could have almost wept himself.
For some time the lovers maintained silence, broken only by a
suppressed sob from Clara.
At last Charley took her hand, and with much gallantry, kissing it,
said,
“Were I a prince I could not rejoice in anything more precious than
your friendship, Clara.
“If I had a throne I would ask you to share it.
“I would ask you to smile upon me, and bestow your hand upon me, for
Heaven only knows how much I love you, Clara, and Heaven only is the
witness of its sincerity.
“I cannot look up to you with confidence, although I love you heart
and soul.
“You are too good, too holy, for one like me to aspire to.
“Yet believe me when I utter these true and honest words, that,
disowned as I am by a cold, cold world, and looked upon with
suspicion, my soul is as free from guilt as it ever was in the sight
of God, and the only tie that keeps me in the world, the only regret
I should have in quitting it, is the contemplation of one I adore
with all the power of my mind and soul.”
Charles kissed her hand again and rose to depart.
“Stay,” said Clara, speaking for the first time, slowly, and almost
in a whisper; “However unintelligible your character is, or may have
been, to others, Mr. Warbeck, I have always looked upon you as a
friend, and confess it openly everywhere, Charles.
“Were the world to be ten times as cold as it is towards you, I
should never, never change, believe me.”
This little outburst of honest feeling was too much for Clara’s
feelings.
She endeavoured to conceal her tears, but they coursed down her
cheeks thick and fast until her breast heaved with emotion, and she
audibly sobbed.
She rose in a hasty manner to leave the room.
Charley was fired with love, and caught her to his heart.
And she leaned her little head upon his shoulder confidingly, nor did
she struggle or resist the many kisses he rapturously bestowed upon
her, but sat on the sofa by his side.
And in a long conversation, carried on in whispers, the only two
words which Dame Worthington slyly overheard were,
“_Will_ you, Clara?”
“Yes, Charles.”
GIVEN AWAY!!
SCENES,
SHEETS OF CHARACTERS,
AND A
LARGE STAGE FRONT FOR A NEW PLAY,
CALLED
“ALONE IN THE PIRATES’ LAIR.”
_READ THE “BOYS OF ENGLAND,”_
AND
SECURE THE ABOVE MAGNIFICENT GIFTS.
ONE PENNY WEEKLY.
[Illustration: THE REPRIEVE.]