It was then that, observing his closer approach, Miss Mowbray called out with great eagerness,--"No nearer--no nearer!--So long have I endured your presence, but if you approach me more closely, I shall be mad indeed!" "What do you fear ?" said Tyrrel, in a hollow voice--"What can you fear ?" and he continued to draw nearer, until they were within a pace of each other.
Clara, meanwhile, dropping her bridle, clasped her hands together, and held them up towards Heaven, muttering, in a voice scarcely audible, "Great God!--If this apparition be formed by my heated fancy, let it pass away; if it be real, enable me to bear its presence!--Tell me, I conjure you, are you Francis Tyrrel in blood and body, or is this but one of those wandering visions, that have crossed my path and glared on me, but without daring to abide my steadfast glance ?" "I am Francis Tyrrel," answered he, "in blood and body, as much as she to whom I speak is Clara Mowbray." "Then God have mercy on us both!" said Clara, in a tone of deep feeling.
"Amen!" said Tyrrel.--"But what avails this excess of agitation ?--You saw me but now, Miss Mowbray--Your voice still rings in my ears--You saw me but now--you spoke to me--and that when I was among strangers--Why not preserve your composure, when we are where no human eye can see--no human ear can hear ?" "Is it so ?" said Clara; "and was it indeed yourself whom I saw even now ?--I thought so, and something I said at the time--but my brain has been but ill settled since we last met--But I am well now--quite well--I have invited all the people yonder to come to Shaws-Castle--my brother desired me to do it--I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr.
Tyrrel there--though I think there is some old grudge between my brother and you." "Alas! Clara, you mistake.

Your brother I have scarcely seen," replied Tyrrel, much distressed, and apparently uncertain in what tone to address her, which might soothe, and not irritate her mental malady, of which he could now entertain no doubt.
"True--true," she said, after a moment's reflection, "my brother was then at college.

It was my father, my poor father, whom you had some quarrel with .-- But you will come to Shaws-Castle on Thursday, at two o'clock ?--John will be glad to see you--he can be kind when he pleases--and then we will talk of old times--I must get on, to have things ready--Good evening." She would have passed him, but he took gently hold of the rein of her bridle.--"I will walk with you, Clara," he said; "the road is rough and dangerous--you ought not to ride fast .-- I will walk along with you, and we will talk of former times now, more conveniently than in company." "True--true--very true, Mr.Tyrrel--it shall be as you say.

My brother obliges me sometimes to go into company at that hateful place down yonder; and I do so because he likes it, and because the folks let me have my own way, and come and go as I list.

Do you know, Tyrrel, that very often when I am there, and John has his eye on me, I can carry it on as gaily as if you and I had never met ?" "I would to God we never had," said Tyrrel, in a trembling voice, "since this is to be the end of all!" "And wherefore should not sorrow be the end of sin and of folly?
And when did happiness come of disobedience ?--And when did sound sleep visit a bloody pillow?
That is what I say to myself, Tyrrel, and that is what you must learn to say too, and then you will bear your burden as cheerfully as I endure mine.