lips the cup which contained as much happiness as
this world could afford: nor has the penalty fallen on you alone--the
innocent, who had no share in the crime, are partakers in the
punishment; we are all as miserable as yourself. But God's will be
done," continued she, as she kissed my aching forehead, and her tears
fell on my face.

How heavenly is the love of a sister towards a brother! Clara was now
everything to me. Having said thus much to me on the subject of my
fault (and it must be confessed that she had not been niggardly in the
article of words), she never named the subject again, but sought by
every means in her power to amuse and to comfort me. She listened
to my exculpation; she admitted that our meeting at Bordeaux was as
unpremeditated as it was unfortunate; she condemned the imprudence of
our travelling together, and still more the choice of a residence for
Eugenia and her son.

Clara's affectionate attention and kind efforts were unavailing. I
told her so, and that all hopes of happiness for me in this world were
gone for ever.

"My dear, dear brother," said the affectionate girl, "answer me one
question. Did you ever pray?"

My answer will pretty well explain to the reader the sort of religion
mine was:--

"Why, Clara," said I, "to tell you the truth, though I may not exactly
pray, as you call it, yet words are nothing. I feel grateful to the
Almighty for his favours when he bestows them on me; and I believe a
grateful heart is all he requires."

"Then, brother, how do you feel when he afflicts you?"

"That I have nothing to thank him for," answered I.

"Then, my dear Frank, that is not religion."

"May be so," said I; "but I am in no humour to feel otherwise, at
present, so pray drop the subject."

She burst into tears. "This," said she, "is worse than all. Shall
we receive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive
evil?"

But seeing that I was in that sullen and untameable state of mind, she
did not venture to renew the subject.

As soon as I was able to quit my room, I had a long conversation with
my father, who, though deeply concerned for my happiness, said he was
quite certain that any attempt at reconciliation would be useless. He
therefore proposed two plans, and I might adopt whichever was the most
likely to divert my mind from my heavy affliction. The first was, to
ask his friends at the Admiralty to give me the command of a sloop
of war; the second, that I s