MARK HURDLESTONE:

OR, THE TWO BROTHERS. 

BY MRS. MOODIE, (_Sister of Agnes Strickland. _)

AUTHOR OF "ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH, " "ENTHUSIASM, " ETC

 The fire burns low, these winter nights are cold; I'd fain to bed, and take my usual rest, But duty cries, "There's work for thee to do; Stir up the embers, fetch another log, To cheer the empty hearth. This is the hour When fancy calls to life her busy train, And thou must note the vision ere it flies. "

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COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 

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THIRD EDITION. 

NEW YORK:

DE WITT & DAVENPORT, PUBLISHERS, 162 NASSAU STREET. 

MARK HURDLESTONE;

OR, THE TWO BROTHERS. 

CHAPTER I. 

 Say, who art thou--thou lean and haggard wretch! Thou living satire on the name of man! Thou that hast made a god of sordid gold, And to thine idol offered up thy soul? Oh, how I pity thee thy wasted years: Age without comfort--youth that had no prime. To thy dull gaze the earth was never green; The face of nature wore no cheering smile, For ever groping, groping in the dark; Making the soulless object of thy search The grave of all enjoyment. --S. M. 

Towards the close of the last century, there lived in the extensiveparish of Ashton, in the county of ----, a hard-hearted, eccentric oldman, called Mark Hurdlestone, the lord of the manor, the wealthy ownerof Oak Hall and its wide demesne, the richest commoner in England, thecelebrated miser. 

Mark Hurdlestone was the wonder of the place; people were never tired oftalking about him--of describing his strange appearance, his odd waysand penurious habits. He formed a lasting theme of conversation to thegossips of the village, with whom the great man at the Hall enjoyed noenviable notoriety. That Mark Hurdlestone was an object of curiosity, fear, and hatred, to his humble dependents, created no feeling ofsurprise in those who were acquainted with him, and had studied therepulsive features of his singular character. 

There was not a drop of the milk of human kindness in his composition. Regardless of his own physical wants, he despised the same wants inothers. Charity sued to him in vain, and the tear of sorrow made noimpression on his stony heart. Passion he had felt--cruel, ungovernablepassion. Tenderness was foreign to his nature--the sweet influences ofthe social virtues he had never known. 

Mark Hurdlestone hated society, and never mingled in festive scenes. Tohis neighbors he was a stranger; and he had no friends. With power tocommand, and wealth to purchase enjoyment, he had never travelled ahundred miles beyond the smoke of his own chimneys; and was as much astranger to the world and its usages as a savage, born and brought up inthe wilderness. There were very few persons in his native place withwhom he had exchanged a friendly greeting; and though his person was aswell known as the village spire or the town pump, no one could boastthat he had shaken hands with him. 

One passion, for the last fifty years of his unhonored life, hadabsorbed every faculty of his mind, and, like Aaron's serpent, hadswallowed all the rest. His money-chest was his world; there the gold heworshipped so devoutly was enshrined; and his heart, if ever hepossessed one, was buried with it: waking or sleeping, his spirit forever hovered around this mysterious spot. There nightly he knelt, butnot to pray: prayer had never enlightened the darkened soul of thegold-worshipper. Favored by the solitude and silence of the night, hestole thither, to gloat over his hidden treasure. There, during the day, he sat for hours entranced, gazing upon the enormous mass of uselessmetal, which he had accumulated through a long worthless life, to wishit more, and to lay fresh schemes for its increase. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, " saith the preacher; but this hoarding of money is thevery madness of vanity. 

Mark Hurdlestone's remarkable person would have formed a good subjectfor a painter--it was both singular and striking. 

His features in youth had been handsome, but of that peculiar Jewishcast which age renders harsh and prominent. The high narrow wrinkledforehead, the small deep-set jet-black eyes, gleaming like living coalsfrom beneath straight shaggy eyebrows, the thin aquiline nose, the longupper lip, the small fleshless mouth and projecting chin, the expressionof habitual cunning and mental reservation, mingled with sullen prideand morose ill-humor, gave to his marked countenance a repulsive andsinister character. Those who looked upon him once involuntarily turnedto look upon him again, and marvelled and speculated upon thedisposition and calling of the stranger. 

His dress, composed of the coarsest materials, generally hung in tattersabout his tall spare figure, and he had been known to wear the cast-offshoes of a beggar; yet, in spite of such absurd acts, he maintained aproud and upright carriage, and never, by his speech or manners, seemedto forget for one moment that he held the rank of a gentleman. His handsand face were always scrupulously clean, for water costs nothing, andtime, to him, was an object of little value. The frequency of theseablutions he considered conducive to health. Cold water was his onlybeverage--the only medicine he ever condescended to use. 

The stranger who encountered Mark Hurdlestone, wandering barefooted onthe heath or along the dusty road, marvelled that a creature so wretcheddid not stop him to solicit charity; and, struck with the haughtybearing which his squalid dress could not wholly disguise, naturallyimagined that he had seen better days, and was too proud to beg;influenced by this supposition, he had offered the lord of many manorsthe relief which his miserable condition seemed to demand; and such wasthe powerful effect of the ruling passion, that the man of gold, thepossessor of millions, the sordid wretch who, in after years, wept athaving to pay four thousand a year to the property tax, calmly pocketedthe affront. 

The history of Mark Hurdlestone, up to the present period, had beenmarked by few, but they were striking incidents. Those bright links, interwoven in the rusty chain of his existence, which might haverendered him a wiser and a better man, had conduced very little to hisown happiness, but they had influenced, in a remarkable degree, thehappiness and misery of others, and form another melancholy proof of themysterious manner in which the crimes of some men act, like fate, uponthe destinies of others. 

Avarice palsies mental exertion. The tide of generous feeling, the holysympathies, still common to our fallen nature, freeze beneath its torpidinfluence. The heart becomes stone--the eyes blinded to all that onceawakened the soul to admiration and delight. He that has placed the idolof gold upon the pure altar of nature has debased his own, and sinksbelow the brute, whose actions are guided by a higher instinct, thesimple law of necessity. 

The love of accumulating had been a prominent feature of Mark'scharacter from his earliest years; but there was a time when it had notbeen his ruling passion. Love, hatred, and revenge, had alternatelyswayed his breast, and formed the main-spring of his actions. He hadloved and mistrusted, had betrayed and destroyed the victim of hisjealous regard; yet his hatred remained unextinguished--his revengeungratified. The malice of envy and the gnawings of disappointed vanitywere now concealed beneath the sullen apathy of age; but the sparkslumbered in the grey ashes, although the heart had out-lived its fires. To make his character more intelligible it will be necessary to tracehis history from the first page of his life. 

Born heir to a vast inheritance, Mark Hurdlestone had not a solitaryexcuse to offer for his avarice. His father had improved the oldpaternal estate, and trebled its original value; and shared, in nocommon degree, the parsimonious disposition of his son. From the time ofthe Norman Conquest his ancestors had inherited this tract of country;and as they were not famous for any particular talents or virtues, hadpassed into dust and oblivion in the vault of the old gothic church, which lifted its ivy-covered tower above the venerable oaks and yewsthat were coeval with its existence. 

In proportion to their valueless existence was the pride of theHurdlestone family. Their wealth gained for them the respect of theworld; their ancient name the respect of those who place an undueimportance on such things; and their own vanity and self-importancemaintained the rank and consequence which they derived from theseadventitious claims. 

Squire Hurdlestone the elder was a shrewd worldly minded man, whosenatural _hauteur_ concealed from common observers the paucity of hisintellect. His good qualities were confined to his love of Church andState; and to do him justice, in this respect he was a loyal man andtrue--the dread of every hapless Jacobite in the country. In his earlydays he had fought under the banners of the Duke of Cumberland as agentleman volunteer; and had received the public thanks of that worthyfor the courage he displayed at the memorable battle of Culloden, andfor the activity and zeal with which he afterwards assisted inapprehending certain gentlemen in his own neighborhood, who weresuspected of secretly befriending the unfortunate cause. At every publicmeeting the Squire was eloquent in his own praise. 

"Who can doubt _my_ patriotism, _my_ loyalty?" he would exclaim. "I didnot confine my sentiments upon the subject to mere words. I showed by mydeeds, gentlemen, what those sentiments were. I took an active part insuppressing the rebellion, and restoring peace to these realms. And whatdid I obtain, gentlemen?--the thanks--yes, gentlemen, the public thanksof the noble Duke!" He would then resume his seat, amidst the plauditsof his time-serving friends, who, judging the rich man by his ownstandard of excellence, declared that there was not his equal in thecounty. 

Not content with an income far beyond his sordid powers of enjoyment, Squire Hurdlestone the elder married, without any particular preference, the daughter of a rich London merchant, whose fortune nearly doubled hisown. The fruits of this union were two sons, who happened in the economyof nature to be twins. This double blessing rather alarmed theparsimonious Squire; but as the act of maternal extravagance was neveragain repeated on the part of Mrs. Hurdlestone, he used to rub his handsand tell as a good joke, whenever his heart was warmed by an extraglass of wine, that his wife was the best manager in the world, as thesame trouble and expense did for both. 

A greater difference did not exist between the celebrated sons of Isaacthan was discernible in these modern twins. Unlike in person, talents, heart, and disposition, from their very birth, they formed a strikingcontrast to each other. Mark, the elder by half-an-hour, was anexaggeration of his father, inheriting in a stronger degree all hisnarrow notions and chilling parsimony; but, unlike his progenitor in onerespect, he was a young man of excellent natural capacity. He possessedstrong passions, linked to a dogged obstinacy of purpose, which renderedhim at all times a dangerous and implacable enemy; while the sternunyielding nature of his temper, and the habitual selfishness whichcharacterised all his dealings with others, excluded him from thefriendship and companionship of his kind. 

Tall and slightly made, with a proud and gentlemanly carriage, he lookedwell though dressed in the most homely and unfashionable garb. Beyondscrupulous cleanliness he paid little attention to the mysteries of thetoilet, for even in the bloom of youth, "Gallio cared for none of thosethings. " In spite of the disadvantages of dress, his bright browncomplexion, straight features, dark glancing eyes, and rich curlinghair, gave him a striking appearance. By many he was consideredeminently handsome; to those accustomed to read the mind in the face, Mark Hurdlestone's countenance was everything but prepossessing. 

The sunshine of a smiling heart never illumined the dark depth of thosedeep-seated cunning eyes; and those of his own kin, who most wished toentertain a favorable opinion of the young heir of Oak Hall, agreed inpronouncing him a very disagreeable selfish young man. 

He hated society, was shy and reserved in his manners, and never spokeon any subject without his opinion was solicited. This extraordinarytaciturnity, in one who possessed no ordinary powers of mind, gavedouble weight to all that he advanced, till what he said became a law inthe family. Even his mother, with whom he was no favorite, listened withprofound attention to his shrewd biting remarks. From his father, Markearly imbibed a love of hoarding; and his favorite studies, those inwhich he most excelled, and which appeared almost intuitive to him, werethose connected with figures. The old Squire, who idolised his handsomesullen boy, was never weary of boasting of his abilities, and his greatknowledge in mathematics and algebra. 

"Aye, " he would exclaim, "that lad was born to make a fortune; notmerely to keep one ready made. 'Tis a thousand pities that he is not apoor man's son; I would bet half my estate, that if he lives to my agehe will be the richest man in England. "

Having settled this matter in his own way, the old Squire took muchpains to impress upon the boy's mind that _poverty_ was the mostdreadful of all evils--that, if he wished to stand well with the world, riches alone could effect that object, and ensure the respect and homageof his fellow-men. "Wealth, " he was wont jocosely to say, "would do allbut carry him to heaven, "--and how the journey thither was to beaccomplished, never disturbed the thoughts of the rich man. 

Courted and flattered by those beneath him, Mark found his father'sprecepts borne out by experience, and he quickly adopted his advice, andentered with alacrity into all his money-getting speculations. 

The handsome income allowed him by the Squire was never expended in thepursuit of pleasures natural to his rank and age, but carefullyinvested in the funds, whilst the young miser relied upon the generosityof his mother to find him in clothes and pocket-money. When Mrs. Hurdlestone remonstrated with him on his meanness, his father wouldlaugh and bid her hold her tongue. 

"Let him alone, Lucy; the lad cannot help it; 'tis born in him. TheHurdlestones are a money-making, money-loving race. Besides, what doesit matter? If he is saving a fortune at our expense, 'tis all in thefamily. He knows how to take care of it better than we do. There will bemore for Algernon, you know!"

And this saying quieted the fond mother. "Yes, " she repeated, "therewill be more for Algernon, --my handsome generous Algernon. Let hissordid brother go on saving, --there will be more for Algernon. "

These words, injudiciously spoken within the hearing of MarkHurdlestone, converted the small share of brotherly love, which hithertohad existed between the brothers, into bitter hatred; and he secretlysettled in his own mind the distribution of his father's property. 

And Algernon, the gay thoughtless favorite of his kind but imprudentmother, was perfectly indifferent to the love or hatred of his elderbrother. He did not himself regard him with affection, and he expectednothing from him, beyond the passive acquiescence in his welfare whichthe ties of consanguinity generally give. If he did not seek in his twinbrother a friend and bosom-counsellor, he never imagined it possiblethat he could act the part of an enemy. Possessing less talent thanMark, he was generous, frank, and confiding. He loved society, in whichhe was formed by nature to shine and become a general favorite. Hispassion for amusement led him into extravagance and dissipation; and itwas apparent to all who knew him, best that he was more likely to spenda fortune than acquire one. 

Algernon had received, with his brother, a good classical education fromhis uncle, a younger brother of his father's, who had been brought upfor the Church, and taken several degrees at Oxford, but had reducedhimself to comparative indigence by his imprudence and extravagance. Alfred Hurdlestone would have made a good soldier, but, unfortunatelyfor him, there were several valuable church-livings in the family; andhis father refused to provide for him in any other way. The young man'shabits and inclinations being at war with the sacred profession chosenfor him, he declined entering upon holy orders, which so enraged hisfather, that he forbade him the house; and at his death, left him asmall life-annuity, sufficient with economy to keep him from starvation, but not enough to maintain him respectably without some profession. 

For several years, Alfred Hurdlestone depended upon the generosity of arich maternal uncle, who gave him the run of the house, and who left himat his death a good legacy. This the ne'er-do-well soon ran through, andfinding himself in middle life, destitute of funds and friends, heconsented for a trifling salary to superintend the education of hisbrother's children. 

It was impossible for the Squire to have chosen a more injudiciousinstructor for his sons--a man, who in not one instance of his life hadever regulated his actions by the common rules of prudence. He possessedtalents without judgment, and was kind-hearted without principle; andthough a general favorite with all classes, was respected by none. Having passed much of his time on the continent of Europe, he hadacquired an ease and courtesy of manner, which rendered him quite anacquisition to the country drawing-room, where he settled all mattersof fashion and etiquette, to the general satisfaction of the ladies; andin spite of his reduced circumstances and dependent situation, he waswarmly welcomed by all the mammas in the parish. They knew him to be aconfirmed old bachelor, and they trusted their daughters with himwithout a thought that any mis-alliance could take place. Mr. Alfred wassuch a dear, good, obliging creature! He talked French with the girls, and examined the Latin exercises of the boys, and arranged all theparties and pic-nics in the neighborhood; and showed such a willingnessto oblige, that he led people to imagine that he was receiving, insteadof conferring a favor. His cheerful temper, agreeable person, andwell-cultivated mind, rendered him the life and soul of the Hall;nothing went on well without him. His occupations were various--histasks never ended; he read prayers--instructed the young gentlemen--shotgame for the larder, and supplied the cook with fish--had the charge ofthe garden and poultry-yard, and was inspector-general of the stablesand kennels; he carved at dinner--decanted the wine--mixed the punch, and manufactured puns and jokes to amuse his saturnine brother. When thedessert was removed he read the newspapers to the old Squire, until hedosed in his easy chair; and when the sleepy fit was over, he playedwith him at cribbage or back-gammon, until the tea equipage appeared. 

Then, he was an admirable cook, and helped his sister-in-law, with whomhe was an especial favorite, to put up pickles and preserves, and pridedhimself upon catsup and elderberry-wine. He had always some usefulreceipt for the old ladies; some pretty pattern for embroidery, or copyof amatory verses for the young, who never purchased a new dress withoutduly consulting Mr. Alfred as to the fashion of the material and thebecomingness of the color. Besides all these useful accomplishments, hevisited the poor when they were sick, occasionally acting as theirmedical and ghostly adviser, and would take infinite pains in carryingabout subscriptions for distressed individuals, whom he was unable toassist out of his own scanty funds. He sang Italian and French songswith great taste and execution, and was a fine performer on the violin. Such was the careless being to whom Mr. Hurdlestone, for the sake ofsaving a few pounds per annum, entrusted the education of his sons. 

As far as the mere technicalities of education went, they could not havehad a more conscientious or efficient teacher; but his morality andtheology were alike defective, and, instead of endeavoring to make themgood men, Uncle Alfred's grand aim was to make them fine gentlemen. WithAlgernon, he succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations, for therewas a strong family likeness between that young gentleman and his uncle, and a great similarity in their tastes and pursuits. Mark, however, proved a most dogged and refractory pupil, and though he certainly owedthe fine upright carriage, by which he was distinguished, to UncleAlfred's indefatigable drilling, yet, like Lord Chesterfield's son, heprofited very little by his lessons in politeness. 

When the time arrived for him to finish his studies, by going to collegeand travelling abroad, the young heir of the Hurdlestones obstinatelyrefused to avail himself of these advantages. He declared that themoney, so uselessly bestowed, would add nothing to his present stock ofknowledge, but only serve to decrease his patrimony; that all thelearning that books could convey, could be better acquired in the quietand solitude of home; that he knew already as much of the deadlanguages as he ever would have occasion for, as he did not mean toenter the church or to plead at the bar; and there was no character heheld in greater abhorrence than a fashionable beau or a learned pedant. His uncle had earned a right to both these characters; and, though aclever man, he was dependent in his old age on the charity of his richrelations. For his part, he was contented with his country and his home, and had already seen as much of the world as he wished to see, withouttravelling beyond the precincts of his native village. 

Mr. Hurdlestone greatly applauded his son's resolution, which, hedeclared, displayed a degree of prudence and sagacity remarkable at hisage. But his mother, who still retained a vivid recollection of thepleasures and gaiety of a town life, from which she had long beenbanished by her avaricious lord, listened to the sordid sentimentsexpressed by her first-born with contempt, and transferred all hermaternal regard to his brother, whom she secretly determined should bethe gentleman of the family. 

In her schemes for the aggrandizement of Algernon, she was greatlyassisted by Uncle Alfred, who loved the handsome, free-spirited boy forhis own sake, as well as for a certain degree of resemblance, which hefancied existed between them in mental as well as personal endowments. In this he was not mistaken; for Algernon was but an improvement on hisuncle, with less selfishness and more activity of mind. He early imbibedall his notions, and entered with avidity into all his pursuits andpleasures. In spite of the hard usage that Uncle Alfred had receivedfrom the world, he panted to mingle once more in its busy scenes, whichhe described to his attentive pupil, in the most glowing terms. 

Eager to secure for her darling Algernon those advantages which hisbrother Mark had so uncourteously declined, Mrs. Hurdlestone laid closesiege to the heart of the old Squire, over whom she possessed aninfluence only second to that of her eldest son. In this daring assaultupon the old man's purse and prejudices, she was vigorously assisted byUncle Alfred, who had a double object to attain in carrying his point. Many were the desperate battles they had to fight with the old Squire'slove of money, and his misanthropic disposition, before their object wasaccomplished, or he would deign to pay the least attention to theirproposition. Defeated a thousand times, they returned with unweariedperseverance to the charge, often laughing in secret over their defeat, or exulting in the least advantage they fancied that they had gained. 

Time, which levels mountains and overthrows man's proudest structures, at length sapped the resolutions of the old man, although they appearedat first to have been written upon his heart in adamant. The truth is, that he was a man of few words, and, next to talking himself, he hatedto be talked to, and still more to be talked at; and Mrs. Hurdlestoneand brother Alfred had never ceased to talk to him, and at him, for thelast three months, and always upon the one eternal theme--Algernon'sremoval to college, and his travels abroad. 

His patience was exhausted; human endurance could stand it no longer;and he felt that if Ear-gate was to be stormed much longer on the samesubject, he should go mad, and be driven from the field. A magic wordhad been whispered in his ear by his eldest son. "Father, let him go:think how happy and quiet we shall be at home, when this hopeful uncleand nephew are away. "

This hint was enough: the old man capitulated without another opposingargument, and consented to what he termed the ruin of his youngest son. How Mrs. Hurdlestone and Uncle Alfred triumphed in the victory theythought they had obtained!--yet it was all owing to that one sentencefrom the crafty lips of Mark, muttered into the ear of the old man. Algernon was to go to Oxford, and after the completion of his studiesthere, make the tour of the Continent, accompanied by his uncle. Thiswas the extent of Mrs. Hurdlestone's ambition; and many were her privateinstructions to her gay, thoughtless son, to be merry and wise, and notdraw too frequently upon his father's purse. The poor lady might as wellhave lectured to the winds, as preached on prudence to Uncle Alfred'saccomplished pupil; for both had determined to fling off all restraintthe moment they left the shade of the Oak Hall groves behind them. 

Algernon was so elated with his unexpected emancipation from thetyrannical control of his father and brother, that he left the statelyold house with as little regret as a prisoner would do who had beenconfined for years in some magnificent castle, which had been convertedinto a county jail, and, from the force of melancholy associations, hadlost all its original beauty in his eyes. The world was now within hisgrasp--its busy scenes all before him: these he expected to find repletewith happiness and decked with flowers. 

We will not follow our young adventurer to the academic halls, or tracehis path through foreign lands. It is enough for our purpose that heacquired little knowledge at college, save the knowledge of evil; andthat he met with many misadventures, and suffered much inconvenience andmortification, during his journey through the Continent. He soondiscovered that the world was not a paradise; that his uncle was not awise man; and that human nature, with some trifling variations, whichwere generally more the result of circumstances and education than ofany peculiar virtue in the individual, was much the same at home andabroad; that men, in order to conform to the usages of society, wereoften obliged to appear what they were not, and sacrifice their bestfeelings to secure the approbation of persons whom in secret theydespised; that he who would fight the battle of life and come offvictorious, must do it with other weapons than those with which fashionand pleasure supply their champions. 

Years of reckless folly fled away, before these wholesome lessons ofexperience were forced upon Algernon's unguarded heart. Fearful offalling into his brother's error, he ran into the contrary extreme, andnever suspected himself a dupe, until he found himself the victim ofsome designing adventurer, who had served a longer apprenticeship to theworld, and had gained a more perfect knowledge of the fallibility of itschildren. 

His father groaned over his extravagant bills: yet not one-third of themoney remitted to Algernon was expended by him. His uncle was theprincipal aggressor; for he felt no remorse while introducing his nephewto scenes which, in his early days, had effected his own ruin. Theirimmoral tendency, and the sorrow and trouble they were likely to entailupon the young man, by arousing the anger of his father, never gave himthe least uneasiness. He had squandered such large sums of money at thegambling-houses in Paris, that he dared not show his face at the Halluntil the storm was blown over; and to such a thoughtless, extravagantbeing as Alfred Hurdlestone, "sufficient to the day was the evilthereof. "

Without any strikingly vicious propensities, it was impossible forAlgernon Hurdlestone to escape from the contaminating influence of hisuncle, to whom he was strongly attached, without pollution. He imbibedfrom him a relish for trifling amusements and extravagant expenditure, which clung to him through life. The sudden death of his misjudginginstructor recalled him to a painful sense of past indiscretions. Hedetermined to amend his ways, and make choice of some profession, andemploy his time in a more honorable manner for the future. These seriousimpressions scarcely survived the funeral of the thoughtless man whosedeath he sincerely lamented; but the many debts his uncle hadcontracted, and the exhausted state of his purse, urged upon him theimperative necessity of returning to England; and the voyage wasundertaken accordingly. 

CHAPTER II. 

 The steel strikes fire from the unyielding flint: So love has struck from out that flinty heart The electric spark, which all but deifies The human clay. --S. M. 

About two years after Algernon Hurdlestone left the Hall, a widow ladyand her daughter came to reside at Ashton, and hired a small cottage, pleasantly situated at the back of the park. 

Mrs. Wildegrave's husband had been engaged in the rebellion of 1745; andhis estates, in consequence, were confiscated, and he paid with his lifethe forfeit of his rashness. His widow and child, after many years ofsorrow and destitution, and living as dependents upon the charity ofpoor relatives, were enabled to break through this painful bondage, andprocure a home for themselves. 

An uncle of Mrs. Wildegrave's, who had been more than suspected offavoring the cause of the unhappy prince, died, and settled upon hisniece all the property he had to bestow, which barely afforded her anincome of fifty pounds a year. This was but a scanty pittance, it istrue; but it was better than the hard-earned bread of dependence, andsufficient for the wants of two females. 

Mrs. Wildegrave, whose health had been for some years in a decliningstate, thought that the air of her native place might have a beneficialeffect upon her shattered constitution; and as years had fled away sincethe wreck of all her hopes, she no longer felt the painful degradationof returning to the place in which she had once held a distinguishedsituation, and had been regarded as its chief ornament and pride. 

Her people, save a younger brother of her husband's, who held alucrative situation in India, had all been gathered to their fathers. The familiar faces that had smiled upon her in youth and prosperity, inpoverty and disgrace, remembered her no more. The mind of the poorforsaken widow had risen superior to the praise or contempt of theworld, and she now valued its regard at the price which it deserved. Butshe had an intense longing to behold once more the woods and fieldswhere she had rambled in her happy childhood; to wander by the pleasantstreams, and sit under the favorite trees; to see the primrose andviolet gemming the mossy banks of the dear hedge-rows, to hear the birdssing among the hawthorn blossoms; and, surrounded by thefondly-remembered sights and sounds of beauty, to recall the sweetdreams of youth. 

Did no warning voice whisper to her that she had made a rashchoice?--that the bitterness of party hatred outlives all otherhate?--that the man who had persecuted her young enthusiastic husband tothe death was not likely to prove a kind neighbor to his widow? Mrs. Wildegrave forgot all this, and only hoped that Squire Hurdlestone hadoutlived his hostility to her family. Sixteen years had elapsed sinceCaptain Wildegrave had perished on the scaffold. The world had forgottenhis name, and the nature of his offence. It was not possible for a merepolitical opponent to retain his animosity to the dead. But she hadformed a very incorrect estimate of Squire Hurdlestone's powers ofhating. 

The arrival of Captain Wildegrave's widow in his immediate vicinitygreatly enraged the old Squire; but as he possessed no power ofdenouncing women as traitors, he was obliged to content himself bypouring forth, on every occasion, the most ill-natured invectivesagainst his poor unprotected neighbors. 

He wondered at the impudence of the traitor Wildegrave's widow anddaughter daring to lift up their heads among a loyal community, whereher husband's conduct and his shameful death were but too well known. Alas! he know not how the lonely heart will pine for the old familiarhaunts--how the sight of inanimate objects which have been loved inchildhood will freshen into living greenness its desolate wastes. Thesordid lover of gold, the eager aspirant for this world's triflingdistinctions, feels nothing, knows nothing, of this. 

Elinor Wildegrave, the only child of these unhappy parents, had justcompleted her seventeenth year, and might have formed a perfect model ofyouthful innocence and beauty. Her personal endowments were soremarkable, that they soon became the subject of conversation, alike inthe halls of the wealthy and in the humble abodes of the poor. Thevillage-gossips were not backward in mating the young heiress of sorrowwith the richest and noblest in the land. Elinor was not unconscious ofher personal attractions, but a natural delicacy of mind made her shrinkfrom general admiration. Her mother's scanty income did not enable themto hire servants; and the work of the house devolved upon Elinor, whowas too dutiful a child to suffer her ailing mother to assist her inthese domestic labors. The lighter employments of sewing and knitting, her mother shared; and they were glad to increase their slender means bytaking in plain work; which so completely occupied the young girl'stime, that she was rarely seen abroad, excepting on Sundays, when sheaccompanied her mother to the parish church; and then, the lovelinesswhich attracted such attention was always partially concealed by a largeveil. Mark Hurdlestone's valet happened to meet the young lady returninghome through the park without this envious appendage, and was so struckwith her beauty, that he gave his young master an eloquent descriptionof the angel he had seen. 

"Believe me, sir, she is a mate for the King. If I were but a gentlemanof fortune like you, I should feel proud to lay it at her feet. "

Mark heard him with indifference. He had never felt the least tenderemotion towards woman, whom he regarded as an inferior being, onlyformed to administer to the wants, and contribute to the pleasures, ofman. 

"Miss Wildegrave, " he said, "might be a fine girl. But he could see nobeauty in a woman whose father had died upon the scaffold, and who hadno fortune. She and her mother were outcasts, who could no longer bereceived into genteel society. "

The valet, with more taste than his master, shrugged up his shoulders, and answered with a significant smile: "Ah, sir! if we could butexchange situations. "

A few days after this conversation, Mark Hurdlestone met ElinorWildegrave by accident, and became deeply enamoured with the lovelyorphan. 

In spite of his blunt speech and misanthropic manners, the young heir ofOak Hall, at that period, was not wholly destitute of the art ofpleasing. He was sensible and well-read. His figure was commanding, andhis carriage good. His stern features were set off by the ruddy glow ofhealth; and the brilliancy of his lip and eye, the dazzling whiteness ofhis small even teeth, and the rich masses of raven hair that curled inprofusion round his high forehead, atoned in some measure for thedisagreeable expression which at all times pervaded his remarkablecountenance. 

"The young Squire is certainly very handsome, " said Elinor Wildegrave toher mother, the morning after their first meeting. "But there issomething about him which I cannot like. His face is as stern and ascold as a marble statue's. I should think it would be impossible forthat man to shed a tear, or be capable of feeling the least tenderemotion. "

"My dear Elinor, you judge too much by externals. These taciturn peopleare often possessed of the keenest sensibility. "

"Ah! dearest mother, believe it not. 'From the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh. ' I love not these silent people. The heart that isworn on the sleeve is better, and more to be trusted, than the heartthat is concealed in a marble shell. "

The human countenance never lies. If read aright, it always presents thereal index of the mind. The first impression it makes upon a stranger isalways the correct one. Pleasing manners and affable smiles may tend toweaken, nay, even to efface these first impressions, but they willinvariably return, and experience will attest their truth. 

In her first estimate of the Squire's character, formed from hisphysiognomy, Elinor was correct, for it was some time before she couldreconcile herself to his harsh countenance; but her dislike graduallywore away, and she received his passing civilities with the pleasurewhich a young girl of her age invariably feels, when regarded withadmiration by one so much her superior in rank and fortune. 

His retired habits, which at the age of twenty-four his neighborsattributed more to pride than avarice, though in truth they arose from amixture of both, invested him with a sort of mysterious interest. Elinorfelt her vanity flattered by the belief that her charms had touched aheart hitherto invulnerable to female beauty. She was, indeed, his firstlove, and his last. 

Elinor was too romantic to think of uniting herself to a man whom shecould not love, for the sake of his wealth; and she prudently andhonorably shunned the advances of her taciturn admirer. She knew thathis father had been her father's implacable enemy; that all intimacybetween the families had been strictly prohibited at the Hall; and whenthe heir of that noble demesne made their cottage a resting-place afterthe fatigues of hunting, and requested a draught of milk from her handsto allay his thirst, or a bunch of roses from her little flower plot toadorn his waistcoat, Elinor answered his demands with secret mistrustand terror; although, with the coquetry so natural to her sex, she couldnot hate him for the amiable weakness of regarding her with admiration. 

Alas, poor Elinor! why sacrifice to this heartless vanity the peace andintegrity of your mind; and for the sake of winning a smile, to whichyou attach no real value, unseal for ever the fountain of tears?

Avarice for a long time struggled with Mark Hurdlestone's growingpassion for Elinor Wildegrave; nor could he prevail upon himself to askthe penniless daughter of an executed traitor to become his wife. He wastoo proud to brave the sneers of the world; too prudent to combat withhis father's disappointed hopes and fierce anger. His fortune he knewwould be large--but when is avarice satisfied? and he abandoned thefirst generous impulse he had ever felt, with the first sigh he had everbreathed. 

He contented himself with wandering, day after day around the widow'sdwelling, in the hope of catching a passing glance of the object of hisidolatry, without incurring the danger of a personal interview, whichmight lead to an indiscreet avowal of the passion which consumed him, and place him in the power of his fair enslaver. He hovered around herpath, and at church disturbed her devotions by never removing his eyesfrom her face; but the tale of his love remained untold, and wasscarcely acknowledged even to himself. 

This was the happiest period of Mark Hurdlestone's life. His passion forElinor Wildegrave, though selfish and unrefined, was deep and sincere. He contemplated the beautiful and friendless girl, as in after years heviewed the gold in his coffers, as a secret treasure hid from the world, and only known to him. 

From this dream he was at length aroused, by the sudden and unexpectedappearance of his brother Algernon at the Hall. With quivering lips hecongratulated him upon his return to his native land; exchanging withcold and nerveless grasp the warm pressure of his brother's hand, whilehe contemplated with envy and alarm the elegant person of the returnedprodigal. From a boy, he had never loved Algernon; coveting withunnatural greed the property which would accrue to him, should it pleaseHeaven to provide for his twin brother by taking him to itself. But whenthat brother stood before him in the pride and glory of manhood; withhealth glowing on his cheek, and beauty on his brow, he could scarcelyconceal his envy; for he beheld in him a formidable, and, if seen byElinor, in all probability a successful rival. Hatred took possession ofhis breast, and while he pronounced with his lips a chilling welcome, his mind, active in malice, had already planned his ruin. In the firstjoyous moments of return, and while describing to his delighted motherthe lands he had visited, and his adventures at Paris and Rome. Algernonscarcely noticed his brother's unkind reception. He knew that littlesympathy existed between them; but he never suspected that Mark bore himany ill-will, still less that he was likely to act the part of an enemy, and endeavor to supplant him in his father's affections. 

Before many days had elapsed, the decided hostility of his brother'smanner could no longer escape his attention. Candid himself, andexpecting Mark to be the same, he demanded the reason of his singularconduct. Mark turned upon his heel, and answered with a scornfullaugh--"That if the bluntness of his speech displeased him, he knew hisremedy, and might quit the Hall. For his part, he had been brought up inthe country, and could not adapt his manners to suit the delicate tasteof a fine gentleman. " Then, muttering something about a travelledmonkey, left the room. 

During the first burst of honest indignation. Algernon determined tofollow him, and demand a more satisfactory explanation of his conduct, but he was deterred by the grief which he knew a quarrel between themwould occasion his mother; and for her sake he put up with the insult. His wrath, like summer dew, quickly evaporated, and the only effectwhich his short-lived passion produced was to increase the urgency withwhich he entreated his father to allow him to make choice of aprofession, which would remove him from the vicinity of one whose solestudy was to torment and annoy him. 

His father, who wished to make him feel the effects of his extravaganceabroad, calmly listened to his proposals, and asked time fordeliberation, and this interval had to be passed by Algernon at theHall. For his mother's sake, whom he fondly loved, he forbore tocomplain; and he hailed the approaching shooting season as a relief fromthe dulness and monotony of home. Used to the lively conversation offoreigners, and passionately fond of the society of the other sex, theseclusion of Oak Hall was not very congenial to his taste. He soonceased to take an interest in the domestic arrangements of the family, and the violin and guitar, on which he performed with great taste andskill, were alike discarded, and he imprudently afforded his brotherdaily opportunities of poisoning his father's mind against him, while hewas lounging away his time in the houses of the neighboring gentry. 

To his father, Mark affected, to commiserate the weakness of hisbrother's intellect, and the frivolity of his pursuits. He commentedwithout mercy on his idle extravagant habits--his foreign air andFrenchified manners, invidiously adding up the large sums he had alreadysquandered, and the expense which his father must still be at tomaintain him genteely, either in the army or at the bar. He always endedhis remarks with an observation, which he knew to be the most galling tothe pride of the old man. 

"He will be just such a useless despicable fellow as his uncle Alfred, and will be the same burden to me that that accomplished unprincipledfool was to you. "

The Squire only lent too ready an ear to the base insinuations of hiseldest son; and when Algernon returned from the field, he found hisfather's manners yet more repulsive than his brother's. As Mr. Hurdlestone's affection for his youngest born diminished, Mark'sappeared miraculously to increase. He even condescended to give Algernonvarious friendly hints to lose no opportunity of re-establishinghimself in his father's favor. But such conduct was too specious even todeceive the unsuspicious, kind-hearted Algernon. He detected theartifice, and scorned the hypocrite. Instead of absenting himself fromthe family circle for a few hours, he was now abroad all day, andsometimes for a whole week, without leaving any clue to discover hisfavorite haunts. 

Mark at length took the alarm. A jealous fear shot through his brain, and he employed spies to dog his path. His suspicions were confirmedwhen he was at length informed by Grenard Pike, the gardener's son, thatMr. Algernon seldom went a mile beyond the precincts of the park. Hishours, consequently, must be loitered away in some dwelling near athand. Algernon was not a young man of sentimental habits. He was neitherpoet nor bookworm, and it was very improbable that he would fast all dayunder the shade of forest boughs, watching, like the melancholy Jacques, the deer come down to the stream to drink. 

Where were his walks so likely to terminate as at the widow's cottage?What companion could the home-tired child of pleasure find so congenialto his tastes as the young and beautiful Elinor Wildegrave? There wasmadness in the thought! The passion so carefully concealed, no longerrestrained by the cautious maxims of prudence, like the turbulentoverflowing of some mighty stream, bore down all before it in itsheadlong course. Several days he passed in this state of jealousexcitement. On the evening of the fourth, his mental agony reached aclimax; unable to restrain his feelings, he determined to brave theanger of his father, the sneers of the world, and the upbraidings of hisown conscience, declare his attachment to Elinor, and ask her to becomehis wife. 

He never for a moment suspected that the orphan girl could refuse themagnificent proposal he was about to make, or contemplate withindifference the rank and fortune he had in his power to bestow. 

Mark Hurdlestone was not a man to waver or turn back when his mind wasonce fixed upon an object. His will was like fate, inflexible in theaccomplishment of his purpose. He thought long and deeply on a subject, and pondered over it for days and months, and even for years; but whenhe said, --"I will do it, " the hand of God alone could hinder him fromperforming that which he had resolutely sworn to do. 

Having finally resolved to make Elinor Wildegrave his wife (for in spiteof all the revolting traits in his character, he had never for a momententertained the idea of possessing her on less honorable terms, rightlyconcluding that a man's mistress is always a more expensive appendagethan a man's wife, ) he snatched up his hat, and walked with rapidstrides to the cottage. 

He neither slackened his pace, nor paused to reflect on the step that hewas about to take, until he unclosed the little wicket-gate that dividedthe cottage from the park. Here at length he stopped to gain breath, andthe embarrassment of his situation arose in formidable array againsthim. He was a man of few words, naturally diffident of his colloquialpowers, and easily confused and abashed. In what manner was he toaddress her? To him the language of flattery and compliment was unknown. He had never said a polite thing to a woman in his life. Unaccustomed tothe society of ladies, he was still more unaccustomed to woo; how thenwas he to unfold the state of his heart to the object of his love? Thelonger he pondered over the subject, the more awkward and irresolute hefelt. His usual fortitude forsook him, and he determined to relinquish aproject so ridiculous, or to postpone it to some more favorable moment. 

His hand still rested upon the latch of the gate, when his meditationswere dispelled by a soft strain of music, which floated forth upon thebalmy air, harmonizing with the quiet beauty of the landscape which wasillumined by the last rays of a gorgeous summer sunset. 

Then came a pause in the music, and the silence was filled with themelodious voice of Elinor Wildegrave. She sang a sweet plaintive ditty, and the tones of her voice had power to soften and subdue the ruggednature of Mark Hurdlestone. His knees trembled, his heart beat faintly, and tears, for the first time since his querulous infancy, moistened hiseyes. He softly unclosed the gate, and traversed the little garden withnoiseless steps, carefully avoiding the path that led directly to thehouse. 

A screen of filberts concealed his tall figure from observation; andstepping behind the mossy trunk of an excavated oak that fronted thecasement, he sent an eager glance towards the spot from whence thesounds issued. The sight that met his eager gaze called into action allthe demoniacal passions which the tones of that sweet voice had lulledto rest. 

Seated on a rude bench, fronting the lawn, he beheld the only humancreature he had ever loved encircled in the arms of his brotherAlgernon. The guitar, on which he had been playing, now lay neglected athis feet, and the head of the beautiful girl was fondly nestled in hisbosom. As the delighted Algernon bent caressingly over her, to catch thelow sweet words that murmured from her lips, his bright auburn curlsmingled with the glossy raven tresses that shaded the transparent cheekof his lovely mistress, and he pressed a fond kiss upon her snowy brow. 

Oh, sight of hell! Mark Hurdlestone suppressed the yell of agony thatconvulsed his throat, while he gazed with flashing eyes upon the pairbefore him; yes, with such a glance as Satan regarded our first parentsere sin had exiled them from Paradise, and destroyed the holy beauty ofinnocence. He attempted to quit his place of concealment, but a strangefascination, a horrible curiosity, rooted him to the spot. 

Elinor looked up with a smile into her lover's face. Algernon seemedperfectly to understand the meaning of that playful glance, and repliedto it in lively tones, "Yes, dear Nell, sing my favorite song!" andElinor instantly complied, with a blush and another sweet smile. Markwas no lover of music, but that song thrilled to his soul, and the wordsnever afterwards departed from his memory. A fiend might have pitied thecrushed heart of that humbled and most unhappy man. 

Mark Hurdlestone rushed from the garden, and sought the loneliest spotin the park, to give utterance to his despair. With a heavy groan hedashed himself upon the earth, tearing up the grass with his hands, anddefacing the flowers and shrubs that grew near him as he clutched atthem in his strong agony. The heavens darkened above him, the landscapeswam round and round him in endless circles, and the evening breeze, that gently stirred the massy foliage, seemed to laugh at his mentalsufferings. 

He clenched his teeth, the big drops of perspiration gathered thick andfast upon his brow, and tossing his hands frantically aloft, he cursedhis brother, and swore to pursue him with his vengeance to the grave. Yes, that twin brother, who had been fed at the same breast--had beenrocked in the same cradle--had shared in the same childish sports--itwas on his thoughtless but affectionate and manly heart he bade the darkshadow of his spirit fall. "And, think not, " he cried, "that you, Algernon Hurdlestone, shall triumph in my despair. That woman shall bemine, yet. Mine, though her brow has been polluted by your lips, andyour profligate love has contaminated her for ever in my eyes. But Iwill bind you both with a chain, which shall render you my slaves forever. " Then, rising from the ground, he left the spot which hadwitnessed the only tender emotion he had ever felt, with a spirit fullof bitterness, and burning for revenge. 

CHAPTER III. 

 Oh life! vain life! how many thorny cares Lie thickly strewn in all thy crooked paths!--S. M. 

There is no sight on earth so revolting as the smile with whichhypocrisy covers guilt, without it be revenge laughing at its victim. 

When Algernon returned at night to the Hall, his brother greeted himwith a composed and smiling aspect. He had communicated to his fatherthe scene he had witnessed at the cottage, and the old man's angerexceeded his most sanguine expectations. With secret satisfaction he sawAlgernon enter the drawing-room, which the indignant Squire was pacingwith rapid steps; and when he caught the irritated glance of the oldman's eye, Mark felt that his work had been well and surely done; thatnothing could avert from his brother the storm that was gathering overhim. 

"So, sir, you are come at last!" said Mr. Hurdlestone, suddenly stoppingand confronting the unsuspecting culprit. 

"Was my presence required at home, sir?" asked Algernon, in a tone ofsurprise, at the same time pulling out his watch. "It is not late. Justten o'clock. "

"Late or not late, that is not now the question. I have to ask you--Iinsist upon your telling me--at what house in this neighborhood youspend your time?"

There was an ominous pause. Mark smiled sarcastically, but seemed towatch intently for his brother's reply; while the old man's fierce eyeglared with tiger-like ferocity upon his younger son. 

Algernon at last spoke, and as he did so, he raised his head proudly, and firmly encountered his father's keen gaze. 

"I see how it is, sir; my actions have been watched and my motivesmisapprehended. But I shall not attempt to deny the truth. My visitshave been to the house of Mrs. Wildegrave. She has a beautiful andvirtuous daughter, whom I mean to make my wife. "

"The traitor Wildegrave!--his child?"

"The same. "

"And you dare tell me this to my face?"

"I never do that behind your back, that I would be ashamed to own toyour face. "

"Impudent scoundrel! Do you know in what manner the father of this_beautiful_ and virtuous young lady met his death?"

"As many brave and unfortunate gentlemen did; who, had their cause beensuccessful, would have been praised for their gallantry by the verypersons who now condemn them. "

"And you expect me to give my consent to this accursed marriage?"

"I neither expect, nor ask it from you. "

"By heaven, you shall never have it! nor one farthing of mine, withoutyou promise to relinquish all idea of this disgraceful connection. "

"I must leave that to your own sense of justice. I have pledged mysolemn word to Miss Wildegrave to make her my wife. I cannot break myword without forfeiting my own self-respect. "

"Then it appears to me that my approbation to a measure, which sodeeply concerns the honor and respectability of my family, was a matterof no consequence to my son. "

"Indeed, my dear father, I would cheerfully have consulted you upon thesubject had I not been aware of the strong prejudice with which youregard all those who were in any way connected with that unfortunaterebellion. In Miss Wildegrave's case, I knew my application would beworse than fruitless. "

"And you knew this, and yet dared to persist in your folly?"

"I did. Because I loved the young lady; and felt that I never could behappy without her. "

"And with her I am determined that you never shall be happy. It was myintention, at my decease, to have bequeathed to you the manor of Worden, with its fine old hall, and the noble woods by which it is surrounded;but as you mean to please yourself in the choice of a wife, I shall takethe same privilege in the choice of my heirs. Here you have no longer ahome. You may leave the Hall to-morrow, and earn a fortune for yourselfand your bride. You have ceased to be my son. I never wish to see yourface again. "

Mark Hurdlestone, who had listened most attentively to the conversation, now advanced from the recess of the window, and, pretending to take hisbrother's part, began to expostulate with his father on the violence ofhis proceedings; begging him to check his indignation, and allow hisbrother time to perceive his error. "He could not, " he said, "excuse hisbrother's conduct. His want of duty and respect to such an excellentparent he considered perfectly inexcusable, and most ungrateful, afterthe many bills he had paid for him, and the great expense he had beento the family during his continental tour. But then he hoped that hisfather would have compassion upon his youth, and take into account thenatural weakness of his intellect, which latter defect made him an easydupe to artful people. "

Algernon's mind was too much overwhelmed with his misfortune to noticethe implied insult. He did not even hear it, while his artful brother, under the pretext of striving to effect a reconciliation, was heapingfresh fuel on the fire, and doing all in his power to widen the breach. 

The old man's wrath was at length exhausted; and Algernon, fearing tolose all command over his temper, and exasperated by unmerited abuse, abruptly left the room, and retired with a heavy heart to his ownchamber. 

His determination to make Elinor his wife was not in the least shaken byhis father's threats; although he knew that years must now intervenebefore such an union could take place. After he had a little calmed hisagitated feelings, he sat down and wrote a long letter to Elinor, briefly stating what had taken place, and the necessity he was under ofleaving the Hall. He again repeated his vows of unshaken constancy;assuring her that he was ready to make any sacrifice for her sake. Hebegged her not to take the present trouble too deeply to heart, as hefelt certain that from the violence of the storm the danger would soonbe over. 

The next morning he took a tender leave of his mother, and accepting theinvitation of a friend to spend some time with him in a distant county, he bade, as he thought, a long farewell to the Hall. 

From this visit he was recalled in a few weeks to attend the funeral ofhis father, who died suddenly of gout in the stomach. After the remainsof the old Squire had been consigned to the family vault, Algernonaccompanied his mother and brother to the library to hear the reading ofthe will. No suspicion that his father would realize his threat had evercrossed his mind; and he was literally stunned when he found that hisunnatural parent had left all to his elder brother, and cut him off witha shilling. 

In a moment he comprehended the full extent of his misfortune. He hadbeen brought up a gentleman; he was now penniless--without money orinterest to secure a respectable situation, in which he might hope byindustry and perseverance to obtain a competency. Homeless andfriendless, whither could he go? How could he learn to forget what hehad been, what he might still be, and all that he had lost? He took uphis hat from the table on which his father's unjust testament lay, torefrom it the crape that surrounded it--that outward semblance of woe, which in his case was a bitter mockery--and trampled it beneath hisfeet. His mother raised her weeping eyes silently and imploringly to hisface. He returned to her side, pressed her hand affectionately betweenhis own, and casting a contemptuous glance upon his brother, quitted theapartment, and, a few minutes after, the Hall. 

When at a distance from the base wretch who had robbed him of hispatrimony, by poisoning his father's mind against him, Algernon gavefree vent to the anguish that oppressed him. Instead of seeking thewidow's cottage, and pouring into the bosom of Elinor the history of hiswrongs, he hurried to that very dell in the park which had witnessed hisbrother's jealous agonies, and throwing himself at his full length uponthe grass, he buried his face in his hands and wept. 

Could he have guessed his brother's passion for Elinor Wildegrave, orhad he witnessed his despair on that memorable night that had made himthe happiest of men, he would frankly have forgiven him the ruin he hadwrought. 

A strong mind, when it comprehends the worst, rouses up all its latentenergies to combat with, and triumph over, its misfortunes. Algernon wasan amiable man, a man of warm passions and generous impulses, but he wasa weak man. His indignation found vent in sighs and tears, when heshould have been up and doing. 

A light step rustled among the underwood--ashamed of his weakness hesprang to his feet, and saw before him, not the slight form of ElinorWildegrave, into which belief busy fancy had cheated him, but thedrooping figure and mild face of his mother, shrouded in the gloomygarments of her recent widowhood. With pale cheeks and eyelids swollenwith tears, she had followed her injured son to his lonely hiding-place. 

"Mother!" he cried, holding out his arms to receive the poor weeper, "dear mother! what have I done to be thus treated?"

A convulsive spasm choked his utterance; and as she seated herselfbeside him on the grass, his head sunk upon her lap, as in other years, and the proud man's spirit was humbled and subdued like that of a littlechild. 

"Your father, Algernon, has died, committing an act of injustice, butfor your mother's sake you must forgive him. "

Algernon tore up several tufts of grass, and flung them with violencefrom him--but he remained silent. 

"Your brother, too, my Algernon, though harsh and unkind in his generaldeportment, feels for your present situation. He is anxious to make someamends to you for the injustice of his father. He sent me to tell youthat any sum you may think fit to name, and which you considersufficient to settle you in life, shall be yours. "

"He sent you--he--the hypocrite! Was it not he who robbed me of myfather's love--he, who has robbed me of my natural claims to a portionof my father's property? What! does the incendiary think that I am blindto his treachery--that I am ignorant of the hand that struck me thisblow--that I will stoop to receive as a liberal donation, an act ofspecial favor, a modicum of that which ought to be my own? Mother, Iwill starve before I can receive one farthing from him!"

"Do not be rash, my son"--

"Mother, I cannot be mean. It grieves me, dearest mother, that youshould undertake to be the bearer of this message to me. "

"Are you not both my children?--though, God knows, not equally dear; andought not the welfare of both to be precious to the heart of a mother?It is not so: Mark never had an equal share of my affections, and Godhas punished me for my undue partiality, by making him the heir of all. "

"But, mother, this was no fault of mine. "

"True; but he has regarded it as a crime. You have robbed him of mylove, and he in revenge has robbed you of your fortune. Had I been akinder mother to him, he might have prized the gold less, and myaffection more. My conscience reproaches me as the author of yourpresent sufferings. Do not make my self-upbraidings more acute, byrefusing the assistance which your brother offers you. "

"Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, mother. I will not sellmy honor for a sum of money, however acceptable that sum might be. Itwould never prosper with me, if it came from him. "

"Well, Algernon, if you will not be persuaded, you must have it your ownway. Your father, though he received from me a noble fortune, has leftme dependent upon your brother. I cannot, if I would, aid you withmoney; but this case of jewels is valuable; I am old, I have no furtheroccasion for such baubles; I have no daughters to wear them after me. Take them, you can raise upon them several thousand pounds--and may theproceeds arising from their sale be blessed to your use. "

"Dearest mother, I accept your generous present;" and Algernon'scountenance brightened as hope once more dawned in his breast. "If Ishould be fortunate, I will return to you in hard gold the value ofthese gems. "

He took the casket from his mother's hand, and caught her to his heartin a long and last embrace. "Should Heaven bless my honest endeavors toobtain a respectable independence, my heart and my home, beloved one, shall ever be open to you. "

And so they parted--the good mother and the disinherited son, to meet nomore on this side the grave. 

"Poor mother!" sighed Algernon, as he turned his steps to the widow'scottage, "how I pity you, having to live upon the charity of that churl!It would seem that my father was determined to punish you for yourdevoted love to me. "

Before Algernon reached the humble abode that contained his earthlytreasure, his buoyant mind had decided upon the best course to pursue. The sale of his mother's jewels would purchase a commission in the EastIndia Company's service. To India, therefore, he determined to go; andhe flattered himself that, before the expiration of ten years, he wouldreturn with an independent fortune to claim his bride. It was a longperiod in perspective, but Elinor was in the early bloom of youth, andher charms would scarcely have reached maturity when he hoped again torevisit his native land. The bitterest pang was yet to come. He mustinform her of his father's unjust bequeathment of all his property tohis brother, and of his own determination to seek his fortune in theEast. He must bid the idol of his soul adieu, for a period which, to theimagination of a lover, almost involved eternity. Alas for the fondhearts and the warm hopes of youth! How could they bear the annihilationof all the delightful anticipations which they had formed of futureenjoyment?

Elinor had not seen Algernon since his return to the Hall. She ran downthe little path which led to the road to meet him, and the next momentwas in his arms. Algernon could not restrain his feelings as he claspedher to his heart; he burst into tears. 

"You have had a great loss, my Algernon; I will not chide these tears. The death of a kind parent leaves an awful blank in our existence, awound which time alone can heal. "

"His death, Elinor, has not cost me a single tear. "

"Then why this grief?"

"We must part. "

"Algernon!" Elinor stepped back, and looked at her lover with death-palecheeks and expanded eyes. "Part!"

"Yes, but not for ever, I hope. But for a long, long period of time; solong, that hope dies in my heart while naming it. "

"But why is this, Algernon? Your father's death, you always told me, would remove the only obstacle to--to--" Her voice failed her. Sheburied her face in her apron, and wept. 

"Yes, dearest; that was, provided he left me the means to support awife. He has not done so. He has left all to my brother--and I amdestitute. "

"Good Heaven! And this is my doing. Oh, Algernon. What have you not loston my account!"

"We will not think of that now, love, " said Algernon, growing calmer nowthe worst had been told; "I came to pour into your faithful heart all mysorrows, and to tell you my plans for the future. "

"Algernon, " said Elinor, gravely, after remaining for some time in deepthought, "your attachment to me has overwhelmed you with misfortunes. Comply with your father's wishes--resign your engagement to me, and yourbrother will, in all probability, restore to you the property you havelost. "

"And would you wish me to be under obligations to him? Is not this hiswork? Elinor, I would rather enlist as a common soldier, than live inaffluence, and he my benefactor. But I am poor now, and my love may havebecome valueless in your eyes, " and he turned his fine eyes, moist withtears, reproachfully on his beautiful mistress. 

"I spoke not for myself, " said Elinor, gently. "Is not the love that hassacrificed a fortune for my sake beyond all price? But the thought ofruining the man I love overwhelms me with despair. "

"Patience, my dear girl--time will remedy the evil. I am going to workhard to win a fortune. In a few years I shall return from India, a richman. "

"India!"

"It is the only spot on the earth where fortunes can be made in a fewyears. "

"But the dreadful climate--the many chances against you--"

"I will brave all for your dear sake. Only promise to be true to me, Elinor; never whilst I live, to wed another. "

The promise was given, and sealed upon her lips, and the lovers partedwith many sighs and tears; promising, by everything most holy and dearto them, to remain constant to each other. Such vows are too oftentraced in sand, to be washed out by the returning tide of passion orinterest: sometimes by an unfortunate combination of untowardcircumstances, over which the poor lover cannot exercise the leastcontrol. We shall see how Algernon and his Elinor kept their vows ofeternal fidelity. 

Mark Hurdlestone heard of his brother's departure and safe arrival inIndia with unspeakable satisfaction. With cautious steps he pursued thepath suggested to him by the implacable spirit of revenge. Before manymonths had elapsed, the death of Mrs. Hurdlestone afforded him anopportunity of obtaining a fresh introduction to Miss Wildegrave. At hismother's particular request, Mrs. Wildegrave and her daughter hadvisited her frequently during her dying illness; and as it exactlysuited his own purpose, Mark offered no objection, but did all in hispower to meet his mother's wishes. The dying woman felt an intensedesire to see the person for whom her favorite son had sacrificed somuch, and she was so pleased with his choice, that she forgave her allthe trouble she had occasioned, kept her constantly near her personduring her last illness, and finally expired in her arms. 

To Elinor she owed much of the attention she received at that time fromher stern unloving son. He treated her with a degree of tenderness quiteunusual to him, anticipated all her comforts, and seldom left herapartment. "They may call the Squire a harsh cruel man, " said Elinor toher mother, "but I must say, that I never saw a kinder or a better son. "

After the funeral, Mark called upon Mrs. Wildegrave, to deliver into herhands a few memorials of his mother's regard, to which he added somehandsome ornaments for Elinor out of his own purse, and he expressed inthe warmest terms his grateful thanks for their attention and kindnessto the deceased. He displayed so much feeling on this melancholyoccasion, and spoke with such affection and respect of his departedparent, that it made a deep impression upon Mrs. Wildegrave and herdaughter. 

Encouraged by this favorable reception, the Squire soon repeated hisvisit, and by adroitly flattering the elder lady, he continued toingratiate himself into her favor. Mrs. Wildegrave was a kindwell-meaning woman, but she had struggled so long with poverty, thatwealth had acquired, as a natural consequence, too great an ascendancyover her mind. The possession of these coveted riches gave to MarkHurdlestone an importance in her eyes, which made her blind to thedefects of his character, and she secretly wished that her daughter hadnot entered into a rash engagement with his brother, which mustunavoidably extend over an indefinite number of years, but couldtransfer her affections to the handsome owner of Oak Hall. Alas! howoften are mothers, and fond mothers too, induced to sacrifice theearthly and eternal peace of a beloved child to the demon of this world, the selfish soul-destroying power of wealth, that daily slays itsthousands and tens of thousands, yet never finds one worshipper theless. 

About this period, Mr. Hurdlestone purchased the cottage rented by thewidow, and appeared in a new character, that of a landlord. The old ladywas fond of planning improvements, which gave him an opportunity ofgratifying her taste; and he took no small pains in accommodatinghimself to her wishes. "He was a fine generous man, " she said, "one whomthe world has greatly misrepresented. All his father's faults have beenheaped upon his innocent head. She had had sore reason to hate theilliberal narrow-minded father, but she admired and esteemed the son. "

"I do not think that Algernon did his brother justice, " said Elinor;"but members of the same family are often blind to each other's merits. Certainly the Squire is not the bad selfish man I took him for. "

"He has behaved like an angel to us, " returned the mother; "and I for mypart, prefer him to Algernon. "

Elinor rejected this preference with disdain; but the old lady persistedin maintaining her own opinion. Her daughter at last relinquished theargument, by saying, "That the Squire, with his grave serious face, andstiff polite manners, might suit the taste of a middle-aged woman; buthe never would win the regard of a young girl. "

At first, Elinor had shunned the company of Mr. Hurdlestone, for hispresence recalled painful thoughts, and she was prejudiced against himon his brother's account; but his attentions were so kind andconsiderate, that, stern as he was, she began to entertain a betteropinion of him, and to think that perhaps Algernon, who was verypassionate, might have given him some provocation for the unjustdistribution of his father's property. His manners were austere, andsomewhat misanthropic, but his book-knowledge was extensive, and, thoughnaturally taciturn, he could, when he pleased, converse well upon anysubject. Free from the influence of malignant passions, he was asensible and interesting companion. 

Elinor knew that the brothers had not parted friends, nor was sheignorant of the cause of the quarrel; but she was willing to believe, from what she heard and saw of Mark Hurdlestone, that he was less infault than he had been represented to her by Algernon; and the hope ofbringing about a reconciliation, and by so doing, shorten her lover'speriod of exile, took a lively hold of her imagination. 

The Squire was so plausible, that he found it an easy task to deceive agirl as unsophisticated as Elinor Wildegrave, who was a perfect novicein the ways of the world. She could not believe it possible that Mr. Hurdlestone could stoop from his dignity to act a despicable part; thatdeception could lurk beneath such a grave demeanor. Elinor was not thefirst human being whose faith has been built on reeds. 

When alone with Miss Wildegrave, Mark never failed to make his brotherthe theme of conversation. He lamented, most feelingly, the unfortunatedifference which existed between them, which appeared the moreunnatural, considering that they were twins. He laid the fault of theirdisunion entirely to their parents--his father adopting him as a pet, and his mother lavishing all her affections upon Algernon. 

This partiality, he said, had destroyed all confidence between them, andproduced a rivalry and misunderstanding of each other's character fromtheir earliest years, substituting envy for generous emulation, andhatred for love. In all their quarrels, whether right or wrong, hismother defended Algernon, and his father sided with him so thatwell-doing was never rewarded, and ill-doing never met with an adequatepunishment. Was it to be wondered at that they had grown up perfectlyindifferent to each other?

There was much truth in this statement; but Mark Hurdlestone made thebest of it, in order to justify himself. 

As they became more intimate, Elinor ventured to inquire why his fatherhad been induced to act so unjustly to Algernon on his death-bed; thatshe could hardly believe that Algernon's attachment to her could havedrawn down upon him such a heavy punishment. 

"My father was a man of headstrong prejudices, " said the Squire. "If heonce took a notion into his head, it was impossible to knock it out ofhim. To dislike a person, and to hate them, were with him the samething. Such were the feelings he entertained towards your father, whomhe regarded as having been his bitterest enemy. The idea of a son of hisuniting himself to a daughter of Captain Wildegrave seemed to impugn hisown loyalty. It was with him a personal insult, an unforgivable offence. Algernon has accused me of fomenting my father's displeasure, for thebase purpose of robbing him of his share of the property. You have beentold this?"

"I have. "

"And you believe it?"

"I did believe it; but it was before I knew you. "

"Dismiss such an unworthy idea of me from your breast for ever. I didall in my power to restore Algernon to my father's favor. I earnestlyentreated him, when upon his death-bed, to make a more equitable will. On this point the old man was inflexible. He died muttering curses onhis head. "

Elinor shuddered. 

"It was my determination to have rendered Algernon justice, and sharedthe property equally between us; but in this Algernon prevented me. Heleft the Hall in a tempest of rage; and when I made the proposalthrough my mother, my offer was rejected with scorn. I wrote to himbefore he left for India on the same subject, and my letters werereturned unopened. You see, my dear Miss Wildegrave, I have done all inmy power to conciliate my brother; but, like my poor father, his enmityis stronger than his love, and will not be entreated. "

This statement of Mr. Hurdlestone's was not only very plausible, but itwas partly true. He had indeed begged the dying man to forgive Algernon, and consent to his marriage with Miss Wildegrave; but then, he well knewthat his father would neither do the one nor the other; while his ownhypocritical interference only aggravated the old man's anger in atenfold degree, and would be the sure way of producing the result whichhe so ardently desired. He had offered to settle a handsome sum upon hisinjured brother, but he well knew that it would be rejected with scornby the high-spirited young man. Elinor could not contradict thesestatements. She knew the impetuous disposition of her lover, and shemore readily admitted their probability. Mark had been represented toher by him as a sullen, morose, avaricious young man, selfish, unfeeling, and cruel, suspicious of his friends, and implacable to hisenemies. She had found him the reverse of all this; and she began toentertain doubts of Algernon's veracity, and to conclude that it was forsome more cogent reason than for any with which she was yet acquaintedthat his father had struck him out of his will, so anxious was she toacquit herself of being the cause of her lover's exile, and theunfortunate circumstances in which he was placed. This, too, wasselfish; but Elinor had been an only child, and very much indulged byher mother. She was a good, gentle, beautiful girl; but not exactly thestuff of which angels are made. 

After this explanation had taken place, Mr. Hurdlestone became a dailyvisitor at the cottage; and his society and friendship contributedgreatly to the comfort and amusement of its inhabitants. He never, toElinor, made the least allusion to his passion. The passion, indeed, hadlong ceased to exist; he sought her not for love, but for revenge. 

Time glided on. Algernon had been three years away; but his lettersstill continued to breathe the same ardent attachment, and Elinor washappy in the consciousness of being the sole possessor of his heart. 

Her mother, who had more ambitious views for her daughter, oftenlamented her long engagement, which might never be completed. "She wouldrather, " she said, "have the rich Squire for her son-in-law; and shewould not be at all surprised if Elinor herself was to change her mindbefore the ten years expired. "

Six years of the allotted period had expired. Algernon had been promotedto the rank of major; and his letters were full of happy anticipations. Elinor herself began to look forward to their union as a thing likely totake place; and she spoke of her lover's perseverance and constancy withproud delight. 

"He has done better than I expected of him, " said the Squire. "There isnothing like adversity for trying what a man's made of. But who canwonder at his exerting himself to obtain such a reward?" And he bowed tothe blushing Elinor, as she sat with Algernon's letter in her hand, radiant with joy. 

"He talks of returning in less than two years: I wish it were now. I amalready three-and-twenty; by that time I shall begin to look old. "

Mark thought that she never looked younger, or more beautiful, than atthat moment, and he told her so. 

"Ah, but you are my friend--are partial. Will not Algernon see achange?"

"Yes--for the better. "

"I wish I could believe you. But I feel older. My heart is not so freshas it was; I no longer live in a dream; I see things as they reallyare. "

"And do you expect to find no change in your lover? The burning climateof India is not a great beautifier. "

"I can only see him as he was. If his heart remains unchanged, noalteration in his personal appearance could shake my regard, particularly when those changes have been incurred for my sake. "

"Oh, woman, great is your faith!" said Mark, with a sigh. "Gladly wouldI give my fortune to be Algernon. "

Elinor started, and looked anxiously at her companion. It was the firsttime he had ever alluded to his secret passion. Did he love her? Thequestion made Elinor tremble. She folded her letter, and turned theconversation into another channel. But the words haunted her, "I wouldgive my fortune to be Algernon. " Could he be in earnest? Perhaps it wasonly a passing compliment--men were fond of paying such. But the Squirewas no flatterer; he seldom said what he did not mean. She re-readAlgernon's letter, and thought no more about the words that his brotherhad let fall. 

That letter was the last she ever received from her lover. Afterenduring the most torturing suspense for eighteen months, and writingfrequently to demand the cause of his unnatural silence, Elinor gaveherself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Mr. Hurdlestone endeavored tosoothe her fears, and win her to the belief that his brother's lettersmust have miscarried, through the negligence of private hands, to whomthey might have been entrusted. But when these suggestions failed inarousing her from the stupor of grief into which she had fallen, heoffered the most tender consolations which could be administered to awounded mind--an appearance of heartfelt sympathy in its sufferings. 

While musing one morning over the cause of Algernon's silence, theSquire's groom approached the open window at which she was seated, andplaced a letter in her hands; it was edged and sealed with black; andElinor hastily broke the seal, and opened it. Her eye glanced, hurriedlyover the first few words. She uttered a loud cry; and sank down, weeping, at her mother's feet. 

Mrs. Wildegrave lifted her to the sofa, and taking the letter from hercold and nerveless grasp, read its contents. They were written by MarkHurdlestone. 

 Oak Hall, June 16, ----

 "My Dear Miss Wildegrave:

 "It is with the utmost reluctance that I take up my pen to communicate tidings which, I well know, will occasion you great distress. This morning's post brought me the mournful intelligence of my brother Algernon's death, which melancholy event took place on the morning of the 4th of August last, at the house of a friend in Calcutta. Mr. Richardson's letter I will transmit to you as soon as you are able to bear its contents. My poor brother was on his way to England; and his death was so sudden, that he made no arrangement of his affairs previous to his dissolution. That Heaven may comfort and sustain you under this severe trial, is the earnest prayer of your sincere friend, "Marcus Hurdlestone. "

"Oh, mother! mother! My heart--my poor heart! How shall I learn to bearthis great sorrow?" was all that the forlorn girl could utter, as shepressed her hands tightly over the agitated bosom that concealed herconvulsed and bursting heart. No sound was heard within that peacefulhome for many days and nights but the sobs and groans of the unhappyElinor. She mourned for the love of her youth, as one without hope. Sheresisted every attempt at consolation, and refused to be comforted. Whenthe first frantic outbreak of sorrow had stagnated into a hopeless andtearless gloom, which threatened the reason of the sufferer, the Squirevisited the cottage, and brought with him the merchant's letter, thatfully corroborated his former statement, and the wretched heart-brokengirl could no longer cherish the most remote probability to which hopecould cling. 

Twelve months passed away. The name of Algernon was never mentioned inher presence; and she still continued to wear the deepest mourning. Astrange apathy had succeeded her once gay flow of spirits, and sheseemed alike indifferent to herself and all the world. To the lover-likeattentions of Mark Hurdlestone she paid no regard, and appeared whollyunconscious of his admiration. Mortified by her coldness, even hispatience was nearly exhausted; when the death of her mother, who hadbeen a long time in declining health, cast Elinor, friendless andunprotected, on the world. This circumstance, hailed with unspeakablejoy by Mr. Hurdlestone, plunged the poor girl, doubly an orphan, intodespair. 

A lady in the neighborhood, pitying her distress, received her into herfamily, until she could adopt some plan for her future maintenance; butall her attempts to console Elinor for her loss proved abortive. Hertears flowed unceasingly, her health and spirits were impaired; and shefelt, with bitterness, that she no longer possessed strength orfortitude to combat with poverty and the many ills of life. 

At this critical juncture, Mark Hurdlestone, generously, as all theworld thought, came forward, and offered her his hand; inviting her, inthe most delicate manner, to share his splendid home and fortune. 

His disinterested offer, at such a time, filled Elinor with respect andgratitude, but she did not love him; and, trembling and irresolute, sheknew not how to act. She had but one relative--an uncle, in India--whohad never written to her mother since her father died upon the scaffold. Whether this uncle was still living, was married, or single, she couldnot ascertain. To him, therefore, it was useless to apply. She had nohome--she was at present dependent upon the bounty of a stranger, whocould ill afford to be burdened with an additional member to her alreadylarge family. What could she do? She consulted that friend; and theworthy woman strongly advised her to accept the Squire's offer, wondering, all the while, how she could, for one moment, think of arefusal. So it was all settled; and Elinor reluctantly consented tobecome Mark Hurdlestone's wife. 

Thousands in her situation would have done the same. But we must blameher, or any other woman, whatever her circumstances may be, who consentsto become the bosom-partner of a man she cannot love. Miserable are suchunions; from them flow, as from a polluted stream, all the bitterestsorrows and ills of life. 

Young maiden, whosoever you may be, whose eyes glance at this moment onmy page, take the advice of one who has been both a happy wife andmother: never sacrifice the best and holiest affections of your heart onthe sordid shrine of wealth or worldly ambition. Without reciprocallove, the heart becomes a moral desert How can you reasonably expect toreceive that from another, of which you are destitute yourself? Will thefield that never was sown yield to the possessor a plentiful harvest? Ido most firmly believe, that to this want of affection in parents toeach other may be traced the want of the same feeling in childrentowards their parents. If a woman hates her husband, her offspring arenot very likely to feel a strong attachment to their father; forchildren inherit, in a strong degree, not only the disposition of theirparents, but their mental and physical peculiarities. 

A virtuous woman will rarely place her affections upon an unworthyobject if she be true to herself and the education she has received; andif she cannot consent to encounter a few trials and privations for thesake of the man she loves, she is not worthy to be his wife. 

The loving and beloved partner of a good man may be called upon toendure many temporal sorrows, but her respect and admiration for hischaracter will enable her to surmount them all, and she will exclaimwith pious exultation, --"Thank God! I have been happy in my choice. Hislove is better to me than gold, yea, than much fine gold!"

CHAPTER IV. 

 Oh Lord, thou hast enlarged the grief Of this poor stricken heart, That only finds in tears relief, Which all unbidden start: Long have I borne the cruel scorn Of one I could not love nor hate; My soul, with secret anguish torn, Yields unresisting to its fate--S. M. 

Mark Hurdlestone's triumph was complete; his revenge fully gratified, when he led his beautiful bride from the altar to the carriage, whichwas in readiness to convey her to her future home. She was his, andAlgernon might return as soon as he pleased. Elinor Wildegrave wasbeyond his reach. She could never be his wife. 

Tranquil, but not happy, Elinor viewed the change in her circumstancesas an intervention of Providence to save her from a life of poverty andsuffering; and she fancied that, if she did not love her benefactor, feelings of gratitude and a sense of duty would always prevent him frombecoming to her an object of dislike or indifference. 

How little had she studied human nature; how ignorant was she of themysterious movements of the human heart; and when, after much painfulexperience, she acquired the fatal knowledge, how bitter were theeffects it produced upon her own. 

When once his victim was in his toils, Mr. Hurdlestone did not attemptto conceal from her his real disposition. 

He laughed at her credulity in believing that love alone had actuatedhim in making her his wife. He related to her, with terrible fidelity, the scene he had witnessed between her and Algernon in the garden, andthe agonies of jealousy that he endured when he discovered that sheloved another; and he repulsed with cold and sarcastic neglect everyattempt made by Elinor to render their union more tolerable, and hishome more comfortable. 

To Elinor his conduct was perfectly unaccountable. She could not believethat he did not love her, and she was not a little mortified at what sheconsidered his unnatural coldness and neglect. 

"Marcus, " she said to him one evening, as she sat on a cushion at hisfeet, after making many vain attempts to attract his notice, or win fromhim one kind look or word, "you did not always treat me withindifference; there was a time when I thought you loved me. "

"There was a time, madam, when I adored you!--when I would have givenall I possessed in the world to obtain from you one smile. "

"Then why this coldness? What have I done to merit your dislike?"

"You loved Algernon. You love him still. Aye, that blush! Your facetells no falsehood. You cannot conceal it from me. "

"I do not deny my love. But he is dead. Why should you be jealous of thedead?"

Mark smiled a grim bitter smile. "But if he were alive?"

"Ah!" and she pressed her small white hand tightly on her heart. "Butthen, Marcus, I should not be your wife. It would no longer be my dutyto love another. "

"You think it, then, your duty to love me?"

"Yes. You are my husband. My heart is lonely and sad. It must be filledby some object. Dear Marcus, suffer me to love you. "

She laid her fair cheek meekly upon his knee, but he did not answer hertouching appeal to his sympathy with a single caress. 

"I cannot make you happy, Elinor. Algernon alone can do that. "

"Algernon! Why Algernon?" said Elinor, bursting into tears. "Is it tomake me more miserable that you constantly remind me of my loss?"

"How do you know that he is dead?"

"I have your word for it; the evidence of your friend's letter; his longsilence. What frightful images you conjure up! You seem determined tomake me wretched to-night. "

She sprang from her lowly seat, and left the room in an agony of tears. Mark looked after her for a moment:--"Aye, he still keeps your heart. But I have had my revenge. "

The agony which he had endured in the garden on that memorable night, when he first discovered that Elinor loved his brother, was light incomparison to the pangs which shook the inmost soul of his unhappy wife, when time at last revealed the full extent of her misery, and of herhusband's deep-laid treachery--and Algernon returned from India with anindependent fortune to claim his bride, and found her the wife of hisbrother. 

The monster who had supplanted him in his father's affections had nowrobbed him of his wife. Algernon did not seek an explanation from Mrs. Hurdlestone, either personally or by letter. He supposed that herpresent position was one of her own choosing, and he was too proud toutter a complaint. The hey-day of youth was past, and he had seen toomuch of the world to be surprised at the inconstancy of a poor girl, whohad been offered, during her lover's absence, a splendid alliance. Heconsidered that Elinor was sufficiently punished for her broken vows inbeing forced to spend her life in the society of such a sordid wretch asMark Hurdlestone. 

"God forgive her, " he said; "she has nearly broken my heart, but I pityher from my very soul. "

When the dreadful truth flashed upon the mind of Mrs. Hurdlestone, shebitterly accused her husband of the deception he had practised. Mr. Hurdlestone, instead of denying or palliating the charge, even boastedof his guilt, and entered into a minute detail of each revoltingcircumstance--the diabolical means that he had employed to destroy herpeace. 

This fiend, to whom in an evil hour she had united her destiny, hadcarefully intercepted the correspondence between herself and Algernon, and employed a friend in India to forge the plausible account he hadreceived of her lover's death--and finally, as the finishing stroke toall this deep-laid villany, he had overcome his avaricious propensities, and made Elinor his wife, not to gratify a sensual passion, but theterrible spirit of revenge. 

Poor Elinor! For a long time her reason bowed before the knowledge ofthese horrible facts, and when she did at last recover her senses, herbeauty had faded beneath the blight of sorrow like the brilliant butevanescent glow of the evening cloud, which vanishes at the approach ofnight. Weary of life, she did not regret the loss of those fatal charmswhich had been to her a source of such misery. 

The last time the rose tint ever visited her once blooming cheeks waswhen suddenly informed by Mr. Hurdlestone of his brother's marriage witha young lady of large fortune. "May he be happy, " she exclaimed, clasping her hands together, whilst the deepest crimson suffused herface. "I was not worthy to be his wife!" Ere the sentence was concludedthe color had faded from her cheek, which no after emotion recalled. 

His brother's marriage produced a strange effect upon the mind of MarkHurdlestone. It cheated him of a part of his revenge. He had expectedthat the loss of Elinor would have stung Algernon to madness; that hisexistence would have become insupportable without the woman he loved. How great was his mortification when, neither by word nor letter, nor inconversation with his friends, did his injured brother ever revert tothe subject! That Algernon did not feel the blow, could scarcely beinferred from his silence. The grief he felt was too acute for words, and Algernon was still too faithful to the object of his first ardentattachment to upbraid her conduct to others. Mark, who could notunderstand this delicacy of sentiment, concluded that Elinor was nolonger regarded with affection by her lover. Elinor comprehended hissilence better, and she loved him more intensely for his forbearance. 

Algernon the world reputed rich and happy, and the Squire despisedElinor when her person was no longer coveted by his rival. His temper, constitutionally bad, became intolerable, and he treated hisuncomplaining wife with such unkindness, that it would have broken herheart, if the remembrance of a deeper sorrow had not rendered herindifferent to his praise or censure. She considered his kindest mercywas neglect. 

Having now no other passion to gratify but avarice, Mark Hurdlestone'shoarding propensities returned with double force. He graduallyretrenched his domestic expenses; laid down his carriage; sold hishorses; discharged his liveried servants; and, to the astonishment ofhis wondering neighbors, let the noble park to a rich farmer in theparish, with permission to break it up with the plough. He no longersuffered the produce of his extensive gardens to be consumed in thehouse, or given to the poor; but sold the fruit and vegetables to anypetty greengrocer in the village, who thought it worth his while to walkup to the Hall, and drive a bargain with the stingy Squire. He not onlyassisted in gathering the fruit, for fear he should be robbed, but oftenacted as scarecrow to the birds, whom he reviled as noisy, uselessnuisances, vexatiously sent to destroy the fruits of the earth. 

Elinor gently remonstrated with him on the meanness and absurdity ofsuch conduct; but he silenced what he termed her impertinentinterference in matters which did not concern her. He bade her toremember that she brought him no fortune, and he was forced to makethese retrenchments in order to support her. After this confession, there was no end to his savings. He discharged his remaining domestics;sold most of the splendid furniture by public auction; and, finally, shut up the Hall to avoid paying the window-tax, only allowing thekitchen, one parlor, and two bed-rooms to be visited by the light ofday. The only person whom he allowed to approach the house was thegardener, Grenard Pike, who rented a small cottage at the end of theavenue that led to the back premises of the once noble mansion. 

This favored individual was the Squire in low life; and the gossipdealers in the village did not scruple to affirm that the likeness wasnot _merely_ accidental; that Grenard Pike was brother to the Squire ina natural way; but whether this report were true or false, he and hismaster, if unrelated by blood, possessed kindred spirits, and perfectlyunderstood and appreciated each other. This man had neither wife norchild, and the whole business of his life was how to get money, and, when got, how to turn it to the best advantage. If the Squire wasattached to anything in the world, it was to this faithful satellite, this humble transcript of himself. 

The wretched Elinor, shut out from all society, and denied everydomestic comfort, was limited by her stingy partner to the awkwardattendance of a parish girl, who, together with her mistress, hecontrived to half starve; as he insisted on keeping the key of thepantry, and only allowed them a scanty meal twice during the twenty-fourhours, which he said, was sufficient to keep them in health; more washurtful both to the mind and body. 

Elinor had dragged on this miserable existence for twelve years, when, to her unspeakable grief, she found that she was likely to become amother, for the prospect of this event served rather to increase, thandiminish her sorrows. It was some time before she dared to communicatethis unwelcome intelligence to her sordid lord. Still, she hoped, inspite of his parsimony, that he might wish for a son to heir his immensewealth. Not he! He only thought of a spendthrift, who would recklesslysquander all that he toiled and starved himself to save; and he receivedthe promise of his paternal honors with a very bad grace. 

"All the world!" he exclaimed, "are conspiring together to ruin me. Ishall be ate out of house and home by doctors and nurses, and my restwill be constantly disturbed by squalling brats; for I suppose, madam, that like my worthy mother, you will entail upon me two at a time. Butmy mother was a strong healthy woman, not delicate and puling like you. It is more than probable that the child may die. "

"And the mother, " sighed Elinor. 

"Well if He who sends is pleased to take away, He will find me perfectlyresigned to His will. You need not weep, madam. If my conduct appearsunnatural, let me tell you that I consider those human beings alonefortunate who perish in their infancy. They are in no fear of coming tothe gallows. They are saved from the threatened torments of hell!"

Elinor shrank from the wild flash of his keen dark eyes, and drew backwith an involuntary shudder. "Happy had it been for me if I had died aninfant on my mother's breast. "

"Aye, if you had never seen the light. You were born to be the bane ofmy house. But since you have confided to me this precious secret, let meask you what you think will be the probable expense of yourconfinement?"

"I really cannot tell. I must have a doctor--a nurse--and some fewnecessaries for the poor babe. I think, with great economy, ten poundswould be enough. "

"Ten pounds!"

"It may cost more, certainly not less. "

"You will never get that sum from me. "

"But, Marcus, what am I to do?"

"The best way you can. "

"You would not have your wife solicit charity?"

"An excellent thought. Ha! ha! you would make a first-rate beggar, withthat pale sad face of yours. But, no, madam, you shall not beg. Poor asI am, I will find means to support both you and the child. But, markme--it must not resemble Algernon. "

"How is that possible? I have not seen Algernon for eighteen years. "

"But he is ever in your thoughts. Let me not trace this adultery of theheart in the features of my child. "

"But you are like Algernon. Not a striking likeness, but still you mightbe known for brothers. "

"So, you are trying to find excuses in case of the worst. But, I againrepeat to you, that I will not own the boy if he is like Algernon. "

This whim of the miser's was a new cause of terror to Elinor; from thatmoment an indescribable dread lest the child should be like Algernontook possession of her breast. She perceived that her husband alreadycalculated with selfish horror the expense of the unborn infant's foodand raiment; and she began to entertain some not unreasonable fears lestthe young child, if it should survive its birth, would be starved todeath, as Mark barely supplied his household with the common necessariesof life; and, though Elinor bore the system of starvation with theindifference which springs from a long and hopeless continuation ofsuffering, the parish girl was loud in her complaints, and she wasconstantly annoyed with her discontented murmurings, without having itin her power to silence them in the only effective way. 

The Squire told Ruth, that she consumed more food at one meal than wouldsupport him and her mistress for a week; and he thought that what wasenough for them might satisfy a cormorant like her. But the poor girlcould not measure the cravings of her healthy appetite by the scantywants of a heart-broken invalid and a miser. Her hunger remainedunappeased, and she continued to complain. 

At this period Mark Hurdlestone was attacked, for the first time in hislife, with a dangerous illness. Elinor nursed him with the greatestcare, and prescribed for him as well as she could; for he would notsuffer a doctor to enter the house. But finding that the disorder didnot yield to her remedies, but rather that he grew daily worse, sheprivately sent for the doctor. When he arrived, Mr. Hurdlestone orderedhim out of his room, and nearly exhausted what little strength he stillpossessed, in accusing Elinor of entering into a conspiracy with Mr. Moore to kill him, and, as the doctor happened to be a widower, to marryhim after his death, and share the spoils between them. 

"Your husband, madam, is mad--as mad as a March hare, " said Mr. Moore, as he descended the stairs. "He is, however, in a very dangerous state, it is doubtful if he ever recovers. "

"And what can be done for him?"

"Nothing in his present humor without you have him treated as a maniac, which, if I were in your case and in your situation, I most certainlywould do. "

"Oh, no, no! there is something dreadful in such a charge coming from awife, though he often appears to me scarcely accountable for hisactions; but what can I give him to allay this dreadful fever?"

"I will write you a prescription. " This the doctor did on the back of aletter with his pencil, for Elinor could not furnish him with a scrap ofpaper. 

"You must send this to the apothecary. He will make it up. "

"What will it cost?"

The doctor smiled. "A mere trifle; perhaps three shillings. "

"I have not had such a sum in my possession for the last three years. Hewill die before he will give it to me. "

"Mad, mad, mad, " said the doctor, shaking his head. "Well, my dearlady, if he will not give it to save his worthless life, you must stealit from him. If you fail, why let Nature take her course. His deathwould certainly be your gain. "

Returning to the sick room, she found the patient in a better temper, evidently highly gratified at having expelled the doctor. Elinor thoughtthis a good opportunity to urge her request for a small sum of money toprocure medicines and other necessaries; but on this subject she foundhim inexorable. 

"Give you money to buy poison!" he exclaimed. "Do you take me for afool, or mad?"

"You are very ill, Marcus; you will die, without you follow Dr. Moore'sadvice. "

"Don't flatter yourselves. I don't mean to die to please you. There is agreat deal of vitality in me yet. Don't say another word. I will takenothing but cold water; I feel better already. "

"Pray God that you may be right, " said Elinor. But after this fit ofrage, he fell into a stupor, and before night he was considerably worse. His unfortunate wife, worn down with watching and want of food and rest, now determined to have a regular search for the key of his strongbox, that she might procure him the medicines prescribed by the doctor, andpurchase oatmeal and bread for the use of the parish girl and herself. 

She carefully examined his pockets, his writing-desk, and bureau, but tono purpose--looking carefully into every drawer and chest that had notbeen sold by public auction or private contract. Not a corner of thechamber was left unexplored--not a closet or shelf escaped her strictexamination, until, giving up the search as perfectly hopeless, sheresumed her station at his bed-side, to watch through the long winternight--without a fire, and by the wan gleam that a miserable rush-lightshed through the spacious and lofty room--the restless slumbers of themiser. She was ill, out of spirits, fatigued with her fruitlessexertion, and deeply disappointed at her want of success. 

The solitary light threw a ghastly livid hue on the strongly-markedfeatures of the sleeper, rendered sharp and haggard by disease and hispenurious habits; she could just distinguish through the gloom thespectre-like form of the invalid, and the long bony attenuated handswhich grasped, from time to time, the curtains and bedclothes, as hetossed from side to side in his feverish unrest. Elinor continued towatch the dark and perturbed countenance of the sleeper, until he becamean object of fear, and she fancied that it was some demon who had for atime usurped the human shape, and not the brother of Algernon--the manwhom she had voluntarily attended to the altar, and in the presence ofAlmighty God had sworn to love, honor, and obey, and to cherish insickness and in health. 

A crushing sense of all the deception that had been practiced upon her, of her past wrongs and present misery, made her heart die within her, and her whole soul overflow with bitterness. She wrung her hands, andsmote her breast in an agony of despair; but in that dark hour no tearrelieved her burning brain, or moistened her eyes. She had once beenunder the dominion of insanity; she felt that her reason in that momenthung upon a thread; that, if she pursued much longer her presentthoughts, they would drive her mad; that, if she continued to gaze muchlonger on the face of her husband, she would be tempted to plunge aknife, which lay on the table near her, into his breast. With adesperate effort she drew her eyes from the sleeper, and turned from thebed. Her gaze fell upon a large full-length picture in oils, which hungopposite. It was the portrait of one of Mark's ancestors, a young manwho had fallen in his first battle, on the memorable field of Flodden. It bore a strong resemblance to Algernon, and Elinor prized it on thataccount, and would sit for hours with her head resting upon her hand, and her eyes riveted on this picture. This night it seemed to regard herwith a sad and mournful aspect; and the large blue eyes appeared toreturn her fixed gaze with the sorrowful earnestness of life. 

"My head is strangely confused, " she murmured, half aloud. "Into whatnew extravagance will my treacherous fancy hurry me to-night? Ah me!physical wants and mental suffering, added to this long watching, willturn my brain. "

She buried her face in her hands, and endeavored to shut out thegrotesque and phantom-like forms that seemed to dance before her. Adeathlike stillness reigned through the house, the silence alone brokenby the ticking of the great dial at the head of the staircase. There issomething inexpressibly awful in the ticking of a clock, when heard atmidnight by the lonely and anxious watcher beside the bed of death. Itis the voice of time marking its slow but certain progress towardseternity, and warning us in solemn tones that it will soon cease tonumber the hours for the sufferer for ever. Elinor trembled as shelistened to the low monotonous measured sounds; and she felt at thatmoment a presentiment that her own weary pilgrimage on earth was drawingto a close. 

"Oh, Algernon!" she thought; "it may be a crime, but I sometimes thinkthat if I could see you once more--only once more--I could forget allmy wrongs and sufferings, and die in peace. "

The unuttered thought was scarcely formed, when a slight rustling noiseshook the curtains of the bed, and the next moment a tall figure inwhite glided across the room. It drew nearer, and Elinor, in spite ofthe wish she had just dared to whisper to herself, struggled with thevision, as a sleeper does with the night-mare, when the suffocatinggrasp of the fiend is upon his throat. Her presence of mind forsook her, and, with a shriek of uncontrollable terror, she flung herself acrossthe bed, and endeavored to awaken her husband. The place he had occupieda few minutes before was vacant; and, raising her fear-stricken head, she perceived, with feelings scarcely less allied to fear, that thefigure she had mistaken for the ghost of Algernon was the corporeal formof the miser. 

He was asleep, but his mind appeared to be actively employed. He drewnear the table with a cautious step, and took from beneath a broadleathern belt, which he always wore next his skin, a small key. Elinorsat up on the bed, and watched his movements with intense interest. Henext took up the candle, and glided out of the room. Slipping off hershoes she followed him with noiseless steps. He descended the greatstaircase, and suddenly stopped in the centre of the entrance hall. Herehe put down the light on the last step of the broad oak stairs, andproceeded to remove one of the stone flags that formed the pavement ofthe hall. With some difficulty he accomplished his task; then kneelingdown, and holding the light over the chasm, he said in hollow andunearthly tones that echoed mournfully through the empty building:

"Look! here is money; my father's savings and my own. Will this save mysoul?"

Elinor leaned over the sordid wretch, and discovered with no smallastonishment that the aperture contained a great quantity of gold andsilver coins; and the most valuable articles of the family plate andjewels. 

"Unhappy man!" she mentally cried; "dost thou imagine that theseglittering heaps of metal will purchase the redemption of a soul likethine, or avert the certainty of future punishment?--for never was theparable of the servant who buried his talent in the dust more fullyexemplified than in thee. "

"What, not enough?" growled forth the miser. "By heavens! thou hast ahuman conscience. But wait patiently, and I will show you more--aye, more--my brother's portion, and my own. Ha, ha! I tricked him there. Theold man's heart failed him at the last. He was afraid of you. Yes, yes, he was afraid of the devil! It was I formed the plan. It was I guidedthe dead hand. Shall I burn for that?"

Then, as if suddenly struck with a violent pain, he shrieked out, "Ah, ah! my brain is cloven with a bolt of fire. I cannot bear this! Algernonmocks my agonies--laughs at my cries--and tells me that he has a fairwife and plenty of gold, in spite of my malice. How did he get it? Didhe rob me?"

Elinor shrunk back aghast from this wild burst of delirium; and themiser, rising from his knees, began re-ascending the stairs. This taskhe performed with difficulty, and often reeled forward with extreme painand weakness. After traversing several empty chambers, he entered whathad once been the state apartment, and stooping down, he drew frombeneath the faded furniture of the bed a strong mahogany brass-boundchest, which he cautiously opened, and displayed to his wonderingcompanion a richer store of wealth than that on which she had so latelygazed. 

"How! not satisfied yet!" he cried in the same harsh tones, "then may Iperish to all eternity if I give you one fraction more. "

As he was about to close the chest, Elinor, who knew that without anecessary supply of money both her unborn infant and its avariciousfather would perish for want, slid her hand into the box, and dextrouslyabstracted some of the broad gold pieces it contained. The coins, incoming in contact with each other, emitted a slight ringing sound, whicharrested, trifling as it was, the ear of the sleeper. 

"What! fingering the gold already?" he exclaimed, hastily slapping downthe lid of the strong box. "Could you not wait till I am dead?"

Then staggering back to his apartment, he was soon awake, and ravingunder a fresh paroxysm of the fever. In his delirium he fancied himselfconfined to the dreary gulf of eternal woe, and from this place oftorment he imagined that his brother could alone release him, and heproffered to him, while under the influence of that strong agony, allhis hidden treasures if he would but intercede with Christ to save hissoul. 

These visions of his diseased brain were so frequent and appalling, andthe near approach of death so dreadful to the guilty and despairingwretch, that they produced at last a strong desire to see his brother, that he might ask his forgiveness, and make some restitution of hisproperty to him before he died. 

"Elinor, " he said, "I must see Algernon. I cannot die until I have seenhim. But mark me, Elinor, you must not be present at our conference. Youmust not see him. "

With quivering lips, and a face paler than usual, his wife promisedobedience, and Grenard Pike was despatched to Norgood Hall to make knownto Algernon Hurdlestone his dying brother's request, and to call in, once more, the aid of the village doctor. 

As Elinor watched the grim messenger depart, she pressed her handstightly over her breast to hide from the quick eye of the miser theviolent agitation that convulsed her frame, as the recollection offormer days flashed upon her too retentive memory. 

"Surely, surely, " she thought, "he will never come. He has been toodeeply injured to attend to a verbal summons from his unnaturalbrother. "

Although strongly impressed that this would be the case, the desire ofonce more beholding the love of her youth, though forbidden to speak tohim, or even to hear the sound of his voice, produced a state offeverish excitement in her mind which kept alive her fears, withouttotally annihilating hope. 

The misty, grey dawn was slowly breaking along the distant hills, whenGrenard Pike, mounted upon a cart-horse which he had borrowed for theoccasion, leisurely paced down the broad avenue of oaks that led throughthe park to the high road. Methodical in all his movements, though lifeand death depended upon his journey, for no earthly inducement but ahandsome donation in money would Grenard Pike have condescended toquicken his pace. This Elinor had it not in her power to bestow; and shecalculated with impatience the many hours which must elapse before sucha tardy messenger could reach Norgood Hall. Noon was the earliest periodwithin the range of possibility; yet the sound of the horse's hoofs, striking against the frosty ground, still vibrated upon her ear when shetook her station at the chamber window, to watch for the arrival of theman whose image a separation of nearly twenty years had not been able toobliterate from her heart. Such is the weakness of human nature, thatwe suffer imagination to outspeed time, and compress into one littlemoment the hopes, the fears, the anticipations, and the events of years;but when the spoiler again overtakes us, we look back, and, forgetful ofour former impatience to accelerate his pace, we are astonished at therapidity of his flight. 

Elinor thought that the long day would never come to a close; yet it wasas dark and as short as a bleak, gloomy day in November could be. Evening at length came, but brought no Algernon. Mr. Moore had paid hisvisit, and was gone. He expected nothing less than the death of hispatient, after giving his consent to such an extraordinary event; and hehad even condescended to take a draught and some pills from the doctor'shands. It is true that the sight of him, and the effects of the nauseousmedicines he had administered, had put the miser into a fever ofill-temper; and he sullenly watched his wife, as she lingered hour afterhour at the window, till, in no very gentle accents, he called her tohis bed-side. 

At that moment Elinor fancied that she heard the sound of approachingwheels, and she strained her eyes to discern, through the deepeninggloom, some object that might realize her hopes. "No, " she sighed, "itwas but the wind raving through the leafless oaks--the ticking of theold dial--the throbbing of my own heart. He will not--he cannot come!"

"Woman! what ails you?" cried the invalid. "Reach me the drink. "

Elinor mechanically obeyed; but her head was turned the other way, andher eyes still fixed upon the window. A light flashed along the darkavenue, now lost, and now again revealed through the trees. The cup fellfrom her nerveless grasp, and faintly articulating, "Yes--'tis he!" shesank senseless across the foot of the bed, as a carriage and four droverapidly into the court-yard. 

The miser, with difficulty, reached the bell-rope that was suspendedfrom the bed's head, and, after ringing violently for some minutes, theunusual summons was answered by the appearance of Ruth, who, thrustingher brown; curly head in at the door, said, in breathless haste:

"The company's come, ma'arm! Such a grand coach! Four beautiful hosses, and two real gemmen in black a' standing behind--and two on hossback a'riding afore. What are we to do for supper? Doubtless they maun bemortal hungry arter their long ride this cold night, and will 'spectsummat to eat, and we have not a morsel of food in the house fit to setafore a cat. "

"Pshaw!" muttered the sick man. "Silence your senseless prate! They willneither eat nor drink here. Tell the coachman that there are excellentaccommodations at the Hurdlestone Arms for himself and his horses. Butfirst see to your mistress--she is in a swoon. Carry her into the nextroom. And, mark me, Ruth--lock the door, and bring me the key. "

The girl obeyed the first part of the miser's orders, but was too eagerto catch another sight of the grand carriage, and the real gentlemenbehind it, to remember the latter part of his injunction. 

CHAPTER V. 

 Is this the man I loved, to whom I gave The deep devotion of my early youth?--S. M. 

Algernon Hurdlestone in his forty-second, and Algernon Hurdlestone inhis twenty-fourth year, were very different men. In mind, person, andmanners, the greatest dissimilarity existed between them. The tallgraceful figure for which he had once been so much admired, a life ofindolence, and the pleasures of the table, had rendered far toocorpulent for manly beauty. His features were still good, and there wasan air of fashion about him which bespoke the man of the world and thegentleman; but he was no longer handsome or interesting. An expressionof careless good-humor, in spite of the deep mourning he wore for therecent death of his wife, pervaded his countenance; and he seemeddetermined to repay Fortune for the many ill turns he had received fromher in his youth, by enjoying, to their full extent, the good thingsthat she had latterly showered upon him. 

He had been a kind manageable husband to a woman whom he had marriedmore for convenience than affection; and was a fatally indulgent fatherto the only son, the sole survivor of a large family that he hadconsigned to the tomb during the engaging period of infancy. Godfrey, abeautiful little boy of two years old, was his youngest and his bestbeloved, on whom he lavished the concentrated affections of his warm andgenerous heart. 

Since his marriage with the rich and beautiful Miss Maitland, he hadscarcely given Elinor Wildegrave a second thought. He had loved herpassionately, as the portionless orphan of the unfortunate CaptainWildegrave; but he could not regard with affection or esteem the wife ofthe rich Mark Hurdlestone--the man from whom he had received so manyinjuries. How she could have condescended to share his splendid misery, was a question which filled his mind with too many painful anddisgusting images to answer. When he received his brother's hastymessage, entreating him to come and make up their old quarrel before hedied, he obeyed the extraordinary summons with his usual kindness ofheart, without reflecting on the pain that such a meeting mightoccasion, when he beheld again the object of his early affections as thewife of his unnatural brother. 

When he crossed the well-known threshold, and his shadow once moredarkened his father's hall, those feelings which had been deadened byhis long intercourse with the world resumed their old sway, and hepaused, and looked around the dilipidated mansion with eyes dimmed withregretful tears. 

"And it was to become the mistress of such a home as this, that ElinorWildegrave--my beautiful Elinor--sold herself to such a man as MarkHurdlestone, and forgot her love--her plighted troth to me!"

So thought Algernon Hurdlestone, as he followed the parish girl up thebroad uncarpeted oak stairs to his brother's apartment, shocked andastonished at the indications of misery and decay which on every sidemet his gaze. He had heard much of Mark's penurious habits, but he haddeemed the reports exaggerated or incorrect; he was now fully convincedthat they were but too true. Surprised that Mrs. Hurdlestone did notappear to receive him, he inquired of Ruth, "if her mistress were athome?"

"At home!--why, yes, sir; it's more than her life's worth to leave home. She durst not go to church without master's leave. "

"And is she well?"

"She be'ant never well; and the sooner she goes the better it will befor her, depend upon that. She do lead a wretched life, the more's thepity; for she is a dear kind lady, a thousand times too good for thelike o' him. "

Algernon sighed deeply, while the girl delighted to get an opportunityof abusing her tyrannical master, continued:

"My poor mistress has been looking out for you all day, sir; but whenyour coach drove into the court-yard she died right away. The Squire gotinto a terrible passion, and told me to carry her up into her own room, and lock her in until company be gone. Howsumever I was too muchflurried to do that; for I am sure my dear missus is too ill to be seenby strangers. He do keep her so shabby, that she have not a gownd fit towear; and she do look as pale as a ghost; and I am sure she is nearer toher end than the stingy old Squire is to his. "

Algernon possessed too much delicacy to ask the girl if Mark treatedMrs. Hurdlestone ill; but whilst groping his way in the dark to hisbrother's room, he was strongly tempted to question her more closely onthe subject. The account she had already given him of the unfortunatelady filled his mind with indignation and regret. At the end of a longgallery the girl suddenly stopped, and pointing to a half-open door, told him that "that was the Squire's room, " and suddenly disappeared. The next moment, Algernon was by the sick-bed of his brother. 

Not without a slight degree of perturbation he put aside the curtain;Mark had sunk into a kind of stupor; he was not asleep, although hiseyes were closed, and his features so rigid and immovable, that at thefirst glance Algernon drew back, under the impression that he wasalready dead. 

The sound of his brother's footsteps not only roused the miser toanimation, but to an acute sense of suffering. For some minutes hewrithed in dreadful pain, and Algernon had time to examine his ghastlyface, and thin attenuated figure. 

They had parted in the prime of youthful manhood--they met in the autumnof life; and the snows of winter had prematurely descended upon the headof the miser. The wear and tear of evil passions had made such fearfulravages in his once handsome and stern exterior, that his twin brotherwould have passed him in the streets without recognition. 

The spasms at length subsided, and after several ineffectual efforts, Algernon at length spoke. 

"Mark, I am here, in compliance with your request; I am very sorry tofind you in this sad state; I hope that you may yet recover. "

The sick man rose slowly up in his bed, and shading his eyes with hishand, surveyed his brother with a long and careful gaze, as though hescarcely recognised in the portly figure before him the elegantfashionable young man of former days. "Algernon! can that be you?"

"Am I so much altered that you do not know me?"

"Humph! The voice is the voice of Algernon--but as for the rest, timehas paid as little respect to your fine exterior as it has done to mine;but if it has diminished your graces, it has added greatly to your bulk. One thing, however, it has not taught you, with all its hardteachings. "

"What is that?" said Algernon, with some curiosity. 

"To speak the truth!" muttered the miser, falling back upon his pillow. "You wish for my recovery!--ha! ha! that is rich--is good. Do you think, Algernon, I am such a fool as to believe that?"

"Indeed, I was sincere. "

"You deceive yourself--the thing is impossible. Human nature is not sofar removed from its original guilt. _You_ wish my life to be prolonged, when you hope to be a _gainer_ by my death. The thought is reallyamusing--so originally philanthropic, but I forgive you, I should dojust the same in your place. Now, sit down if you can find a chair, Ihave a few words to say to you--a few painful words. "

Algernon took his seat on the bed without speaking. He perceived thattime had only increased the bitterness of his brother's caustic temper. 

"Algernon, " said the miser, "I will not enter into a detail of the past. I robbed you of your share of my father's property to gratify my love ofmoney; and I married your mistress out of revenge. Both of these deedshave proved a curse to me--I cannot enjoy the one, and I loathe theother. I am dying; I cannot close my eyes in peace with these crimesupon my conscience. Give me your hand, brother, and say that you forgiveme; and I will make a just restitution of the money, and leave you inthe undisturbed possession of the wife. "

He laughed, that horrid fiendish laugh. Algernon shrunk back with strongdisgust, and relinquished the hand which no longer sought his grasp. 

"Well, I see how it is. There are some natures that cannot amalgamate. You cannot overcome the old hate; but say that you forgive me; it is allI ask. "

"If you can forgive yourself, Mark, I forgive you; and I pray that Godmay do the same. "

"That leaves the case doubtful; however, it is of no use forcing nature. We never loved each other. The soil of the heart has been too muchcorrupted by the leaven of the world, to nourish a new growth ofaffection. We have lived enemies--we cannot part friends; but take thisin payment of the debt I owe you. "

He drew from beneath his pillow a paper, which he placed in hisbrother's hand. It was a draft upon his banker for ten thousand pounds, payable at sight. "Will that satisfy you for all you lost by me?"

"Money cannot do that. "

"You allude to my wife. I saved you from a curse by entailing it uponmyself; for which service I at least deserve your thanks. "

"What has proved a curse to you would have been to me the greatestearthly blessing. I freely forgive you for wronging me out of my shareof the inheritance, but for robbing me of Elinor, I cannot. "

He turned from the bed with the tears in his eyes, and was about to quitthe room. The miser called him back. "Do not be such a fool as to refusethe money, Algernon; the lady I will bequeath to you as a legacy when Iam gone. "

"He is mad!" muttered Algernon, "no sane man could act this diabolicalpart. It is useless to resent his words. He must soon answer for them ata higher tribunal. Yes--I will forgive him--I will not add to his futuremisery. "

He came back to the bed, and taking the burning hand of the miser, saidin a broken voice, "Brother, I wronged you when I believed that youwere an accountable being; I no longer consider you answerable for youractions, and may God view your unnatural conduct to me in the samelight; by the mercy which He ever shows to His erring creatures. Iforgive you for the past. " The stony heart of the miser seemed touched, but his pride was wounded. "Mad--mad, " he said; "so you look upon me asmad. The world is full of maniacs; I do not differ from my kind. Buttake the paper, and let there be peace between you and me. "

Twenty years ago, and the high-spirited Algernon Hurdlestone would haverejected the miser's offer with contempt, but his long intercourse withthe world had taught him the value of money, and his extravagant habitsgenerally exceeded his fine income. Besides, what Mark offered him was, after all, but a small portion of what ought to have been his own. Withan air of cheerful good-nature he thanked his brother, and carefullydeposited the draft in his pocket-book. 

After having absolved his conscience by what he considered not only agood action, but one of sufficient magnitude to save his soul, Markintimated to his brother that he might now leave him--he had nothingfurther to say; a permission which Algernon was not slow to accept. 

As he groped his way through the dark gallery that led from the miser'schamber, a door was opened cautiously at the far end of the passage, anda female figure, holding a dim light in her hand, beckoned to him toapproach. 

Not without reluctance Algernon obeyed the summons, and found himself inthe centre of a large empty apartment which had once been the saloon, and face to face with Mrs. Hurdlestone. 

Elinor carefully locked the door, and placing the light on themantel-shelf, stood before the astonished Algernon, like somememory-haunting phantom of the past. 

Yes. It was Elinor--his Elinor; but not a vestige remained of the graceand beauty that had won his youthful heart. So great was the changeproduced by years of hopeless misery, that Algernon, in the haggard andcareworn being before him, did not at first recognise the object of hisearly love. Painfully conscious of this humiliating fact, Elinor atlength said--"I do not wonder that Mr. Algernon Hurdlestone hasforgotten me; I once was Elinor Wildegrave. "

A gush of tears--of bitter, heart-felt, agonizing tears--followed thisavowal, and her whole frame trembled with the overpowering emotionswhich filled her mind. 

Too much overcome by surprise to speak, Algernon took her hand, and fora few minutes looked earnestly in her altered face. What a mournfulhistory of mental and physical suffering was written there! That look oftender regard recalled the blighted hopes and wasted affections of otheryears; and the wretched Elinor, unable to control her grief, bowed herhead upon her hands, and groaned aloud. 

"Oh, Elinor!--and is it thus we meet? You might have been happy with me. How could you, for the paltry love of gain, become the wife of MarkHurdlestone?"

"Alas, Algernon! necessity left me no alternative in my unhappy choice. I was deceived--cruelly deceived. Yet would to God that I had begged mybread, and dared every hardship--been spurned from the presence of therich, and endured the contempt of the poor, before I consented to becomehis wife. "

"But what strange infatuation induced you to throw away your ownhappiness, and ruin mine? Did not my letters constantly breathe themost ardent affection? Were not the sums of money constantly remitted inthem more than sufficient to supply all your wants?"

"Algernon, I never received the sums you name, not even a letter fromyou after the third year of our separation. "

"Can this be true?" exclaimed Algernon, grasping her arm. "Is itpossible that this statement can be true?"

"As true as that I now stand before you a betrayed, forsaken, heart-broken woman. "

"Poor Elinor; how can I look into that sad face, and believe you false?"

"God bless you, my once dear friend, for these kind words. You know notthe peace they convey to my aching heart. Oh, Algernon, my sufferingshave been dreadful; and there were times when I ceased to know thosesufferings. They called me mad, but I was happy then. My dreams were ofyou. I thought myself your wife, and my misery as Mark's helpmate wasforgotten. When sanity returned, the horrible consciousness that youbelieved me a heartless, ungrateful, avaricious woman, was the worstpang of all. Oh, how I longed to throw myself at your feet, and tell youthe whole dreadful truth. I would not have insulted you to-night with mypresence, or wounded your peace with a recapitulation of my wrongs, butI could no longer live and bear the imputation of such guilt. When youhave heard my sad story, you will, I am sure, not only pity, but forgiveme. "

With feelings of unalloyed indignation, Algernon listened to theiniquitous manner in which Elinor had been deceived and betrayed, andwhen she concluded her sad relation, he fiercely declared that he wouldreturn to the sick man's chamber--reproach him with his crimes, andrevoke his forgiveness. 

"Leave the sinner to his God!" exclaimed the terrified Elinor, placingherself before the door. "For my sake--for your own sake, pity andforgive him. Remember that, monster though he be, he is my husband andyour brother, the father of the unfortunate child whose birth Ianticipate with such sad forebodings. "

"Before that period arrives, " said Algernon, with deep commiseration. "Mark will have paid the forfeit of his crimes, and your child will bethe heir of immense wealth. "

"You believe him to be a dying man, " said Elinor. "He will live. Achange has come over him for the better; the surgeon, this morning, gavestrong hopes of his recovery. Sinner that I am, if he could but havelooked into my heart he would have been shocked at the pain that thiscommunication conveyed. Algernon, I wished his death. God has reversedthe awful sentence; it is the mother, not the father of the unhappyinfant, that will be called hence. Heaven knows that I am weary oflife--that I would willingly die, could I but take the poor babe withme; should it, however, survive its unfortunate mother, promise me, Algernon, by the love of our early years, to be a guardian and protectorto my child. "

She endeavored to sink at his feet, but Algernon prevented her. 

"Your request is granted, Elinor, and for the dear mother's sake, Ipromise to cherish the infant as my own. "

"It is enough. I thank my God for this great mercy; and now that I havebeen permitted to clear my character, leave me, Algernon, and take myblessing with you. Only remember in your prayers that such a miserablewretch as Elinor Wildegrave still lives. "

The violent ringing of the miser's bell hurried her away. Algernonremained for some minutes rooted to the spot, his heart still heavingwith the sense of intolerable wrong. Elinor did not again appear; anddescending to what was once the Servants' Hall, he bade Ruth summon hisattendants, and slipping a guinea into that delighted damsel's hand, hebade a long adieu to the home of his ancestors. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 Oh, what a change--a goodly change! I, too, am changed. I feel my heart expand; My spirit, long bowed down with misery, Grow light and buoyant 'mid these blessed scenes. --S. M. 

As Elinor predicted, the miser slowly recovered, and for a few monthshis severe illness had a salutary effect upon his mind and temper. Hewas even inclined to treat his wife with more respect; and when informedby Dr. Moore of the birth of his son, he received the intelligence withless impatience than she had anticipated. But this gleam of sunshine didnot last long. With returning strength his old monomania returned; andhe began loudly to complain of the expense which his long illness hadincurred, and to rave at the extortion of doctors and nurses; declaringthe necessity of making every possible retrenchment, in order to replacethe money so lost. Elinor did not live long enough to endure these freshprivations. She sunk into a lingering decline, and before her little boycould lisp her name, the friendly turf had closed over his heart-brokenmother. 

Small was the grief expressed by the miser for the death of his gentlepartner. To avoid all unnecessary expense, she was buried in thechurchyard, instead of occupying a place in the family vault; and nostone was erected during the life of the squire, to her memory. 

It was a matter of surprise to the whole neighborhood that the youngchild survived his mother. His father left Nature to supply her place, and, but for the doting affection of Ruth, who came every night andmorning to wash and feed him, out of pure affection to her dearmistress, the little Anthony would soon have occupied a place by hisill-fated mother. 

The Squire never cast a thought upon his half-clad half-famished babewithout bitterly cursing him as an additional and useless expense. Anthony was a quiet and sweet-tempered little fellow; the school inwhich he was educated taught him to endure with patience trials thatwould have broken the spirit of a less neglected child. 

Except the kindness which he received from Ruth, who was now married toa laborer, and the mother of children of her own, he was a stranger tosympathy and affection; and he did not expect to receive from strangersthe tenderness which he never experienced at home. 

The mind of a child, like the mind of a grown person, requiresexcitement: and, as Anthony could neither read nor write, and his fatherseldom deigned to notice him, he was forced to seek abroad for thoseamusements which he could not obtain at home. By the time he hadcompleted his eighth year he was to be seen daily mingling with the poorboys in the village, with face unwashed and hair uncombed, and clothesmore ragged and dirty than those of his indigent associates. 

One fine summer afternoon, while engaged in the exciting game ofpitch-and-toss, a handsome elderly gentleman rode up to the group ofboys, and asked the rosy ragged Anthony if he would run before him andopen the gate that led to the Hall. 

"Wait awhile, " cried the little fellow, adroitly poising the halfpennythat he was about to throw, on the tip of his finger. "If I win by thistoss I will show you the way to my father's. "

"Your father!" said the gentleman, surveying attentively the raggedchild. "Are you the gardener's son?"

"No, no, " replied the boy, laughing and winking to his companions; "notquite so bad as that. My father is a rich man, though he acts like apoor one, and lets me, his only son, run about the streets withoutshoes. But, did I belong to skin-flint Pike, instead of one slice ofbread to my milk and water, I might chance to get none. My father is theold Squire, and my name is Anthony Marcus Hurdlestone. "

"His father and grandfather's names combined--names of evil omen havethey been to me, " sighed the stranger, who was, indeed, no other thanAlgernon Hurdlestone, who for eight long years had forgotten the solemnpromise given to Elinor, that he would be a friend and guardian to herchild. Nor would he now have remembered the circumstance, had not hisown spoilt Godfrey been earnestly teasing him for a playmate. "Be a goodboy, Godfrey, and I will bring you home a cousin to be a brother andplayfellow, " he said, as his conscience smote him for this longneglected duty; and ordering his groom to saddle his horse, he rode overto Oak Hall to treat with the miser for his son. 

"Alas!" he thought, "can this neglected child be the son of my beautifulElinor, and heir to the richest commoner in England? But the boyresembles my own dear Godfrey, and, for Elinor's sake, I will try andrescue him from the barbarous indifference of such a father. "

Then, telling the bare-footed urchin that he was his uncle Algernon, and that he should come to Norgood Hall, and live with him, and haveplenty to eat and drink, and pretty clothes to wear, and a nice pony ofhis own to ride, and a sweet little fellow of his own age to play with, he lifted the astonished and delighted child before him on the saddle, and was about to proceed to the Hall. 

"The Squire does not live at the Hall, " said the child, pulling at therein, in order to give the horse another direction. "Oh, no; he is _toopoor_ (and he laughed outright) to live there. "

"What do you mean, Anthony and why do you call Mr. Hurdlestone theSquire, instead of papa?"

"He never tells me to call him papa; he never calls me his son, or'little boy, ' or even 'Anthony, ' or speaks to me as other fathers speakto their children. He calls me chit and brat, and rude noisy fellow; andit's 'Get out of my way, you little wretch! Don't come here to annoyme. ' And how can I call him father or papa, when he treats me as if Idid not belong to him?"

"My dear child, I much fear that you do not love your father. "

"How can I, when he does not love me? If he would be kind to me, I wouldlove him very much; for I have nothing in the world to love but oldShock, and he's half-starved. But he does love me, and I give him all Ican spare from my meals, and that's little enough. I often wish formore, for poor Shock's sake; for they say that he was mamma's dog, andRuth Candler told me that when mamma died, he used to go every day formonths and lie upon her grave. Now was not that kind of Shock? I wishpapa loved me only half as well as old Shock loved my mother, and Iwould not mind being starved, and going about the streets withoutshoes. "

Thus the child, prattled on, revealing to his new companion the secretsof the prison-house. Had he looked up at that moment into his uncle'sface, he would have seen the tear upon his cheeks. He pressed the poorchild silently against him as they rode on. 

"We will take Shock with us, Anthony, and he shall have plenty to eat aswell as you. "

"Oh, dear uncle, how we shall love you, both Shock and I!"

"But tell me, Anthony, has your father really left the Hall?"

"Long, long ago; as far back as I can remember. It is the first thing Ican remember, since I awoke in this world and found myself alive, theremoving to old Pike's cottage. The Squire said that he was too poor tolive at the Hall, and there was plenty of room in the gardener's cottagefor us three, and there we have lived ever since. See, uncle, we are nowcoming to it. "

Algernon looked up and saw that they had entered a long avenue of loftytrees, which he recognised as a back way to the extensive gardens, atthe extremity of which, and near the garden gate, stood a small cottage, once neat and comfortable, but now fast falling to decay. He had oftenplayed there with his brother and Grenard Pike in their childhood. Theplastered walls of the tenement in many places had given way, and thebroken windows were filled with pieces of board, which, if they kept outthe wind and rain, dismally diminished the small portion of light whichfound its way through the dusty panes. 

Fastening his horse to the moss-grown paling, Algernon proceeded toknock at the door. 

"Who's there?" growled a deep voice from within. 

"A gentleman wishes to speak to Mr. Hurdlestone. "

"He's not at home to strangers, " responded the former growl, withoutunclosing the door. 

"That's Grenard Pike, " whispered the boy. "You may be sure that theSquire is not far off. "

"I _must_ see Mr. Hurdlestone. I cannot wait until he returns, " saidAlgernon, walking into the house "I ought, I think, to be no strangerhere. "

A small spare man, with sharp features, a brown leather face, thin lankblack hair, and eyes like a snake, drew back from the door, as Algernonthus unceremoniously effected an entrance. His partner in penury, themiser, was seated at an old oak table making arithmetical calculationsupon a bit of broken slate. 

The tall stately figure of Mark Hurdlestone was, at this period, stillunbent with age, and he rose from his seat, his face flushed with angerat being detected in sanctioning an untruth. His quick eye recognisedhis brother, and he motioned to him to take a seat on the bench nearhim. 

It was not in the nature of the miser to consider Algernon a welcomevisitor. He was continually haunted by the recollection of the tenthousand pounds that remorse had extorted from him, in the evil hourwhen death stared him in the face, and the fear of future punishment, for a brief season, triumphed over the besetting sin. He could notforgive Algernon for this dreadful sacrifice; and but for very shamewould have asked him to return the money, giving him a bond to restoreit at his death. 

"Well, brother, " he began, in his usual ungracious tones, "what businessbrings you here?"

"I came to ask of you a favor, " said Algernon, seating himself, anddrawing the little Anthony between his knees; "one which I hope that youwill not refuse to grant. "

"Humph!" said Mark. "I must tell you, without mincing the matter brotherAlgernon, that I never grant favors in any shape. That I never askfavors of any one. That I never lend money, or borrow money. That Inever require security for myself of others, or give my name as securityto them. If such is your errand to me you may expect, what you willfind--disappointment. "

"Fortunately my visit to you has nothing to do with money. Nor do Ithink that the favor I am about to ask will cause you to make the leastsacrifice. Will you give me this boy?"

The novel request created some surprise, it was so different from theone the miser expected. He looked from the ragged child to hisfashionably-dressed brother, then to the child again, as if doubtfulwhat answer to return. The living brown skeleton, Pike, slipped softlyacross the room to his side; and a glance of peculiar meaning shot fromhis rat-like eyes, into the dark, deep-set, searching orbs of the miser. 

"What do you think of it, Pike? Hey!"

"It is too good an offer to be refused, " whispered the avaricioussatellite, who always looked upon himself as the miser's heir. "Take himat his word. "

"What do you want with the child?" said Mark, turning to his brother. "Have you not a son of your own?"

"I have--a handsome clever little fellow. This nephew of mine greatlyresembles him. "

"He cannot be more like you than this child is, whom his mother dared tocall mine. For my own part I never have, nor ever shall, consider him assuch. "

"Brother! brother! you cannot, dare not, insinuate aught against thehonor of your wife!" and Algernon sprang from his seat, his cheeksburning with anger. 

"Sit down, sit down, " said the miser coldly; "I do not mean to quarrelwith you on that score. In one sense of the word she was faithful. Igave her no opportunity of being otherwise. But her heart"--and his darkeye emitted an unnatural blaze of light--"her heart was false to me, orthat boy could not have resembled you in every feature. "

"These things happen every day, " said Algernon. "Children often resembletheir grandfathers and uncles more than they do their own parents. It ishard to blame poor Elinor for having a child like me. Let me look atyou, boy, " he continued, turning the child's head towards him as hespoke. "Are you so very, very like your uncle Algernon?" Theextraordinary likeness could not fail to strike him. It filled the heartof the miser with envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness. Still theexpression of the child's face was the only point of real resemblance;his features and complexion belonged to his father. "Your jealous fancy, Mark, has conjured up a phantom to annoy you. Where did this boy get hisblack eyes from, if not from you? his dark complexion? I am fair, myeyes are blue. "

"He has his mother's eyes, " sullenly returned the miser. 

"I might as well accuse you of being the father of Godfrey, because hehas your eyes. "

"You cannot reason me out of my senses. This Anthony is as like you, Algernon, as two peas. He is your own son, and you are welcome to him. His absence will give me no pain, nor will his adoption by you extortfrom me one farthing for his future maintenance. If you persist intaking him it will be at your own risk. "

"I am contented to accept the poor orphan on these terms, " said thegenerous Algernon. "May God soften your iron heart towards yourneglected child. While I have wealth he shall not want; and were Ideprived of it to-morrow, he should share my bread while I have acrust. "

"Fools and their money are soon parted, " muttered the ungracious Mark;though in reality he was glad to embrace his brother's offer. No ties ofpaternal love bound him to the motherless child he had so cruellyneglected; and the father and son parted with mutual satisfaction, secretly hoping that they never might behold each other again. 

"We have got rid of that pest, Grenard!" exclaimed the hard-hearted man, as he watched his brother lift the little Anthony into his saddle, andcarefully dispose the folds of his cloak around the child to hide hisrags from public observation. "If the child were not his own, would hetake such care of him?"

"You cannot believe that, " said the gaunt Cerberus. "You know that it isimpossible. "

"You may think so--perhaps you are right--but, Grenard, you were nevermarried; never had any experience of the subtlety of woman. I have myown thoughts on the subject--I hate women--I have had cause to hatethem--and I detest that boy for the likeness which he bears to mybrother. "

"Tush!" said the living skeleton, with more feeling of humanity than hisniggardly patron. "Whose fault is it that you rob a woman of her love, and then accuse her of inconstancy because your son resembles the manthat was the object of her thoughts? Is that reasonable, or like yourgood sense?"

How delightful was that first journey to the young pilgrim of hope; andhe so lately the child of want and sorrow, whose eyes were ever bent toearth, his cheeks ever wet with tears!--he now laughed and carolledaloud in the redundant joy of his heart. "Oh, he was so happy, sohappy. " He had never been a mile from home--had never ridden on a horse;and now he was told he was to have a horse of his own--a home of hisown--a dear little cousin to play with, and a nice bed to sleep upon atnight, not a bundle of filthy straw. 

This was too much for his full heart to bear; it ran over, it wasbrimful of gladness and expectation, and the excited child sobbedhimself to sleep in his good uncle's arms. 

Poor old Shock was trotting beside the horse, and Anthony had been toomuch engrossed with his own marvellous change of fortune to noticeShock; but Shock did not forget him, and though he could not see--forthe animal was blind--he often pricked up his ears, and raised his headto the horse and its double burden, to be sure that his young master wasthere. 

It was a spaniel that Algernon had left a pup with Elinor when he wentto India. The sight of the poor blind worn-out creature brought back tohis mind so many painful recollections that his own eyes were wet withtears. The wife who had supplanted Elinor in his affections was dead. The grass grew rank upon Elinor's nameless grave; and her poor boy wassleeping within his sheltering arms, as if he had never known so soft apillow. 

Algernon looked down upon his beautiful but squalid face, and pressinghis lips upon his pale brow, swore to love and cherish him as his own;and well did that careless but faithful heart keep its solemn covenant. The very reverse of the miser, Algernon was reckless of the future; heonly lived for the present, which, after his disappointment in regard toElinor, was all, he said, that a man in truth could call his own. Actingup to this principle, he was as much censured for his extravagance, ashis brother was for his parsimony, by those persons who, like Timon'sfriends, daily shared his hospitality, and were too often the recipientsof his lavish expenditure. In adopting the little Anthony, he hadfollowed the generous impulse of his heart, without reflecting that theseparation of father and son, under their peculiar circumstances, mightinjure without ultimately benefiting the child. 

He meant to love and take care of him; to be a father to him in thefullest sense of the word; his intentions doubtless were good, but hismethod of bringing him up was very likely to be followed by badconsequences. Algernon had no misgivings on the subject. He felt certainthat the boy would not only inherit his father's immense wealth, (alarge portion of which the law secured to him, independent of thecaprice of his father, ) but ever continue prosperous and happy. Whilemusing upon these things, his horse turned into the park that surroundedhis own fine mansion, and a beautiful boy bounded down the broad stonesteps that led to the hall-door, and came running along the moonlit pathto meet him, "Health on his cheek, and gladness in his eye. "

"Well, dear papa! Have you brought me my cousin?"

"What will you give for him, Godfrey?" and the delighted father bentdown to receive the clasp of the white arms, and the kiss of theimpatient child. 

"That's all I can afford. Perhaps he's not worth having after all;" andthe spoilt child turned pettishly away. 

Casting his eyes upon old Shock, he exclaimed, "Mercy! what an ugly dog. A perfect brute!"

"He was once a very handsome dog, " said his father, as the groomassisted him to alight. 

"It must be, a long time ago. I hope my cousin is better-looking thanhis dog. "

"Why, what in the world have we got here?" said Mrs. Paisley, thehousekeeper, who came to the door to welcome her master home; and intowhose capacious arms the footman placed the sleeping Anthony, envelopedin his uncle's cloak. 

"A present for you, Mrs. Paisley, " said Algernon, "and one that I hopeyou will regard with peculiar care. "

"A child!" screamed the good woman. "Why, la, sir; how did you come byit?"

"Honestly, " returned Algernon, laughing. 

"Let _me_ look at him, " cried the eager Godfrey, as soon as they enteredthe room where supper was prepared for his father; and pulling the cloakaway from his cousin's face, --"Is this dirty shabby boy the playfellowyou promised me, papa?"

"The same. "

"And he in rags!"

"That's no fault of his, my child. "

"And has a torn cap, and no shoes!"

"Mrs. Paisley will soon wash, and dress, and make him quite smart; andthen you will be proud of him. "

"Well, we shall see, " replied the boy, doubtingly. "But I never was fondof playing with dirty ragged children. But why is he dirty and ragged? Ithought you told me, papa, that he was the son of my rich, rich uncle, and that he would have twice as much money as I?"

"And so he will. "

"Then why is he in this condition?"

"His father is a miser. "

"What is that?"

"A man that loves money better than his son; who would rather see himragged and dirty, nay even dead, than expend upon his comfort a part ofhis useless riches. Are you not glad that your father is not a miser?"

"I don't know, " said Godfrey; "he would save money to make me rich, andwhen he died all his wealth would be mine. Anthony is not so badly offafter all, and I think I will try to love him, that he may give me apart of his great fortune by-and-by. "

"Your love, springing from a selfish motive, would not be worth having. Besides, Godfrey, you will have a fortune of your own. "

"I'm not so clear of that, " said the boy, with a sly glance at hisfather. "People say that you will spend all your money on yourself, andleave none for me when _you_ die. "

There was much--too much truth in this remark; and though Algernonlaughed at what he termed his dear boy's wit, it stung him deeply. "Where can he have learned that?" he thought; "such an idea could neverhave entered into the heart of a child. " Then turning to Mrs. Paisley, who had just entered the room, he said, --

"Take and wash and clothe that little boy; and when he is nicelydressed, bring him in to speak to his cousin. "

"Come, my little man, " said the old lady, gently shaking the juvenilestranger. "Come, wake up. You have slept long enough. Come this way withme. "

"Whose clothes are you going to put upon him?" demanded Godfrey. 

"Why in course, Master Godfrey, you will lend him some of yours?"

"Well, if I do, remember, Paisley, you are not to take my best. "

During this colloquy, Anthony had gradually woke up, and turning fromone strange face to another, he lost all his former confidence, andbegan to cry. Paisley, who was really interested in the child, kindlywiped away his tears with the corner of her white apron, and gently ledthe weeper from the room. 

While performing for him the long and painful ablutions which hiscondition required, Mrs. Paisley was astonished at his patience. "Why, Master Godfrey would have roared and kicked, like a mad thing that heis, if I had taken half the liberty with him, " said the dame to herself. "Well, well, the little fellow seems to have a good temper of his own. Now you have got a clean face, my little man, let me look at you, andsee what you are like. "

She turned him round and round, took off her spectacles, carefully wipedthem, and re-adjusting them upon her nose, looked at the child with asmuch astonishment as if he had been some rare creature that had neverbefore been exhibited in a Christian land. 

"Mercy on me! but the likeness is truly wonderful--his very image; allbut the dark eye; and that he may have got from the mother, as MasterGodfrey got his. I don't like to form hard thoughts of my master; butthis is strange. --Mr. Glen!" and she rose hastily, and opened a doorthat led from her own little sanctuary into the servants' hall--"pleaseto step in here for a moment. "

"What's your pleasure, Mistress Paisley?" said the butler, a rosy, portly, good-natured man, of the regular John Bull breed, who, insnow-white trowsers, and blue-striped linen jacket, and a shirt adornedwith a large frill (frills were then in fashion), strutted into theroom. "Mistress Paisley, ma'arm, vot are your commands?"

"Oh, Mr. Glen, " said the housekeeper, simpering, "I never command myequals--I leave my betters to do that. I wanted you just to look at thischild. "

"Look at him--vhy, vot's the matter vith un', Mrs. Paisley? He'sgenerally a werry naughty boy; but he looks better tempered than usualto-day. "

"Why, who do you take him for?" said Mrs. Paisley, evidently delightedat the butler's mistake. 

"Vhy, for Master Godfrey--is it not? Hey--vot--vhy--no--it is--and itisn't. Vot comical demonstration is this?"

"Well, I don't wonder, Jacob, at your mistake--it is, and it is not. Hadthey been twins, they could not have been more alike. Godfrey, to besure, has a haughty uppish look, which this child has not. But what doyou think of our master now?"

"It must be his son. "

The good woman nodded. "Such likenesses cannot come by accident. It is agood thing that my poor dear mistress did not live to see this day--andshe so jealous of him--it would have broken her heart. "

"Aye, you may vell say that, Mrs. Paisley. And some men are cruel, deceitful, partic'lar them there frank sort of men, like the Kurnel. They are so pleasant like, that people never thinks they can be as badas other volk. They have sich han hinnocent vay vith them. I vondermaister vos not ashamed of his old servants seeing him bring home achild so like himself. "

"Well, my dear, and what is your name?" said Mrs. Paisley, addressingher wondering charge. 

"Anthony Hurdlestone. "

"Do you hear that, Mrs. Paisley?"

"Anthony Hurdlestone! Oh, shame, shame, " said the good woman. "It wouldhave been only decent, Mr. Glen, for the Colonel to have called him bysome other name. Who's your father, my little man?"

"Squire Hurdlestone. "

"Humph!" responded the interrogator. "And your mother?"

"She's in the churchyard. "

"How long has she been dead?"

"I don't know; but Ruth does. She died when I was a baby. "

"And who took care of you, my poor little fellow?" asked Mrs. Paisley, whose maternal feelings were greatly interested in the child. 

"God, and Ruth Candler! If it had not been for her, the folks said thatI should have been starved long ago. "

"That has been the 'oman, doubtless, that the Kurnel left him with, "said the butler. "Vell, my young squire, you'll be in no danger ofstarvation in this house. Your papa is rich enough to keep you. "

"He may be rich, " said Anthony; "but, for all that, the poorest man inthe parish of Ashton is richer than he. "

"Come, come, my little gentleman, you are talking of what you knownothing about, " said Mrs. Paisley. "I must now take you into the parlor, to see your papa and your little brother. "

"He's not my papa, " said Anthony; "I wish he were. Oh, if you could seemy papa--ha! ha!--you would not forget him in a hurry; and if he chancedto box your ears, or pinch your cheek, or rap your head with hisknuckles, you would not forget that in a hurry. "

"You have got a new papa, now; so you may forget the old one. Now, holdyour head up like a man, and follow me. "

Colonel Hurdlestone was lounging over his wine; his little son wassitting over against him, imitating his air and manner, and playingwith, rather than drinking from, the full glass of port before him. 

"Mrs. Paisley!" he cried, with the authority of an old man of fifty, "tell Glen to send up some sweet madeira--I hate port. Ha! little miser, is that you?" springing from his chair. "Why, I thought it was myself. Now, mind, don't soil those clothes, for they don't belong to you. "

"Never mind, Anthony, " said his uncle. "To-morrow I will have some madefor you. Mrs. Paisley, are not these children strikingly alike?"

"Why, yes, your honor, they are too much alike to be lucky. MasterGodfrey may lay all his mischievous pranks upon this young one, and youwill never find out the mistake. "

"Thank you, Paisley, for the hint. Come and sit by me, double, and letus be friends. "

"I am sure you look like brothers--ay, and twin brothers, too, " saidMrs. Paisley. 

"They are first cousins, " said Algernon, gravely. "This child is theonly son and heir of my rich brother, Mrs. Paisley: I beg that he may betreated accordingly. "

"Oh, certainly, sir. I never had a child so like my husband as this boyis like you. "

"Very likely, Mrs. Paisley, " said the Colonel. "I have seen manychildren that did not resemble their fathers. Perhaps yours were in thesame predicament?"

"Whether they were or no, they are all in heaven with their poor dearfather, " whimpered Mrs. Paisley, "and have left me a lone widow, with noone to love or take care of me. "

"Jacob Glen says that you are a good hand at taking care of yourself, Paisley, " said Godfrey; "but I dare say Master Jacob would be glad oftaking care of you himself. Here's your good health, Mrs. P----;" anddown went the madeira. 

"Ah, Master Godfrey, you are just like your pa--you will have yourjoke. Lord bless the child! he has swallowed the whole glass of wine. Hewill be 'toxicated. "

Godfrey and the Colonel laughed, while Anthony slid from his chair, andtaking the housekeeper by the hand, said, in a gentle tone, "You have noone to love you, Mrs. Paisley. If you will be kind to me, I will loveyou. "

"Who could help being kind to you, sweet child?" said the good woman, patting his curly head and kissing the rosy mouth he held up to her. "You are a good boy, and don't make fun of people, like some folks. "

"That's me, " said Godfrey. "Tony, you are quite welcome to my share ofMrs. Paisley; and instead of Benjamin's, you may stand a chance to getJacob's portion also. "

"Will you have some wine, Anthony?" said his uncle, handing him a glassas he spoke. 

The child took the liquid, tasted it, and put it back on the table, witha very wry face. "I don't like it, uncle--it is medicine. "

"You will like it well enough by and by, " said Godfrey. "I suppose thestingy one at home only drinks Adam's ale?"

"What is that?"

"Water. A mess only fit for dogs and felons. Gentlemen, Anthony, richgentlemen like you and me, always drink wine. "

"I shall never like it, " said the child. "I love milk. "

"Milk! What a baby! Papa, he says that he never means to like wine. Isnot that a shabby notion?"

"You, you young dog, are too fond of it already. "

"I like everything that you like, pa!" said the spoilt youth. "If wineis good for you, it must be good for me. Remember, you told meyesterday that I must obey you in all things. "

"Imitation is not obedience, Godfrey. I did not tell you to imitate mein all things. Wine in moderation may be good for a man, and help tobeguile a weary hour, and yet may be very hurtful to boys. "

"Well, I never can understand your philosophy, pa. A boy is a half-grownman; therefore a boy may take half as much wine as a man, and it will dohim good. And as to imitation, I think that is a sort of practicalobedience. Jacob Glen says, 'As the old cock crows, so crows the youngone. '"

"You had better not quote my servants' sayings to me, Godfrey, " said hisfather, frowning and pushing the wine from him. "I have treated you withtoo much indulgence, and am now reaping the fruit of my folly. "

"Surely you are not angry with your Freddy, pa, " said the beautiful boy, hanging upon Algernon's arm, and looking imploringly into his face. "Itis all fun. "

This was enough to calm the short-lived passion of the Colonel. Oneglance into that sparkling animated face, and all the faults of the boywere forgotten. He was, however, severely mortified by his impertinentremarks, and he determined to be more strict with him for the future, and broke his resolution the next minute. 

Algernon Hurdlestone's life had been spent in making and breaking goodresolutions. No wonder that he felt such a difficulty in keeping this. If we would remedy a fault, the reformation must be commenced on theinstant. We must not give ourselves time to think over the matter, forif we do, nine chances out of ten, that we never carry our intentionsinto practice. Algernon often drank to excess, and too often sufferedhis young son to be a spectator of his criminal weakness. Godfrey washis constant companion both in hunting-parties and at the table; and theboy greatly enjoyed the coarse jokes and vulgar hilarity of theroystering uproarious country squires, who, to please the rich father, never failed to praise the witticisms of the son. 

Thus the disposition of the child was corrupted, his tastes vitiated, his feelings blunted, and the fine affections of the heart destroyed atthe age of ten years. 

Algernon was so fond of him, so vain of his fine person and quick parts, that it blinded him to his many faults. He seldom noticed his habitualwant of respect to himself, or the unfeeling and sarcastic remarks ofthe audacious lad on his own peculiar failings. To a stranger, GodfreyHurdlestone presented the painful anomaly of the address and cunning ofthe man animating the breast of a child. 

He inherited nothing in common with his father, but his profusion andlove of company; and was utterly destitute of that kindliness ofdisposition and real warmth of heart, that so strongly characterised histoo indulgent parent, and pleaded an excuse for many of his failings. Hewas still more unlike his cousin Anthony, although personally they couldscarcely be known apart. The latter was serious and thoughtful beyondhis years; was fond of quiet and retirement, preferring a book or asolitary walk to romping with Godfrey and his boisterous companions. Hehad been a child of sorrow, and acquainted with grief; and though he washappy now--too happy, he was wont to say--the cloud which ushered in hisdawn of life still cast its dark shadow over the natural gaiety andsunshine of his heart. 

His mind was like a rich landscape seen through a soft summer mist, which revealed just enough of the beautiful as to make the observer wishto behold more. 

Gentle, truthful, and most winningly affectionate, Anthony had to beknown to be loved; and those who enjoyed his confidence never wished totransfer their good will to his dashing cousin. He loved a few dearfriends, but he shrunk from a crowd, and never cared to make manyacquaintances. He soon formed a strong attachment to his uncle; the lovewhich nature meant for his father was lavished with prodigality on thisbeloved relative, who cherished for his adopted son the most tenderregard. 

He loved the mocking, laughter-loving, mischievous Godfrey, whodelighted to lay all his naughty tricks and devilries upon his quietcousin; while he considered himself as his patron and protector, andoften gave himself great airs of superiority. For the sake of peace, Anthony often yielded a disputed point to his impetuous companion, rather than awaken his turbulent temper into active operation. Yet hewas no coward--on the contrary, he possessed twice the moral courage ofhis restless playmate; but a deep sense of gratitude to his good uncle, for the blessed change he had effected in his situation, pervaded hisheart, and influenced all his actions. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 The weary heart may mourn O'er the wither'd hopes of youth, But the flowers so rudely shorn Still leave the seeds of truth. 

 J. W. D. Moodie. 

And years glided on. The trials of school, and all its joyous pastimesand short-lived sorrows, were over, and the cousins returned to spendthe long-looked for and happy vacation at home. The curly-headedrosy-cheeked boys had expanded into fine tall lads of sixteen; blitheof heart, and strong of limb, full of the eager hopes andnever-to-be-realized dreams of youth. With what delight they werewelcomed by the Colonel! With what pride he turned them round and round, and examined the improvement in form and stature of the nobleboys--wondering at first which was Anthony, and which his own dearmischievous rogue! They were so marvellously alike, that, seen at adistance, he scarcely knew which to call his son. And then howdelightedly he listened to their laughing details of tricks and hoaxes, served off upon cross masters and tyrannical ushers, laughing moreloudly than they, and suggesting improvements in mischievous pranksalready too mischievous! Poor Algernon! in spite of the increasinginfirmities of age, and the pressure of cares which his recklessextravagance could not fail to produce, he was perfectly happy in thecompany of these dear boys, and once more a boy himself. 

He never inquired what progress they had made in their studies. He hadput them to school, and paid for their schooling, and if they had notprofited by their opportunities, it was no fault of his. Had he examinedthem upon this important subject, he would, indeed, have been surprisedat the difference between them. Anthony, naturally studious, had madethe most of his time, while master Godfrey had wasted his, and broughtwith him a small stock of literary acquirements, and many vices. 

"What will my uncle say, when he finds how little you have learnedduring the last half year?" said Anthony to his cousin, while they weredressing for dinner. 

"He'll never trouble his head about it, without you, Mr. Anthony, puthim up to it, to show off your superior powers of drudgery. But mark me, Tony, if you dare to say one word about it, you and I shall quarrel. "

"But what are we to do about Mr. Cunningham's letter? You know he gaveme one to give to your father; and I much fear that it contains someremarks not very creditable to you. "

"Did you give it to papa?"

"Not yet. Here it is. "

"Let me look at the old fellow's autograph. What a bad hand for aschoolmaster! I will spare my dear lazy father the trouble ofdeciphering these villainous pot-hooks. Ha! ha! my good, industrious, quiet, plodding cousin Anthony, heir of Oak Hall, in the county ofWilts, there lies your amiable despatch;" and he spurned the torndocument with his foot. "That's the way that I mean to serve all thosewho dare to criticise my actions. "

"But, dear Godfrey, it is yourself that you injure by this awful wasteof your time and talents. "

"Talents!--Fiddlesticks! What care I for talents, without it were thoseshining substantial talents spoken of in the Scriptures--talents of goldand silver. Give me these talents, my boy, and you may profit by all therest. Wasting of time! How can we waste that which we can neitherovertake, nor detain when ours, and which when past is lost for ever?Miser of moments! in another school than thine, Godfrey Hurdlestone willlearn to improve the present. "

"But those wasted moments, Godfrey, how will the recollection of themembitter the future! Remember, my dear cousin, what our good chaplainoften told us--'Time is but the ante-chamber to Eternity!'"

"What, turned preacher! A prudent move that, Tony. I've heard that oldIronsides has no less than five rich livings in his gift. Now, by Jove!I'd turn parson to-morrow, if I thought my uncle would be dutiful enoughto bestow one or two of them upon me. How would the 'Rev. GodfreyHurdlestone' look upon a visiting card?"

He wrote upon a card, and held it up to Anthony. "See the address of theRight Worshipful Rector of Ashton. Behold him riding upon a finecob--living in a fine house--surrounded by sleek, well-fed, obsequiousservants--his table served like a prince--his wine the best in thecountry--his parties the most brilliant--his friends the most obligingin the world--his curate does all the work for some paltry sixty poundsa-year, and the rich incumbent lives at his ease. Ah, Tony, what aprospect! What rare times we would have of it! To-morrow, when my fatherasks me to make choice of a profession, hang me if I do not say theChurch. "

"You are not fit for so sacred a calling, Godfrey; indeed you are not, "said Anthony, fearful that his burlesquing cousin for once in his lifewas in earnest. 

"I know that better than you can tell me, Tony, but 'tis such an easyway to get a living; I could enjoy such glorious indolence; could fish, and hunt, and shoot, and play the fiddle, and attend feasts andmerry-makings, with such a happy consciousness of being found in thepath of duty, that it would give a double zest to enjoyment. Now don'tbe envious, my dear demure cousin, and forestall me in my project. I amsure to gain my father's consent. It will save him so much trouble forthe future. "

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Algernon. 

"Come, boys, dinner is waiting. My dear Anthony, after that importantbusiness is dispatched, I want to talk to you in the library upon amatter of serious importance, which I have, I fear, neglected too long. Nay, don't look alarmed; it is not to administer a scolding, or toquestion you in Greek or Latin; or to ask you how you have improved yourtime at school, for I take it for granted that you have both done yourbest, or I should have heard from Mr. Cunningham, who, they say, is thestrictest disciplinarian in the kingdom. "

Now, Anthony could not eat his dinner for thinking what his uncle had tosay to him; but he had to wait patiently until that gentleman haddiscussed his bottle of wine; and it was not without a certain sinkingof the heart that he rose to follow him to the library. Godfrey'scuriosity was aroused; he fancied that it was to make some privateinquiries as to his conduct at school, that his father wanted to speakalone with his cousin. 

"May I come?"

"No, my boy. What I have to say to Anthony is for him alone. "

"Humph!" said Godfrey; then whispering to Anthony as he passed, "Notales out of school, Tony, " he sauntered into the garden. 

"What ails you, Anthony?" said the good-natured uncle, as he took a seatby the table. 

"I don't know, " returned the lad; "I felt afraid"--he hesitated--

"Afraid of what?"

"That you were tired of me--wished me to leave you. "

"I should much sooner be tired of myself. Don't you know, perverse boy, how dearly I love you;" and he put his arm round the stripling and drewhim to his breast. "Godfrey himself is not more dear, son of my murderedElinor--son of my heart. "

There was a long pause; at length the Colonel said, "It was of yourfather that I wished to speak. We have let eight years pass away withoutholding the least intercourse with him; in this, I think we have been toblame. The first year you came to me I wrote to him twice, informing himhow you were, and suggesting your future mode of education. To my firstletter I received the following answer:--

 '_To Algernon Hurdlestone, Esq. _

 'In adopting my son you pleased yourself. Had he remained with me I should have provided for him. As matters at present stand, I neither wish to be troubled with letters from him nor from you. When you next write I would thank you to pay the _post_. 

 Yours, &c. , 'Marcus Hurdlestone. '

"Now, Tony, I was somewhat discouraged by this ungracious answer;however as I knew the man, I wrote to him again and did pay the post; Itook no notice of the tenor of his letter, but merely informed him thatI had put you to school, and that you were growing a fine clever lad. Here is his reply:--

 '_To Algernon Hurdlestone, Esq. _

 'Next to receiving impertinent letters, I detest the trouble of answering them. I have no money to fling away upon fools and foolscap. 

 'Marcus Hurdlestone. '

"Now, my dear boy, although so far my applications to him on your behalfhave been unsuccessful, I think it only right and prudent in you towrite to him yourself, and remind this affectionate father that you arestill in the land of the living. "

"And that you wish him, " said Godfrey, popping his head in at the door, where he had been an attentive listener for the last five minutes, "wellout of it. "

Without heeding his cousin's nonsense, Anthony answered his uncle withgreat simplicity, "Dear uncle, what can I say to him?"

"Faith, my dear boy, that's more than I can tell you; just anything, thebest you can. Tell him that you wish to see him, that you are grownnearly into a man; that you wish him to name what profession he wishesyou to pursue, as you are about to go to college. But mark me, Tony saynot one word about love, filial affection, and so forth; he'll notbelieve you. The more you attempt to court or conciliate such spirits ashis--spirits, did I say? the man's all earth, hard unyielding clay--themore they suspect you of sinister motives. The honest bluntness ofindignant truth is more likely to succeed. "

"I believe you, uncle, and without exercising any great mentalingenuity, my letter, I fear, will be a sad hypocritical affair. "

"Doubtless, " said Godfrey, roaring with laughter, "I wish, Tony, wecould change fathers. "

A reproachful look from Algernon, and a flash from the calm dark eyes ofAnthony, checked the immoral levity of his cousin, who, stepping brisklyup to the table, continued--

"Give me a pen, and I will give you a few hints on the subject. "

"This is too serious a business for mirth, Godfrey, " said Anthony, gravely. "I did not love him once--I was a child. He was harsh and cold, and I was ignorant of the sacred nature of those ties that bound ustogether. Time has wrought a great change in me; perhaps it may havedone the same in him. I am anxious to feel for him a deeper interest--topity his unfortunate malady, and cherish in my heart the duty andaffection of a son. "

"Ah! Tony, Tony, you begin to know the value of the shiners, to tremblelest old skinflint Pike should cut you out of daddy's will. But come, let me write the dutiful letter that is to reinstate you in the miser'sgood graces. Shall it be in verse or prose? What, silent yet? Well then, here goes. " And with an air of mock gravity he took up a pen, andcommenced reading every line aloud as he went on--

 "Dear stingy dad, I long to share The keeping of your hoarded treasure; You, I know, have lots to spare, And I, your hopeful son and heir, Would spend it with the greatest pleasure. 

 Oh, thou most devoted father Fill your chest--hide well the key Countless wealth for me you gather, And I selfishly would rather You should starve and save than me. 

 Must I--must I, still dependent, On another's bounty live--"

"What do you mean by that, sir?" cried Algernon in sudden anger, although hitherto much amused by his son's rattling nonsense. He saw theblush of shame burn on the cheeks of Anthony, and the tears of woundedpride fill his eyes. 

"I meant no offence, " said Godfrey, abashed by the unusual severity ofthe Colonel's look and tone. "What I said was only intended to make youboth laugh. "

"I forgive him, " murmured the indignant heart-humbled lad. "He has givenme another motive to write to my father. "

"My dear Tony, never mind his folly. " But Anthony was already in thesolitude of his own chamber. 

How often had he borne that taunt from Godfrey! How often had he beentold before boys whom he esteemed and loved at school, and whose goodopinion he was desirous to retain, that he was dependent upon the bountyof Colonel Hurdlestone, though the only son and heir of the rich miser;and that he was as selfish and mean-spirited as his father to submit tosuch degradation! And he had marked the sarcastic smile, the liftedshoulder, and the meaning glance that passed from boy to boy, and thegalling chain of dependence had entered into his soul. 

He became thoughtful and reserved, and applied more intensely to hisstudies, to shut out what he considered the ungracious, ungratefulconviction that he was a beggar in the house of his good uncle. Godfreyhad already calculated the expense of his board and education, for hehad more than once hinted to him, that when he came in for his miserlyfather's wealth, in common justice he ought to repay to him what hisromantically generous uncle had expended upon him. Anthony had solemnlyaverred that such should indeed be the case, and again had beentauntingly answered--"Wait until it is yours; you will then tell adifferent tale. " But now he had dared to reproach him in his uncle'spresence; and it was more than the high-spirited youth could bear. 

"Father, cruel, unnatural father!" he exclaimed, as he raised his headfrom between his hands; "why have you subjected your unfortunate son toinsults like these?"

"Who insults you, my dear Anthony?" said the Colonel, who had followedhim unobserved, and who now stood beside him. "A rash, impetuous, thoughtless boy, who never reflects upon what he says; and who, in spiteof all his faults, loves you. "

"When you speak, uncle, I am silent. I am sorry that you witnessed thisburst of discontent. When I think upon all that I owe to you, my heartis bankrupt in thanks; I never can repay your kindness, and thethought--the consciousness of such overwhelming obligations makes meunhappy. "

"I read your heart, Anthony, " said the Colonel seating himself besidehim. "I know all that you would say, and cannot utter; and I, instead ofyou become the debtor. "

"Your goodness, uncle, makes me feel ashamed of being angry with mycousin. I wish I could forget the unfortunate circumstances in which Iam placed; that you were my father instead of him who has disownedme--that my whole heart and soul could cling to you. "

He rose hastily and flung himself into the Colonel's arms. His head wasburied in his bosom, and by the convulsive heaving of the young heartagainst his own, Algernon knew that the lad was weeping. His own eyesbecame moist, --he pressed him warmly against his manly breast. 

"You are my son, Anthony--the son of her who received my early vows--ofher who ought to have been my wife. Her heart was mine; and thoughanother claims your earthly part, you are the son of my soul--of myadoption. Henceforth let no sense of obligation exist between us. "

"I take you at your word, beloved father, and if love can repay love, inmy poor heart you have no rival. "

"I know it, Anthony; but since you talk of wishing to be out of my debt, there is a way in which you can more than repay me. "

He paused; Anthony raised his earnest eyes to his face. "Not only byforgiving my dear petulant Godfrey, but by continuing his friend. I knowthat I have spoilt him--that he has many faults, but I think his heartis sound. As he grows older, he will know better how to value yourcharacter. Promise me, Anthony, that, when I am dust, your love for memay survive for my son. "

"Uncle!" said the lad, dropping upon his knees by his side, and holdingup his clasped hands, "I swear by the God who made us, by the Saviourwho bled for us--by our common hopes of salvation through His blood, that, whatever fortune I inherit from my father, Godfrey shall have anequal part. "

"This is too much to ask of you, Anthony, all I wish you to promise is, simply to continue his friend, under every provocation to becomeotherwise. "

Anthony pressed his uncle's hand reverentially to his lips, as he said, in a low voice, "I will endeavor to comply with your request. "

They parted: Algernon to counsel his wayward boy, and Anthony to writeto his father. 

 "Father, "

 (He began, ) "How gladly would I call you dear. Oh, that you would allow me to love you--to feel for you the duty and respect which the poorest child feels for his parent. What have I done, my father, that you deny me your presence, and hold no communion with me? Will you not permit me to see you? You are growing old and need some friend to be near you, to soothe the growing infirmities of age. Who could better fill this place than your son? Who could feel such an interest in your welfare, or be so firm a friend to you, as your son--your only son? You will perhaps tell me that it is your wealth, and not your love, I seek. I care not for your money. It has never conduced to your own happiness; how do I know that it will ever conduce to mine? I hate it, for it has shut up your heart against me, and made me an orphan and an outcast. 

 "Father, pity me? Pity the circumstances in which I am placed: dependent upon the charity of my good uncle, I feel, kind though he be to me, that I am a burden--that it is not just that I should live upon him. I have finished my school education, and can show you the most honorable testimonials from my masters. I have acquired some knowledge, but I long for more. My uncle talks of sending me to college with his son. For what profession do you wish me to study? Let me know your wishes in this respect, and they shall be strictly obeyed. I shall feel greatly honored by your answer, and remain

 "Your dutiful son, "Anthony Marcus Hurdlestone. "

Anthony did not show his uncle this letter. He knew that he wouldobject to the part relative to himself. He duly sealed it and paid thepost, and for several days he awaited the reply in a state of feverishexcitement. At length it came, and ran thus:

 "Son Anthony, "Your letter pleased me. I believe it to be sincere. You have been so long a stranger, that I do not feel any wish to see you; but, hereafter, if you wait with patience, you will not be forgotten. You are a Hurdlestone. I respect the old family and the old name too much to leave it without an heir. 

 "I am glad that you have had sense enough to improve your time. Time is money. As to a profession, the uncle who took you from my protection had best choose one for his adopted son. There are several livings in my gift. If you should make choice of the Church, they shall be yours. This would make property which has hitherto been of little value pay a good interest. As to being dependent upon your uncle, the thought amused me. If he feels you a burden, it is self-inflicted, and he must be content to bear it. You need not look to me for pecuniary assistance; I shall yield you none. An industrious young man can always free himself from a galling yoke. 

 "Your father and friend, Marcus Hurdlestone. "

Upon the whole, Anthony was pleased with his father's letter. Itdisplayed more of human feeling than he expected; besides, he had notrejected his claims as a son. He had acknowledged him to be his heir. Itis true, he had forbidden him his presence, and flung back hisproffered affection; but he had spoken of him with respect, and his sonwas grateful even for this stinted courtesy. He would one day be able torepay his uncle's kindness in a more substantial manner than words; andhe flew to Algernon's study with a beating heart and flushed cheeks. 

"What news, my boy?" said the Colonel, looking up from the artificialfly he was making. "Have you caught a trout or a salmon?"

"Better still. I have got a letter from my father!"

"No!" said the Colonel, letting go his fishing-tackle. "Is thatpossible?"

"Here it is; read for yourself. " And he put the letter into Algernon'shand. 

"Well, Tony, lad, this is indeed better than I expected, " he said, grasping his nephew warmly by the hand. "But stay; what does thisparagraph mean? Have you found my love, Anthony, such a galling yoke?"

"My father has misunderstood me, " replied the lad, his cheeks glowingwith crimson. "I told him that it was not just for me to be dependent onyour bounty. "

"'Tis a crabbed old sinner, " said the Colonel, laughing, "I am moreastonished at his letter than anything that has happened to me since herobbed me of your mother. "

Anthony looked inquiringly at his uncle. 

"Come, nephew, sit down by me, and I will relate to you a page out of myown history, which will not only show you what manner of man this fatherof yours is, but explain to you the position in which we are both placedregarding him; clearing up what must have appeared to you verymysterious. "

With intense interest the amiable son of this most execrable fatherlistened to the tale already told of his mother's wrongs. How often didthe crimes of the parent dye the cheeks of the child with honestindignation, or pale them with fear? How did his love for his generousuncle increase in a tenfold degree, when he revealed the treachery thathad been practised against him! How often did he ask himself--"Is itpossible that he can love the son of this cruel brother?" But then hewas also the son of the woman he had loved so tenderly for years, whosememory he held in the deepest veneration; was like him in person, and, with sounder judgment and better abilities, resembled him in mind also. 

Satisfied that his father would do him justice in spite of his cold, unfeeling neglect, and bequeath to him the wealth to obtain which he hadsacrificed every human feeling and domestic comfort, Anthony no longersuffered the humiliating sense of obligation to weigh upon his heart anddepress his spirits, and he cheerfully accepted his uncle's offer tosend him to college to study for the Church. 

"Five livings, " Godfrey declared, were four too many for any incumbent, and he would charitably relieve Anthony from some of them, and study forthe same profession. His cousin was grieved at this choice, so unfittedto the tastes and pursuits of his gay companion; but finding allremonstrance vain, he ceased to importune him on the subject, hoping thatas time advanced, he would, of his own accord, abandon the idea. 

To college, therefore, the lads went; and here the same dissimilaritymarked their conduct as at school. Anthony applied intensely to hisstudies, and made rapid progress in mental and moral improvement. Serious without affectation, and pious without cant, he daily becamemore attached to the profession he had chosen, hoping to find through ita medium by which he could one day restore to the world the talentswhich for half a century his father had buried in the dust. Godfrey'scareer, on the other hand, was one of folly, dissipation and crime. Hewasted his father's property in the most lavish expenditure, and lost atthe gaming table sums that would have settled him well in life. 

Anthony remonstrated with him on his want of principle, and pointed outthe ruin which must follow such profligacy. This Godfrey took in verybad part, and tauntingly accused his cousin of being a spy. He told himthat it sounded well from a dependent on his father's bounty to preachup abstinence to him. These circumstances threw Anthony into a deepmelancholy. He did not like to write to his uncle to inform him in whata disgraceful manner his son was spending his time and money; and heconstantly reproached himself with a want of faithfulness in keepingsuch an important matter a secret. 

Disgusted with his cousin and his dissipated associates, Anthonywithdrew entirely from their society, and shut himself up in his ownapartments, rarely leaving his books to mingle in scenes in which hecould not sympathize, and in which, from his secluded habits, he was notformed to shine. He became a dreamer. He formed a world for himself, andpeopled it with beings whose imaginary perfections had no counterpart onearth. He went forth to mingle with his kind, and found them so unlikethe creatures in his moral Utopia, that he determined to relinquishsociety and spiritualise his own nature, the better to fit him for hishigh calling as a minister of the gospel of Christ. 

"How much better it would be to die young, " he would exclaim, "than liveto be old and wicked, or to watch over the decay of the warm affectionsand enthusiastic feelings of youth; to see the beautiful fade from theheart, and the worldly and common-place fill up the blighting void! Oh!Godfrey, Godfrey! how can you enjoy the miserable and sensual pleasuresfor which you are forfeiting self-respect and peace of mind for ever!"

"But Godfrey is happier than you, with all your refined feelings andcultivated tastes, " whispered the tempter to his soul. 

"It cannot be, " returned the youth, as he communed with his own heart. "The pleasures of sin may blind the mental vision, and blunt the senses, for a while; but when the terrible truth makes all things plain--and thereaction comes--and come it assuredly will--and the mind, like apolluted stream, can no longer flow back to its own bright source, andrenovate its poisoned waters; who shall then say that the madness of thesensualist can satisfy the heart?"

Thus did these two young men live together: one endeavoring by the aidof religion, and by studying the wisdom of the past, to exalt and purifyhis fallen nature; the other by grovelling in the dust, and minglingwith beings yet more sinful and degraded, rapidly debased his mind to amore degenerate and fallen state. 

Godfrey Hurdlestone had always been covetous of his cousin's anticipatedwealth, but now he envied his good name, and the respect which histalents and good conduct entitled him to receive from his superiors, andhe hated him accordingly. He could not bear to see him courted andcaressed by his worldly companions because he was the son of the richmiser, and himself thrown into the background, although in personalendowments he far surpassed his studious and retiring companion. His ownfather, though reputed to be rich, was known to be in embarrassedcircumstances, which the extravagance of his son was not likely todecrease. Godfrey had no mental resource but in the society of personswhom Anthony despised; and he was daily annoyed by disparagingcomparisons which the very worldlings he courted were constantly drawingbetween them. "Oh envy!" well has it been said by the wisest of mankind, "who can stand before envy?"

Of all human passions, the meanest in its operations, the most fatal inits results, foul parent of the most revolting crimes. If the heart isguarded against this passion, the path to heaven becomes easy of access, and the broad and dangerous way loses half its attractions. 

Godfrey had forfeited his own self-respect, and he hated his cousin forpossessing a jewel which he had cast away. This aversion wasstrengthened by the anxious solicitude that Anthony expressed for hiswelfare, and the earnest appeals which he daily made to his conscience, to induce him to renounce his present destructive course, if not for hisown, for his father's sake. 

Their studies were nearly completed, when the immense sums that Godfreyhad squandered in dissipation and gambling obliged the Colonel to recallthem home. 

Algernon, although not a little displeased with his heartless selfishson, received the young men with his usual kindness, but there was ashade of care upon his broad open brow, which told to Anthony a tale ofanxiety and suffering, that caused him the deepest pain. As two wholeyears must necessarily elapse before Anthony could enter into holyorders, he determined to prosecute his studies in the country with theirworthy curate, Mr. Grant, a gentleman of great learning, piety, andworth. 

This arrangement was greatly to the satisfaction of his uncle, thoughGodfrey shook his shoulders, and muttered that it would be "Confoundeddull work. "

"I must introduce you, boys, to our new neighbors, " said the Colonel, next morning, at breakfast. "But mind that you don't pull caps for MissWhitmore, our charming young heiress. "

"Who the deuce is she?" asked Godfrey. 

"You knew that our poor old friend Henderson, of Hazelwood Lodge, wasdead?"

"Dead! Why when did he die?" said Godfrey. "You never wrote us a wordabout it. "

"Well, I thought I had. He died two months ago, and his property fell toa very distant relation. A captain in the navy. A man of small familyand substantial means, who keeps a fine stud, a capital table, and across old maid, his sister, to superintend his household and take careof his daughter. "

"And the young lady?"

"Is a beautiful simple-hearted girl; rather romantic, and the veryreverse of the old maid. Aunt Dorothy is all ginger and vinegar. NieceJuliet, like fine Burgundy, sparkling with life and animation. "

"By Jove! Anthony, good news for us. I give you warning, mister parson, that I mean to pass away the time in this dull place by making love toMiss Whitmore. So don't attempt to poach on my manor. "

"That's hardly fair, Godfrey. You ought to allow your cousin an equalchance. "

"The young lady will herself make the chances equal, " said Anthony, witha quiet smile. "For my own part, I feel little interest in the subject, and never yet saw the woman with whom I would wish to pass my life. Tome the passion of love is unknown. Godfrey, on the contrary, professesto be in love with every pretty girl he sees. "

"There's no doubt that I shall win the lady, " cried Godfrey. "Women arenot so fond of quiet, sentimental, learned young gentlemen, likeAnthony; his heart partakes too much of the cold tough nature of hisfather's to make a good lover. While he talks sense to the maiden aunt, I shall be pouring nonsense into the young lady's ears--nursing herlap-dog, caressing her pony, writing amatory verses in her scrap-book, "(albums were not then in fashion, ) "and losing no opportunity ofinsinuating myself into her good graces. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

 I see no beauty in this wealthy dame; 'Neath the dark lashes of her downcast eyes A weeping spirit lurks. And when she smiles, 'Tis but the sunbeams of an April day, Piercing a watery cloud. --S. M. 

"So Colonel Hurdlestone's son and nephew arrived at the Hall last night. Reach me down Juliet's portfolio, Dorothy; I must write the good Colonela congratulatory note, " said Captain Whitmore to his solemn-facedsister. 

The Captain was a weather-beaten stout old gentleman, who had seen somehard service during the war, and what with wounds, hard-drinking, andthe gout, had been forced to relinquish the sea, and anchor for life inthe pretty village of Norgood, where he held property, through the deathof the rich Mr. Henderson, to a considerable amount. His wife had beendead for some years, and his only daughter, whom he scarcely sufferedout of his sight, was educated at home, under the superintendence of heraunt, who professed to be the most accomplished, as she certainly wasthe most disagreeable, woman in the world. 

"I think, Captain Whitmore, you had better defer your congratulationsuntil you see what sort of persons these young men are. Mrs. Grantassured me yesterday that one of these gentlemen is very wild. Quite aprofligate. "

"Fiddlesticks!" said the jolly Captain, snapping his fingers. "I knowwhat young men are. A gay dashing lad, I suppose, whose hot blood andyouthful frolics old maiden ladies construe into the most awful crimes. "

"Old maiden ladies, sir! Pray whom do you mean to insult by that grossappellation?"

"Gross! I always thought that maiden was a term that implied virgininnocence and purity, whether addressed to the blithe lass of sixteen, or the antiquated spinster of forty, " returned the provoking sailor, with a knowing glance. 

"I hate your vulgar insinuations, " said Miss Dorothy, her sharp noseflushing to a deep red. "But how can one expect politeness from a seamonster?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted the Captain. "Never mind, Dolly, don't give way totemper, and curl up that bowsprit of yours with such a confounded uglytwist. There may be a chance yet. Let me see. I don't think that you arefifty-four. My nurse, Betty Holt, was called an old maid for thirtyyears, and married at last. "

"I wonder, brother, that you are not ashamed of naming me and thatlow-born person in the same breath. As to matrimony, I despise the malesex too much to degrade myself by entering upon it. "

"It would have sweetened your temper amazingly, " said the Captain, re-filling his pipe. "I believe, Dorothy, you were never put to thetrial?"

"You know that I refused at least a dozen offers. "

"Whew! I never heard a word about them before. "

Miss Dorothy knew that she was telling a great fib; and she drew herselfup with increased dignity. "You were at sea, sir. "

"So, I suppose, " drawing a long whiff from his pipe, "I must have been agreat way off; and these same offers must have been made a long timeago. "

"I could marry yet, if I pleased!" screamed the indignant spinster. 

"Doubtful. And pray who is the happy man?"

"I have too much delicacy to reveal secrets, or to subject myself or himto your vulgar ridicule. "

"I wish him luck!" said the Captain, turning over the leaves of Juliet'sportfolio. "What the deuce does the girl mean? She has scribbled overall the paper. I hope she don't amuse herself by writing love-letters?"

"Do you think that I would suffer my niece to spend her time in such animproper manner? But, indeed, brother, I wish you would speak to Juliet(for she does not mind me) on this subject. "

"On what subject--writing love-letters?"

"No, sir: something almost as bad. "

"Well--out with it. "

"She has the folly to write verses. "

"Is that all?"

"All! Only consider the scandal that it will bring upon me. I shall becalled a blue-stocking. "

"You! I thought it was the author to whom persons gave thatappellation. "

"True, Captain Whitmore; but, as I help to instruct the young lady, ill-natured people will say that I taught her to write. "

"Don't fret yourself on that score, Dolly; it will not spoil yourfortune, if they do. But Juliet--I am sorry that the child has takensuch whimsies into her head; it may hinder her from getting a goodhusband. "

"Fie, Captain Whitmore! Is that your only objection?"

"Be quiet, Dolly, there's a good woman, and let me examine these papers. If there is anything wrong about them, I will burn them, and forbid mypretty Julee to write such nonsense again. I know that the dear girlloves her old dad, and will mind what I say. How!--what's this? Godbless the darling!"

'_Lines addressed to my father during his absence at sea. _'

The old man put on his spectacles, and read these outpourings of anaffectionate heart with the tears in his eyes. They possessed verylittle merit, as a poem; but the Captain thought them the sweetest lineshe had ever read. 

"Well, now, Dolly, is not that a pretty poem? Who could have the heartto find fault with that, or criticise the dear child for her dutifullove to me? I'll not burn that. " And the old tar slipped the preciousdocument into his pocket, to be hoarded next his heart, and to be wornuntil death bade them part, within the enamelled case which containedthe miniature of his Julee's very pretty mother. 

"It's well enough, " said Miss Dorothy; "but I hate such romantic stuff. It could have been written with more propriety in prose. " And she added, in a malicious aside, loud enough to reach the ears of the fond father:

"Now his vanity's pleased with this nonsense, there will be no end tohis admiration of Juliet's verses. "

"Dorothy, don't be envious of that of which you are incapable. "

"Me envious! Of whom, pray? A whining, half-grown chit, who, if she haveanything worthy of commendation about her, first received it from me. Envious, indeed! Captain Whitmore, I am astonished at your impudence!"

What answer the Captain would have given to this was very doubtful, forhis brow clouded up with the disrespectful manner in which Aunt Dorothyspoke of his child, had not that child herself appeared, and all thesunshine of the father's heart burst forth at her presence. 

"Dear papa, what are you about?" she cried, flinging her arms about theold veteran's neck, and trying, at the same moment, to twitch the paperout of his hand. 

"Avast heavin'! my girl. The old commodore is not to be robbed so easilyof his prize. "

"Indeed, you must give the portfolio to me!" said Juliet, her eyes fullof tears at finding her secret discovered. 

"Indeed, indeed, I shall do no such thing, you saucy little minx! So, sit still whilst the father reads. "

"But that--that is not worth reading. "

"I dare say you are right, Miss Juliet, " said the old maid, sarcastically. "The rhymes of young ladies are seldom worth reading. Youhad better mend your stockings, and mind your embroidery, than wasteyour time in such useless trash. "

"It does not take up much of my time, aunt. "

"How do you make it up out of your little head, Julee?" said theCaptain. "Come and sit upon my knee, and tell the father all about it. Iam sure I could sooner board a French man-of-war than tack two rhymestogether. "

"I don't know, papa, " said Juliet, laughing, and accepting the profferedseat. "It comes into my head when it likes, and passes through my brainwith the rapidity of lightning. I find it without seeking, and often, when I seek it, I cannot find it. The thing is a great mystery tomyself; but the possession of it makes me very happy. "

"Weak minds, I have often been told, are amused by trifles, " sneeredAunt Dorothy. 

"Then I must be very weak, aunt, for I am easily amused. Dear papa, giveme that paper. "

"I must read it. "

"'Tis silly stuff. "

"Let me be the best judge of that. Perhaps it contains something that Iought not to see?"

"Perhaps it does. Oh, no, " she whispered in his ear; "but Aunt Dorothywill sneer so at it. "

The old man was too much pleased with his child to care for AuntDorothy. He knew, of old, that her bark was worse than her bite; thatshe really loved both him and his daughter; but she had a queer way ofshowing it. And unfolding the paper, he read aloud, to the greatannoyance of the fair writer, the fragment of a ballad, of which, to dohim justice, he understood not a single word; and had he called upon herto explain its meaning, she would, in all probability, have found it noeasy task. 

 LADY LILIAN. 

 Alone in her tower, at the midnight hour, The lady Lilian sat; Like a spirit pale, In her silken veil, She watches the white clouds above her sail, And the flight of the drowsy bat. 

 Is love the theme of her waking dream? Her heart is gay and free; She loves the night, When the stars shine bright, And the moon falls in showers of silver light Through the stately forest tree. 

 And all around, on the dewy ground, The quivering moonbeams stray; And the light and shade, By the branches made, Give motion and life to the silent glade, Like fairy elves at play. 

 And far o'er the meads, through its fringe of reeds, Flashes the slender rill; Like a silver thread, By some spirit led, From an urn of light by the moonbeams fed, It winds round the distant hill. 

 When sleep's soft thrall falls light on all, That lady's eyes unclose; To all that is fair In earth and air, When none are awake her thoughts to share, Or her spirit discompose. 

 And tones more dear, to her fine-tuned ear, On the midnight breezes float; Than the sounds that ring From the minstrel's string, When the mighty deeds of some warrior king Inspire each thrilling note. 

 * * * * *

"So there's a hole in the ballad, " said the old tar, looking up in hisdaughter's blushing face. "Julee, my dear, what does all this mean?"

"It would be a difficult matter for Miss Julee to explain, " said AuntDorothy. 

Further remarks on either side were stopped by the announcement ofColonel Hurdlestone, and his son and nephew. Juliet seized the portfoliofrom her father, and, with one bound, cleared the opposite doorway, anddisappeared. 

"We have frightened your daughter away, Captain Whitmore, " said theColonel, glancing after the retreating figure of Juliet. "What made myyoung friend run from us?"

"Oh, I have just found out the saucy jade is scribbling verses all overmy paper; and she is afraid that I should tell you about it; and thataunt Dorothy would quiz her before these gentlemen. "

"I should like much to see a specimen of her poetry, " said the Colonel. 

"Here are a few lines addressed to myself, " said the proud father, handing them to his friend. "I was going to scold Julee for her folly;but, by Jove, Colonel, I could not bring my heart to do it after readingthat!"

The paper went round. It lingered longest in the hand of AnthonyHurdlestone. The lines possessed no particular merit. They were tenderand affectionate, true to nature and nature's simplicity, and as he readand re-read them, it seemed as if the spirit of the author was in unisonwith his own. "Happy girl!" he thought, "who can thus feel towards andwrite of a father. How I envy you this blessed, holy affection!" Heraised his eyes, and rose up in confusion, to be presented to MissWhitmore. 

Juliet could scarcely be termed beautiful; but her person was veryattractive. Her features were small, but belonged to none of the favoredorders of female beauty; and her complexion was pallid, rendered moreconspicuously so by the raven hair, that fell in long silken ringletsdown her slender white throat, and spread like a dark veil round herelegant bust and shoulders. Her lofty brow was pure as marble, andmarked by that high look of moral and intellectual power, before whichmere physical beauty shrinks into insignificance. Soft pencilledeyebrows gave additional depth and lustre to a pair of the most lovelydeep blue eyes that ever flashed from beneath a fringe of jet. There wasan expression of tenderness almost amounting to sadness, in those sweeteyes; and when they were timidly raised to meet those of the youngAnthony, a light broke upon his heart, which the storms and clouds ofafter-life could never again extinguish. 

"Miss Juliet, your father has been giving us a treat, " said the Colonel. 

Poor Juliet turned first very red, and then very pale, and glancedreproachfully at the old man. 

"Nay, Miss Whitmore, you need not be ashamed of that which does you somuch credit, " said the Colonel, pitying her confusion. 

"Dear papa, it was cruel to betray me, " said Juliet, the tears ofmortified sensibility filling her fine eyes. "Colonel Hurdlestone, youwill do me a great favor by never alluding to this subject again. "

"You are a great admirer of nature, Miss Whitmore, or you could neverwrite poetry, " said Godfrey, heedless of the distress of the poor girl. But he was tired of sitting silent, and longed for an opportunity ofaddressing her. 

"Poetry is the language in which nature speaks to the heart of theyoung, " said Juliet. "Do you think that there ever was a young personindifferent to the beauties of poetry?"

"All young people have not your taste and fine feeling, " said Godfrey. "There are some persons who can walk into a garden withoutdistinguishing the flowers from the weeds. You have of course readShakspeare?"

"It formed the first epoch in my life, " returned Juliet with animation. "I never shall forget the happy day when I first revelled through thefairy isle with Ariel and his dainty spirits. My father was from home, and had left the key in the library door. It was forbidden ground. Myaunt was engaged with an old friend in the parlor, so I ventured in, andsnatched at the first book which came to hand. It was a volume ofShakspeare, and contained, among other plays, the Tempest and MidsummerNight's Dream. Afraid of detection I stole away into the park, andbeneath the shadow of the greenwood tree, I devoured with rapture theinspired pages of the great magician. What a world of wonders it openedto my view! Since that eventful hour poetry has become to me thelanguage of nature--the voice in which creation lifts up its myriadanthems to the throne of God. "

An enthusiastic country girl could alone have addressed this rhapsody toa stranger. A woman of the world with half her talent and moral worth, would have blushed at her imprudence in betraying the romance of hernature. Juliet was a novice in the world, and she spoke with thesimplicity and earnestness of truth. Godfrey smiled in his heart at herwant of tact; yet there was one near him, in whose breast JulietWhitmore would have found an echo to her own words. 

The gentlemen rose to depart, and promised to dine at the Lodge the nextday. 

"Two fine young men, " said the Captain, turning to his daughter, as thedoor closed upon his guests. "Which of them took your fancy most, Julee?"

"They are so much alike--I should scarcely know them apart. I liked himthe best who most resembled the dear old Colonel. "

"Old! Miss Juliet. I hope you don't mean to call Colonel Hurdlestone anold man! You will be calling me old next. "

"And not far from the truth if she did, " muttered the old sailor. "Thatwas the Colonel's nephew, Julee, Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone. "

"The son of that horrible old miser? I saw him once and took him for abeggar. Is it possible that that elegant young man can be his son?"

"I think the case somewhat doubtful, " observed Miss Dorothy. "I wonderthat Colonel Hurdlestone has the effrontery to introduce that young manas his nephew. Nature herself contradicts the assertion. "

"Dolly, don't be censorious. I thought the Colonel was a great friend ofyours. "

"He was; but I am not blind, " said Miss Dorothy, with dignity. "I havealtered my mind with regard to that gentleman, and would not become hiswife if he were to ask me on his bended knees. "

"I wish he would pop the question, " said the Captain. "I'd bet my lifeon't that he would not have to ask twice!"

"Sir, " replied the lady, casting upon her brother a withering glance, "Inever mean to marry a widower--an uncle--who brings with him nephews solike himself. " Miss Dorothy swept from the room, leaving her brotherconvulsed with laughter. 

"Miss Whitmore is not so handsome as I expected to find her, after thefuss that George Braconberry made about her the other night at Wymar's, "said Godfrey, suddenly pulling up his horse, as they rode home, andaddressing his cousin. "Her figure is delightful, symmetry itself; buther face, she has scarcely one good feature in it. There is nothing gayor joyous in her expression. There is an indescribable sadness aboutthose blue eyes which makes one feel grave in a moment. I wanted to payher a few compliments by way of ingratiating myself into her goodgraces; but, by Jove! I could not look her in the face and do it. A manmust have more confidence than I possess to attempt to deceive her. Inever felt afraid of a woman before. "

"I am glad to hear you say so, " returned Anthony. "To me she isbeautiful, exceedingly beautiful. I would not exchange that nobleexpression of hers for the most faultless features and bloomingcomplexion in the world. The dignity of her countenance is the mirror inwhich I see reflected the beauty of the soul; as the stars picture onthe face of the placid stream the heaven in which they dwell. "

"Are you turned poet too, Master Anthony? Mary Mathews, down at thefarm, has a prettier face, or I am no judge of female beauty. "

"We all know your _penchant_ for Mary Mathews. But seriously, Godfrey, if you do not mean to marry the poor girl, it is very cruel to pay hersuch lover-like attentions. "

"One must do something, Tony, to pass away the time in this dull place. As to marrying the girl, you surely do not take me for a fool?"

"I should be sorry to take you for something worse. Last night you wenttoo far, when you took the sweet-briar rose from her bosom and placed itin your own; and said that you preferred it to all the flowers in thegarden; that your highest ambition was to win and wear the wild rose. The poor girl believed you. Did you not see how she looked down andblushed, and then up in your face with the tears in her eyes, and asweet smile on her severed lips. Surely, my dear cousin, it is wrong togive birth to hopes which you never mean to realize. "

A crimson flush passed over Godfrey's brow as he answered haughtily. "Nonsense, Anthony! you take up this matter too seriously. Women loveflattery, and if we are bound in honor to marry all the women wecompliment, the law must be abolished that forbids polygamy. "

"I know one who would not fail to take advantage of such an act, " saidAnthony. "But really, matters that concern the happiness and misery ofour fellow creatures are too serious for a joke. I hope poor Mary'slight heart will never be rendered heavy by your gallantry. "

Again the color flushed the cheek of Godfrey. He looked down, slashedhis well-polished boot with his riding-whip, and endeavored to hum atune, and appear indifferent to his cousin's lecture, but it would notdo; and telling Anthony that he was in no need of a Mentor, he whistledto a favorite spaniel, and dashing his spurs into his horse, was soonout of sight. 

Mary Mathews, the young girl who formed the subject of thisconversation, was a strange eccentric creature, more remarkable for thebeauty of her person, and her masculine habits, than for any goodqualities she possessed. Her father rented a small farm, the property ofColonel Hurdlestone; her mother died while she was yet a child, and heronly brother ran away from following the plough and went to sea. 

Mathews was a rude, clownish, matter-of-fact man; he wanted some personto assist him in looking after the farm, and taking care of the stock;and he brought up Mary to fill the place of the son he had lost, earlyinuring her to take an active part, in those manual labors which werepeculiar to his vocation. Mary was a man in everything but her face andfigure, which were exceedingly soft and feminine; and if her complexionhad not been a little injured by constant exposure to the atmosphere, she would have been a perfect beauty; and in spite of thesedisadvantages she was considered the _belle_ of the village. 

Alas! for Mary. Her masculine employments, and constantly associatingwith her father's work-people, had destroyed the woman in her heart. Shethought like a man--spoke like a man--acted like a man. The loud clearvoice, and clearer louder laugh, the coarse jest and rude song, gratedpainfully on the ear, and appeared unnatural in the highest degree, whenissuing from coral lips, whose perfect contour might have formed a modelfor the Venus. 

Mary knew that she was handsome, and never attempted to conceal fromothers her consciousness of the fact; and, as long as her exteriorelicited applause and admiration from the rude clowns who surroundedher, she cared not for those minor graces of voice and manner whichrender beauty so captivating to the refined and well-educated of theother sex. 

In the harvest-field she was always the foremost in the band of reapers;dressed in her tight green-cloth boddice, clean white apron, red stuffpetticoat, and neatly blacked shoes; her beautiful features shaded byher large, coarse, flat, straw hat, put knowingly to one side, morefully to display the luxuriant auburn tresses, of the sunniest hue, thatwaved profusely in rich natural curls round her face and neck. In thehay-field you passed her, with the rake across her shoulder, and turnedin surprise to look at the fair creature, who whistled to her dog, sangsnatches of profane songs, and hallooed to the men in the same breath. In the evening you met her bringing home her cows from the marshes, mounted upon her father's grey riding horse; keeping her seat with asmuch ease and spirit, although destitute of a side-saddle, as the mostaccomplished female equestrian in St. James's Park; and when hisservices were no longer required by our young Amazon, she rubbed downher horse, and turned him adrift with her own hands into the paddock. 

To see Mary Mathews to advantage, when the better nature of herwomanhood triumphed over the coarse rude habits to which her peculiareducation had given birth, was when surrounded by her weanling calvesand cosset lambs, or working in her pretty garden that skirted the road. There, among her flowers, with her splendid locks waving round her sunnybrow, and singing as blithe as any bird, some rural ditty or ballad ofthe days gone by, she looked the simple, unaffected, lovely countrygirl. The traveller paused at the gate to listen to her song, to watchher at her work, and to beg a flower from her hand. Even the proudaristocratic country gentleman, as he rode past, doffed his hat, andsaluted courteously the young Flora whose smiling face floated beforehim during his homeward ride. 

Uncontrolled by the usages of the world, and heedless of its good or badopinion, Mary became a law to herself--a headstrong, wayward, passionatecreature; shunned by her own sex, who regarded her as their commonenemy, and constantly thrown into contact with the worst and mostignorant of the other, it was not to be wondered at that she became anobject of suspicion to all. 

With a mind capable of much good, but constantly exposed to much evil, Mary felt with bitterness that she had no friend among her villageassociates who could share her feelings, or enjoy her unfemininepursuits. With energy of purpose to form and execute the most daringprojects, her mental powers were confined to the servile drudgery of thekitchen and the field until the sudden return of her long-lost brothergave a new coloring to her life, and influenced all her future actions. 

The bold audacious William Mathews, of whom she felt so proud, and whomshe loved so fiercely, carried on the double profession of a poacher onshore and a smuggler at sea. Twice Mary had exposed her life toimminent danger to save him from detection; and so strongly was sheattached to him, that there was no peril that she would not have daredfor his sake. Fear was a stranger to her breast. Often had she beenknown to ride at the dead hour of night, through lonely cross-roads, toa distant parish, to bring home her father from some low hedge-alehouse, in which she suspected him to be wasting his substance with a set ofworthless profligates. 

Twice during the short period of her life, for she had only just enteredupon her eighteenth year, she had suffered from temporary fits ofinsanity; and the neighbors, when speaking of her exploits, alwaysprefaced it with, "Oh, poor thing! There is something wrong about thatgirl. There is no account to be taken of her deeds. "

From a child Mary had been an object of deep interest to the youngHurdlestones. Residing on the same estate, she had been a stolenacquaintance and playfellow from infancy. She always knew the best poolsin the river for fishing, could point out the best covers for game, knewwhere to find the first bird's-nest, and could climb the loftiest foresttree to obtain the young of the hawk or crow with more certainty ofsuccess than her gay companions. Their sports were dull and spiritlesswithout Mary Mathews. 

As they advanced towards manhood they took more notice of herpeculiarities, and laughed at her boyish ways; but when she grew up intoa beautiful girl they became more respectful in their turn, and seldompassed her in the grounds without paying her some of those lightcompliments and petty attentions always acceptable to a pretty vain girlof her class. Both would officiously help her to catch and bridle herhorse, carry her pail, or assist her in the hay-field. And this was asoften done to hear the smart answers that pretty Poll would return totheir gallant speeches, for the girl possessed no small share of wit, and her natural talents were in no way inferior to their own. 

Godfrey had of late addressed her in less bantering tones; for he hadplayed, like the moth, around the taper until he had burnt his wings, and was fairly scorched by the flame of love. In spite of theremonstrances of his more conscientious cousin, he daily spent hours inleaning over her garden gate, enacting the lover to this rustic Flora. It was to such a scene as this that Anthony had alluded, and respectingwhich Godfrey had given such an indefinite answer. 

Capricious in his pursuits, Godfrey was not less inconstant in hisaffections; and the graceful person and pleasing manners of JulietWhitmore had made a deeper impression upon his fickle mind than hethought it prudent to avow; nor was he at all insensible to thepecuniary advantages that would arise from such a union. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 Come, tell me something of this wayward girl. Oh, she is changed--and such a woful change! It breaks my heart to think on't. The bright eye Has lost its fire, the red rose on her cheek Is washed to whiteness by her frequent tears; And with the smile has fled the ruby glow From the twin lips, so tempting and so ripe; That wooed to love with their ambrosial breath, That, issuing through those dewy portals, showed The pearly teeth within, like gems enshrined. --S. M. 

What aileth thee this morning, young daughter, that thou lingerest solong before the mirror, adjusting and re-adjusting the delicately-tintedProvence rose-buds in thy dark flowing tresses? Art thou doubtful of thycharms, or have the calm bright eyes of the young stranger made theediffident of the power of thy own surpassing loveliness? Those eyes havecaught thy young fancy, and made thee blind to all other objects aroundthee. They have haunted thee through the long night; thou couldst notsleep; those dark eyes looked into thy soul; they have kindled upon thehidden altar of life the sad and beautiful light of love. Thou no longerlivest for thyself; another image possesses thy heart, and thou hastwonderingly discovered a new page in the poetry of thy nature. 

"Yes, love--first love--is a sad and holy thing; a pleasure born out ofpain, welcomed with smiles, nourished by tears, and worshipped by theyoung and enthusiastic as the only real and abiding good in a world ofshadow. Alas! for the young heart, why should it ever awake to find themost perfect of its creatures like the rest--a dream!"

And poor Juliet's love-dream was banished very abruptly by the harshvoice of Aunt Dorothy. 

"Miss Whitmore, the dinner waits for _you_. Quick! you have been an hourdressing yourself to-day. Will you never have done arranging your hair?Now, do pray take out those nasty flowers. They do not become you. Theylook romantic and theatrical. "

"Ah, aunt, you must not rob me of my flowers, God's most precious giftto man. "

"I hate them! They always make a room look in a litter. "

"Hate flowers!" exclaimed Juliet, in unaffected surprise. "God'sbeautiful flowers! I pity your want of taste, my good aunt. "

"Nay, spare your commiseration for those who need it, Miss Whitmore. Myjudgment is certainly not inferior to _yours_; and I never coulddiscover the use or beauty of flowers. What! not satisfied yet?" asJuliet cast another hurried glance at the mirror. "The vanity of girlsin our days is quite disgusting to a woman of sense. "

"I look so ill to-day, aunt, I am ashamed of being seen. "

"It is matter of little consequence, I dare say; no one will notice howyou look. A few years _hence_, and there would be some excuse forspending so much time before a looking-glass. "

The ladies entered the drawing-room as dinner was announced. If Julietwas dissatisfied with her appearance, Anthony thought that she lookedmost beautiful, and was delighted to find himself seated beside her. Howgladly would he have improved this opportunity of conversing with her, but the natural shyness of his disposition became doubly distressingwhen he most wished to surmount it; and, with a thousand thoughts in hisheart and words upon his tongue, he remained silent. Juliet was thefirst to speak. 

"You were out fishing last night, Mr. Anthony. Were you successful?"

"I am always successful, Miss Whitmore. But, after all, it is a crueland treacherous sport. I feel ashamed of myself for entering into itwith such zest. Destruction appears to be a principle inherent in ournature. Man shows his tyrannical disposition in finding so great apleasure in taking away from the inferior animals the life which hecannot restore. "

"You are too severe, " returned Juliet. "We are apt to forget during theexcitement of the moment the cruelty we inflict. I read old Izaak Waltonwhen a child. He made me mistress of the whole art of angling. It issuch a quiet contemplative amusement. The clear stream, the balmy air, the warbling of happy birds, the fragrant hedge-rows and flowery banks, by which you are surrounded, make you alive to the most pleasingimpressions: and amidst sights and sounds of beauty, you never reflectthat you are acting the part of the destroyer. I have given up thegentle craft; but I still think it a strangely-fascinating sport. "

"I should be sorry to see you so engaged, " said Anthony. "I never couldbear to witness so soft a hand employed in taking away life. "

"You, too, have learned the art of flattery, " said Juliet, reproachfully. "When will your sex, in speaking to ours, learn toconfine themselves to simple truth?"

"When the education of woman is conducted with less art, and they risesuperior to the meanness of being pleased with falsehood. What I saidjust now was but the simple truth. I admit that it was said to please, and I should, indeed, be grieved, if I thought that I could possiblyhave given offence. "

He looked so serious and anxious, that Juliet burst into a merry laugh. 

"A very heinous crime, indeed, and deserving a very severe punishment!What shall it be?"

"Another lecture from those lips. Remember, I did not say, _sweet_lips. "

"Worse and worse. I will abandon the lectures for the future, for, Iperceive, that to complain to a gentleman of his using compliments, onlyinduces him to make a dozen more, in order to atone for his firstoffence. "

The young people's _tête à tête_ was interrupted by Miss Dorothea, whohated to hear any one talk but herself, asking Mr. Anthony, "If it weretrue that he was studying for the Church?" On his replying in theaffirmative, she continued: "Your father, Mr. Anthony, is determined tolet nothing go out of the family. One would have thought that you couldhave afforded to have lived like an independent gentleman. "

Anthony, who was unfortunately very sensitive on this subject, coloreddeeply as he replied, "My choice of a profession, madam, was not so much in accordance with myfather's wishes as with my own. "

"Well, I must say that I think it a strange choice for a young man offortune. "

"I made choice of that mode of life, in which I hoped to be of most useto my fellow creatures. The fortune to which you allude, Miss Whitmore, may never be mine. "

"Yes, yes; I see you are determined to look out for the main chance, "continued his ill-natured tormentor. "But, to do you justice, young man, I think nature made you for a parson. "

This speech was greatly relished by Godfrey, who burst into a loudlaugh. He secretly enjoyed poor Anthony's mortification; and, though hedetested the old maid himself, he had successfully wormed himself intoher good graces, by paying her some judicious compliments, in which thegraces of her person and her youthful appearance had been the theme ofpraise. 

"By the by, Tony, " he said, turning suddenly to his cousin, "you havereceived a letter from your father, and never told me one word about it. Was it a kind epistle?"

"Better than I expected, " returned Anthony coldly. "But I never discussfamily matters in public. "

"Public! Are we not among friends?" said Godfrey, persisting in hisimpertinent interrogatories. 

"But you inherit a good deal of the suspicious cautious character ofyour father. When you grow old, I believe that you will be just as fondof money as he is. Did he offer to advance a sufficient sum to settleyou in life?"

"No, he did not. "

"Astonishing! What excuse can he give for such unreasonable conduct?"

"The old one, I suppose, " said Colonel Hurdlestone, laughing--"poverty. "

"Ha! ha! ha!" reiterated Godfrey. 

"Godfrey!" said Anthony, with much severity of look and tone: "how cansuch a lamentable instance of human weakness (madness, I might say)awaken your mirth?"

"Is it not enough to make one laugh, when an old fellow, rich enough topay the National Debt, refuses to provide for his only son, and suffershim to live upon the _charity_ of a brother?"

This unexpected though oft-repeated insult was too much for Anthony tobear at such a moment, and in the presence of the woman he loved. Theproud flash of his dark eye told how deeply his gentle nature was moved. His indignation did not escape the watchful eye of Juliet; but hemastered his passion, and answered his cousin in a calm low voice. 

"Godfrey, I understand you. You need say no more on that subject. Youknow how painfully alive I am to the obligations I owe to my uncle, andit is ungenerous to take such an opportunity of reminding me of them. The debt, I hope, will one day be repaid. "

He rose to take leave. A pleading look from Juliet made him abandon hisintention. "Sit down, " said Juliet, in a persuasive voice, "I am sureyour cousin meant no offence. Delicacy of mind, " she added, in a verylow tone, meant only for his ear, "is not always an inherent quality; weshould pity and forgive those who are destitute of it. "

"I will do any thing to please you, " returned Anthony; and Godfrey, palewith disappointed malice, saw him resume his seat. 

"I have provided a little treat of strawberries and cream, " continuedJuliet; "they are the first of the season, and were presented to me thismorning by that strangely-interesting girl, Mary Mathews. How I regretthat her father's injudicious method of bringing her up should socompletely have spoiled a girl whom Nature formed to be an ornament toher humble station. "

"Mary is a beautiful girl, " said Anthony, "and has a mind of no ordinarycast. Her failings are the result of the peculiar circumstances in whichshe has been placed. With such a kind monitress as Miss Whitmore tocounsel her, I feel assured that she might soon be persuaded to forsakeher masculine employments, and feel a relish for more femininepursuits. "

He spoke with much earnestness, until perceiving that Juliet regardedhim with a peculiarly searching glance, he colored, hesitated, becameembarrassed, and, finally, stopped speaking. 

"When I first saw Mary Mathews, some months ago, " said Juliet, "she wasvery pretty, and as blithe as a bird; I used to envy the exuberance ofher animal spirits, whenever I passed her little garden, and heard hersinging. For the last few weeks, a melancholy change has taken place inthe poor girl's appearance, which gives me pain to witness. Her cheekhas lost its bloom; her step its elasticity; her dress is neglected; andthe garden in which she worked and sang so merrily, and in which shetook so much delight, is overrun with weeds. Her whole appearanceindicates the most poignant grief. When I questioned her to-day upon thesubject, she answered me with a burst of tears--tears, which seem sounnatural for one of her disposition to shed. Perhaps, Mr. Anthony, " shecontinued, with an air of increasing interest, "you can tell mesomething of the history of this young girl--as she is one of youruncle's tenants--which may lead me to discover the cause of her grief?"

Before Anthony could reply to this somewhat embarrassing question, hewas called upon by his uncle, who was playing chess with the oldCaptain, to decide some important problem in the game; and Godfrey, whohad been a painfully observant listener to their conversation, glidedinto his vacant seat. 

"I wish, Miss Whitmore, that I could satisfactorily answer all yourgenerous inquiries with regard to Mary Mathews. But I know and hear solittle of the gossip of the village, and with the poor girl's privatehistory I am totally unacquainted--nay, the girl herself is to me aperfect stranger. No person is better able to give you the informationyou require than my cousin Anthony; he knows Mary well. In spite of myfather's prohibitions, she was always a chosen playfellow of his. Heprofesses a great admiration for this beautiful peasant, and takes adeep interest in all that concerns her. "

Why did Juliet's cheek at that moment grow so very pale? Why did shesigh so deeply, and suddenly drop a conversation which she had commencedwith such an apparent concern for the person who had formed the subjectof it? Love may have its joys, but oh, how painfully are they contrastedwith its doubts and fears! She had suffered the serpent of jealousy tocoil around her heart, and for the first time felt its envenomed sting. When Anthony returned to his seat he found his fair companion unusuallycold and reserved. A few minutes after, she complained of suddenindisposition, and left the room, and she did not return that evening. 

That night, Juliet wept herself to sleep. "Is it not evident, " she saidto herself, "that this poor Mary is in love with Anthony Hurdlestone, and can I be base enough to add another pang to a heart already deeplywounded, by endeavoring to gain his affections? No. I will from thishour banish him from my thoughts, and never make him the subject ofthese waking dreams again. "

But alas! for good resolutions. She found the task more difficult thanshe had imagined. She could not obliterate the image stamped by thepower of love upon her heart. Like the lion, she struggled in the net, without the aid of the friendly mouse to set her free. She wished thatshe had never seen him--had never heard the rich tones of his mellowvoice, or suffered the glance of his dark serious eyes to penetrate toher soul. Ah! Juliet, well mayest thou toss to and fro in thy troubledslumbers; thy lover is more miserable than thou, for he _cannot sleep_. Indignant at the insult he had received in so unprovoked a manner fromhis ungenerous cousin, and at war with himself, Anthony Hurdlestonepaced his chamber during the greater part of the night--striking hisbreast against the fetters that bound him, and striving in vain to befree. The very idea, that he was the son of the miser--that he mustblush for his father whenever his name was mentioned, was not the leastof his annoyances. 

Was it possible that a girl of Juliet Whitmore's poetic temperamentcould love the son of such a man? and as he pressed his hands againsthis aching brow, and asked himself the question, he wished that he hadbeen the son of the poorest peasant upon the rich man's vast estates. Anthony did not appear at the breakfast-table, and when he did leave hischamber and joined the family party at dinner, he met Godfrey, who hadjust returned from Captain Whitmore's, his handsome countenance glowingwith health and pleasure. 

"Why, Godfrey, my boy!" cried the Colonel, regarding him with parentalpride, "What have you been doing with yourself all the morning?"

"Gardening with the jolly old tar, Captain Whitmore; quizzing the oldwitch, his sister; and making love to his charming daughter. Upon myword, sir, she is a delightful creature, and sings and plays divinely!Her personal charms I might have withstood, but her voice has taken meby surprise. You know that I was always a worshipper of sweet sounds;and this little girl kept her divine gift so entirely to herself, thatit was by mere chance that I found out that she could sing. She was alittle annoyed too by the discovery. I came in upon her unawares, andsurprised her in the very act. She gave herself no affected airs, butwhen I requested it, not only concluded the song she was singing, butsang many others, in which I was able to accompany her. The old Captainhas insisted upon my bringing my flute over, that I may accompany hisJuliet upon the piano. He could not have done me a greater kindness, andI have no doubt that we shall get on delightfully together. "

"This is hardly right, Godfrey, " said his father, "you promised Anthonyto start fair in attempting to win the good opinion of Miss Whitmore, and now you are trying to throw him altogether into the back-ground. "

"Ah, my dear sir, that was all very well in theory, but I found myselfunable to reduce it to practice. I tell you, Anthony, that I am overhead and ears in love with Miss Whitmore, and if you wish to die anatural death, you must not attempt to rival me with the lady. "

"And poor Mary--what will become of her?"

Godfrey flashed an angry glance at his cousin. 

"How can you name that _peasant_ in the same breath with Miss Whitmore?"

"A few days ago, Godfrey, you preferred the simple graces of the countrygirl to the refined lady. "

"My taste is improving, you see, " said Godfrey, filling his glass to thebrim. "And here--in the sparkling juice of the grape, let allremembrance of my boyish love be drowned. "

Anthony sighed, and sank into a fit of abstraction, while ColonelHurdlestone joined his son in a bumper to the health of the lady. 

In spite of Godfrey's avowal, Anthony could not bring himself to regardJuliet Whitmore with indifference; nor did he consider it any breach ofhonor endeavoring to make himself agreeable in her eyes. His attentions, though less marked than his cousin's, were of a more delicate and tendernature, appealing less to female vanity, and more directly to her heartand understanding; and there were moments when the young lover fanciedthat he was not an object of indifference. The more he saw of theenthusiastic girl, with all her romantic propensities, the more stronglyhe became attached to her. Her sins of authorship were undictated byambition or the mere love of fame; but were the joyous outpourings of anartless mind delighted in having discovered a method of conveying herthoughts to paper, and retaining in a tangible form those delightfulvisions that so often engrossed her fancy. 

She laid no claim to the title of a _Blue_--she had not the most remoteidea of being considered a literary lady. She sang as the birds do inthe bushes, for the mere pleasure of singing, and she was perfectlyunconscious that others listened and admired her songs. 

Independent of her love of music and poetry, she had many valuablemental and moral qualities. Not among the least of these was a deepsympathy in the wants and sufferings of the poor, which she alwaysendeavored to alleviate to the utmost of her power. The selfish fear ofinfection never deterred her from visiting the abodes of her poorneighbors--administering to their comfort when sick, and notunfrequently watching beside the pillow of the dying. In the performanceof these acts of charity, she was greatly encouraged and assisted by herworthy father. 

When aunt Dorothy, in her cold egotism, raved about her nieceendangering her life, and the lives of those around her, by going toinfected houses, the Captain's general answer was--"Let the child alone, Dorothy; a good angel watches over her--God will take care of his own. "

"So you said of her mother, Captain Whitmore, yet she lost her life byobstinately persisting in what she was pleased to call _her duty_. "

"If the good ship sunk while endeavoring to save the drowning crew ofanother, " said the poor Captain, wiping the dew from his spectacles, "she went down in a good cause, and a blessing has descended from aboveupon her child. "

One day, when Anthony had been remonstrating with Juliet for incurringso much danger while visiting the poor during a period of epidemicsickness, she replied, with her usual frankness, "This from you, Mr. Anthony, who have devoted yourself to be aninstructor of the poor, a friend of the friendless, a minister ofChrist!--how can I better employ my time than in striving to alleviatethe sorrows that I cannot cure? To tell you the truth, I cannot yieldmore to pleasure without spoiling my heart. It is not that I am averseto innocent amusements, for no person enjoys them more. But were Iconstantly to gratify my own selfish inclinations, I should soon lose mypeace of mind, that dew of the soul, which is so soon absorbed in theheated atmosphere of the world. "

"If such devotion is what the worldly term enthusiasm, may its blessedinspiration ever continue to influence your actions!"

"Enthusiasm!" repeated the girl. "Oh that I could convey to you in wordswhat I feel to be the true definition of that much abused term. Enthusiasm is the eternal struggling of our immortal against our mortalnature, which expands the wings of the soul towards its native heaven. Enthusiasm! Can anything great or good be achieved without it? Can a manbecome a poet, painter, orator, patriot, warrior, or lover, withoutenthusiasm? Can he become a Christian without it? In man's struggles toobtain fame, enthusiasm is a virtue. In a holy cause it is termedmadness. Oh, thou divine Author of the human soul, evermore grant me theinspiration of this immortal spirit!"

They were standing together in the balcony. The beams of the summer moonrested upon the upturned brow of the young enthusiast, and filled hereyes with a holy fire, and the words of love that had trembled uponAnthony's lips were dismissed from his thoughts as light and vain. Shelooked too pure to address to her, at such a moment, the wildoutpourings of human passion. 

Godfrey's flute sounded beneath the balcony. He played one of Juliet'sfavorite songs. She turned to her lover and said, with a lively air, "Isnot the musician an enthusiast--is not the language in which he breatheshis soul the poetry of sound?"

"Then what is love?" and Anthony tried to detain the small, white handshe had placed upon his arm. 

"I dare not attempt to analyse it;" and Juliet blushed deeply as shespoke. "Beautiful when worshipped at a distance, it becomes too much thenecessity of our nature when brought too near. Oh, if it would neverbend its wings to earth, and ever speak in the language of music andpoetry, this world would be too dark for so heavenly a visitant, and weshould long for death to unclose the portals of the skies. "

"Still, dearest Juliet, much quiet happiness may be realized on earth. "

"But think of its duration--how short--what sorrows are crowded into theshortest life! To love, and to lose the beloved--how dreadful! Mymother--my angel mother--at her death, my heart became a funeral urn, inwhich all sad and holy memories were enshrined. Oh, 'tis a fearful thingto love and lose! Better far to keep the heart fancy-free, than to findit the grave of hope. "

"And will you never consent to love, Juliet?"

"Can you teach me how to resist its power?" said Juliet, withsimplicity. "We love against our own will; we call reason to our aid, and reason laughs at us. We strive to forget; but memory, like hope, though it cheats us, will not in turn be cheated; one holds the keys ofthe future, the other unlocks the treasures of the past. When we ceaseto hope, memory may cease to recall what were once the offsprings ofhope. Both accompany us through life, and will, I believe, survive thegrave. "

"And will you allow me, Juliet, to entertain the blessed hope--?"

At this moment the lovers were interrupted by the eternal old pest, asGodfrey very unceremoniously called Miss Dorothy. 

"Really, Miss Whitmore, I wonder at your standing out here, in the dampnight air, without your shawl and bonnet, and the dew falling so fast. Iwish you would learn a little more prudence; it would save me a greatdeal of trouble. "

"Alas, " whispered Juliet, as Anthony led her back into the drawing-room, "how quickly the vulgarity of common-place banishes the beauty of theideal!"

The intimacy of the two families now became a matter of dailyoccurrence. Captain Whitmore who had always coveted a son of his own, was delighted with the society of the handsome intelligent young men. They were fine lads! very fine lads! He really did not know which toprefer. Juliet's choice would decide his, for the old man soondiscovered that his daughter was the great attraction that drew theyoung men to the Lodge. Perhaps, had he been questioned closely on thesubject, the old veteran would have acknowledged that he preferredGodfrey. He possessed more life and spirit than his quiet cousin; hadmore wit; was more lively and amusing. He loved hunting and fishing;played well at chess and draughts; and sang a good song. His face wasalways smiling and joyous; his brow never wore the cloud of care, thepensive earnest expression of refined thought which was so apparent inhis cousin. Godfrey made the room glad with his gay hearty laugh. He wasthe life and soul of the convivial board, and prince of good fellows. Awoman must be happy with such a handsome good-natured husband, and theCaptain hoped that his dear Julee would be the wife of his favorite. 

Hearts understood hearts better. Godfrey Hurdlestone was not the man whocould make Juliet Whitmore happy. There existed no sympathy betweenthem. The one was all soul, the other a mere animal in the fullest senseof the word; living but for animal enjoyment, and unable to comprehendthe refined taste and exquisite sensibilities that belong to highernatures. Yet he loved music, had a fine ear and a fine voice, andexercised both with considerable skill. Here Juliet met him on equalterms; they played and sang together, and whilst so employed, and onlydrinking in sweet sounds, rendered doubly delicious when accompanied byharmonious words, Juliet forgot the something, she could not tell what, that made her feel such a deep aversion to the handsome musician. 

"If my flute could but speak the language of my heart, how quickly, MissWhitmore, would it breathe into your ear the tender tale which themusician wants courage to declare!"

"Ah, " returned Juliet quickly, "such notes would only produce discord. Perfect harmony must exist before we can form a union of sweet sounds. Similarity of mind can alone produce reciprocity of affection. GodfreyHurdlestone, there is no real sympathy between us--nature never formedus for each other. "

"These are cruel words. I will not destroy hope by believing them true. We both love music passionately; here is at least one sympathy incommon. To love you has become so essential to my happiness that Icannot think that you can be wholly insensible to my passion. "

"You deceive yourself, Godfrey Hurdlestone. The moth is attracted to thecandle, but the union produces misery and death to the unfortunateinsect. Mere admiration is not love. The novelty wears off; the soul issated with the idol it worshipped, and its former homage sinks intocontempt. You seek the outward and palpable. I seek that which is unseenand true. But let us go to my father, he is fishing, and the evening isgrowing cold. If he stays out much longer in the damp meadow, he will beraving with the rheumatism. "

"Your worthy father would not frown upon my suit. "

"Perhaps not. But he would never urge me to encourage a suitor whom Icould not love. I am very young, Mr. Godfrey, too young to enter intoany serious engagements. I esteem you and your cousin, but if youpersist in talking to me in this strain, it will destroy our friendship. If you really feel any regard for me, never wound my feelings byspeaking to me on this subject again. "

As Juliet ran forward to meet her father, she felt like a bird escapedout of the snare of the fowler, while Godfrey, humbled and mortified, muttered to himself, "The deuce take these very clever girls; theylecture us like parsons, and talk like books. "

"Why, Julee, love, how you have painted your cheeks, " cried thedelighted old man, catching her in his arms, and imprinting a veryaudible kiss upon her white forehead. "What has Mr. Godfrey been sayingto you?"

"Miss Juliet will not listen to anything that I can say to her, " saidGodfrey gloomily. 

"Pshaw!" returned the old man. "A lover must look out for squalls; hisbark is seldom destined to sail upon a smooth sea. If she will not goahead against wind and tide, you must try her upon another tack. "

He turned to Juliet, and found her in tears. 

CHAPTER X. 

 Would that the dewy turf were spread O'er this frail form and aching head; That this torn heart and tortured brain Would never wake to grief again. --S. M. 

When Anthony entered the study next morning, he found his cousintraversing the floor in great agitation. 

"Anthony, you are just the person I wanted to see. My father is, I fear, a ruined man. "

Anthony recoiled some steps. 

"It is but too true. I have been talking to Johnstone, the steward. Theaccount that he gives of our affairs is most discouraging. My father, itseems, has been living beyond his income for some years. The estateshave all been heavily mortgaged to supply the wants of the passing hour, while no provision has been made for the future by their improvidentpossessor. Creditors are clamorous for their money, and there is nomoney to answer their demands. Mr. Haydin, the principal mortgagee, threatens to foreclose with my father, if the interest, which has beendue upon the mortgage for some years, is not instantly forthcoming. Inthis desperate exigency I can only think of two expedients, both ofwhich depend entirely upon you. "

Anthony had never questioned the state of his uncle's affairs. He haddeemed him rich, and this distressing intelligence fell upon him withstunning violence. He begged Godfrey to explain in what manner he couldrender his uncle the least assistance. 

"It is not merely of my father I speak; the service is to us both, butit needs some prefacing. "

Then stepping up to the astonished Anthony, he said in a quick abruptmanner--

"Do you love Miss Whitmore?"

"You have taken me by surprise, Godfrey. It is a question which, at thismoment, I can scarcely answer. "

"If your feelings towards her are of such an indefinite character, itwill require no great mental effort to resign her. To me she is anobject of passionate regard. A marriage with Miss Whitmore would renderme the happiest of men, and retrieve the fallen fortunes of my house. Nor do I think, if you were absent, that she would long remainindifferent to my suit. But if you continue to persevere in trying towin her affections you will drive me mad. "

Godfrey spoke with vehemence. Anthony remained silent, lost in profoundthought. Godfrey went up to him and grasped him firmly by the hand. "Prove your love and gratitude to my father, Anthony, by an act offriendship to his son. "

"God knows that I am painfully alive to the many obligations I owe tohim, Godfrey; but you require of me a sacrifice I am unable to grant. "

"Have you made an offer to Miss Whitmore? and has she accepted you?"

"Neither the one nor the other. Have you?"

"I spoke to her on the subject yesterday. "

"Well, " said Anthony, turning very pale. "Did she reject your suit?"

"She did not. She talked of her youth, and made some excuse to go to herfather. But she showed no indications of displeasure. From her manner, Ihad all to hope, and little to fear. Few women, especially a young girlof seventeen, can be won without a little wooing. I have no doubt ofultimately winning her regard. "

"Can you really be in earnest?"

"Do you doubt my word? Do you think the _miser's heir_ more likely towin the affections of the romantic child of genius than the last scionof a ruined man?"

"How have I suffered myself to be cheated and betrayed by my ownvanity!" said Anthony, thoughtfully. "Alas, for poor human nature, ifthis statement be true!"

"You still question my words, Anthony! Upon my honor, what I have saidis strictly true; nor would it be honorable in you, after what I haveadvanced, to press your suit upon the lady. "

"If you asked me to resign the wealth you prize so highly, Godfrey, Icould do it. Nay, even my life itself would be a far less sacrifice thanthe idea of giving up the only woman I ever loved. Ask anything of mebut that, for I cannot do it!"

"Then you will compel me to do this, " said Godfrey, taking from hisbreast a loaded pistol, and aiming it at his own head. 

"Madman!" cried Anthony, striking the weapon from his hand; "what wouldyou do?"

"Prove your gratitude to me and mine, " said Godfrey with a bitter laugh. "Your father is rich, mine is poor, and has been made so by hisgenerosity to others!"

That horrid taunt! ah, how it stung his proud sensitive cousin to theheart! Startled and alarmed at Godfrey's demeanor, he was yet verydoubtful of the truth of his statements, feared that he was but acting apart, until he saw the bright cheek of his companion turn pale, and thetears tremble in his eyes. Then, all the kindness he had received fromhis uncle, all the love he had cherished for him from his earliestyears, all the affection which he had lavished upon his hot-headedcousin, united to subdue the flame of passion which for a few momentshad burnt so fiercely in his breast. He recalled the solemn promise hehad made to Algernon never to forsake his son, and, dreadful as thesacrifice was, which Godfrey now called upon him to make, the strugglewas over, the victory over self already won. 

"You shall never say, cousin Godfrey, that Anthony Hurdlestone knowinglydestroyed your peace. I love Juliet Whitmore. I believe that she lovesme. But, for my uncle's sake, I renounce my claim. "

Joy brightened up the handsome face of Godfrey. He was not whollyinsensible to his cousin's generous self-denial. He embraced him withwarmth, and the idea that he had rendered Godfrey happy partlyreconciled the martyr of gratitude to the sacrifice he had made. 

"You spoke of two expedients which might avert the ruin which threatenedmy uncle. Your marriage with Juliet Whitmore rests upon no broader basisthan a mere possibility. Name the second. "

"In case of the worst, to apply to your father for the loan of twothousand pounds. "

Anthony shook his head, and, without thinking a reply to such a wildproposition necessary, took up his hat, and tried to still the agitationof his mind by a stroll in the park. 

Anthony tried to reason himself into the belief that, in giving up theobject of his affections, he had achieved a very great and good action;but there was a painful void in his heart, which all his boastedphilosophy failed to fill. 

Unconsciously he took the path that led to the humble dwelling of MaryMathews. As he drew near the hawthorn hedge that separated the littlegarden from the road, his attention was arrested by some one weepingpassionately behind its almost impervious screen. He instantlyrecognised Mary in the mourner; and from a conversation that followed, he found that she was not alone. 

"I could bear your reproaches, " she said to her companion, "if he lovedme--but he has ceased to think of me--to care for me--I never loved buthim--I gave him all that I had in my power to bestow--and he has left methus. "

"Did he ever promise you marriage?" asked the deep voice of WilliamMathews. 

"Oh yes! a thousand and a thousand times. "

"Then, " and he uttered a dreadful oath, "he shall keep his word, or myname is not William Mathews. "

"Ah! if he did but love me as he once loved me, I would not care. Theshame would be joy, the disgrace happiness. The world is nothing tome--it may say what it likes--I would rather be his mistress thananother man's wife. But to be forsaken and trampled upon; to know thatanother with half my beauty, and with none of my love, is preferredbefore me; is more than my heart can bear. "

"Does my father know your situation?"

"No, no, I would not have him know it for worlds. I dare not tell him;and you have promised me, William, not to reveal my secret. Thoughfather constantly transgresses himself, men are so unjust about womenthat he would never forgive me. I would rather fling myself into thatpond, " and she laughed hysterically, "than that he should know anythingabout it. Sometimes I think, brother, that it would be the best placefor me to hide my shame. "

"Live, girl--live for revenge. Leave your gay paramour to me. I havebeen the ruin of many a better man. "

"I would rather die, " returned the girl, "than suffer any injury tobefall him. He is my husband in the sight of Heaven, and I will cling tohim to the last!"

"You are a fool, Mary! Till this moment I always thought you a clevergirl, above such paltry weakness. When your name is coupled with infamy, and you find yourself an object of contempt to the villain who hasbetrayed you, I tell you that you will alter your opinion. "

"Alas! he despises me already, " sighed the unhappy girl, "and it is thatwhich makes me feel so bad. When I think of it there comes over me justsuch a scorching heat as used to sear up my brain in the bad fever. Thepeople said I was crazed, but I was not half so mad then as I am now. "

"Keep up your spirits, girl! I will compel him to make you his wife. "

"What good would that do? You could not make him love me. We should onlybe more miserable than we are at present. I wish--oh! how I wish I weredead!"

Here the conversation between the brother and sister was abruptlyterminated by Godfrey's spaniel, which had followed Anthony through thepark, springing over the stile into the garden, and leaping into Mary'slap. The poor girl was sitting on the bank beneath the shade of a largeelm tree. She bent her head down, and returned with interest theaffectionate caresses of the dog. 

"It is Mr. Hurdlestone's dog, William. Poor Fido, you love me still. "

"His master cannot be far off, " growled Mathews, jumping over the stile, and confronting Anthony. 

The cousins were only partially known to him, and their great personallikeness made him mistake the one for the other. 

A little ashamed of being caught in the act of listening to aconversation never meant for his ear, Anthony would have left the spot;but the menacing audacious air of the smuggler aroused his pride, and heturned upon him with a haughty and enquiring glance. 

"I would speak a few words with you, mister!"

"As many as you please. But let me first inform you that I am not theperson whom you seek. "

"Humph!" said the ruffian, with a sarcastic sneer, "that dodge won't do. You might as well attempt to cheat the devil as deceive Bill Mathews. Iknow you too well. You and I have a heavy account to settle, and youshall know me better before we part. Take that--and that--and that--asan earnest of our further acquaintance. "

And he struck Anthony several heavy blows with an oak cudgel he held inhis hand. 

Forced to retaliate in self-defence, Anthony closed with his giganticopponent, and several blows had been given and received on either side, when the combatants were separated by a third person--this was no otherthan Captain Whitmore who, with his daughter, accidentally rode up tothe spot. 

"Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone engaged in such a disgraceful fray! Can Ibelieve the evidence of my senses?"

"Not if you would judge truly, Captain Whitmore, " said Anthony, strivingto keep a calm exterior, but still trembling with passion, while themost bitter and humiliating feelings agitated his breast. 

"I was striving to revenge the wrongs done to an injured sister by avillain!" cried the enraged Mathews. "I appeal to you sir, as a man, afather, a brave British officer, if you would suffer a sister or adaughter to be trampled upon and betrayed without resenting the injury?"

"I am incapable of the crime laid to my charge by this man, " saidAnthony, indignantly, when he saw the father and daughter exchangeglances of astonishment and contempt. "Miss Whitmore, I entreat you notto give the least credit to this ruffian's accusation. He has uttered abase falsehood!"

The only answer the tortured lover received was an indignant flash fromthe hitherto dove-like eyes of Juliet Whitmore. She reined back herhorse, and turned her face proudly away from the imploring gaze of thedistracted Anthony. 

"I must--I will be heard!" he cried, seizing the reins of her horse, andforcibly detaining her. "I see, Miss Whitmore, that this foul calumny isbelieved by you and your father. I demand an explanation before youleave this spot. William Mathews has accused me of being a villain--theseducer of his sister: and I here tell him to his face that hisaccusation is a hideous slander! Call hither your sister, Mr. Mathews--let her determine the question: she knows that I am innocent. Ishrink not from the most rigid investigation of my conduct. "

"Do as he bids you, Mr. Mathews, " said the Captain. "Call here yoursister. I consider myself bound in justice to listen to Mr. AnthonyHurdlestone's proposal. "

Juliet's eyes involuntarily turned towards the garden gate; but her palecheek flushed to crimson as it unclosed, and the unfortunate umpire, half led, half dragged forward by her brother, presented herself beforethem. Even Anthony's presence of mind well nigh forsook him, as, with astart, he recognised his cousin's unfortunate victim. 

A few weeks had wrought a fearful change in the blooming and healthfulappearance of the poor girl. She looked like a young sapling tree, onwhose verdant head had fallen an incurable blight; an utter disregard ofthe opinions of others, or what the world would say of her, wasmanifested in her squalid appearance and total neglect of personalneatness. The pride of the girl's heart had vanished with herself-respect, and she stood before the strange group with a bold frontand unbending brow; yet her eye wandered vacantly from face to face, asif perfectly unconscious of the real meaning of the scene. 

Anthony had appealed to Mary to vindicate his character from the foulaspersion cast upon him; but when she came he was so shocked by herappearance that he was unable to speak to her. 

"Mary, " said her brother peremptorily, "is not this man your lover?"

Mary gazed upon Anthony sullenly, but returned no answer. 

"Speak, Mary, " said Anthony, addressing her with a degree ofcompassionate tenderness. "Did you ever receive wrong or injury from me?Did I ever address you as a lover, betray, or leave you to shame? Yourbrother has accused me of all these crimes. Speak out, and tell thetruth. "

Instead of answering his question in direct terms, the girl, who for thefirst time comprehended the degrading situation in which she was placed, and subdued by the kindness of Anthony's look and manner, sprang towardshim, and, following the reckless disposition which had led to her ruin, seized his hand and pressing it to her lips, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Hurdlestone! This from you?"

"It is enough, " said Juliet, who had witnessed this extraordinary scenewith an intensity of interest too great to be described; and, turningthe head of her horse homewards, she rode off at full speed, murmuringthrough her fast-flowing tears, "What need have I of further evidence?Yes, he is guilty. "

"She is gone!" exclaimed Anthony, in an agony of despair. "She is gone, and believes me to be a villain!"

Whilst he stood rooted to the spot, Mathew approached, and whispered inhis ear, "Your mean subterfuge has not saved you. We shall meet again. "

"I care not how soon, " returned Anthony, fiercely; "but why, " continuedhe, in a softer voice, "should I be angry with you? Man, you havemistaken your quarry--a matter of little moment to you, but a matter oflife and death to me. "

"Death and hell!" exclaimed the ruffian, who at last began to suspecthis error. "If you are not Godfrey Hurdlestone, you must be his ghost!"

"I am his cousin; I never wronged either you or yours; but you have doneme an injury which you can never repair. "

"Well, hang me if that is not a good joke!" cried the smuggler, burstinginto a coarse laugh, which quickened the steps of his retreating foe. "The devil had some mischief in store when he made those chaps so muchalike. I would not wish my own brother to resemble me so closely as allthat, lest mayhap he should murder or steal, and the halter should fallon my neck instead of his. "

CHAPTER XI. 

 Oh, human hearts are strangely cast, Time softens grief and pain; Like reeds that shiver in the blast, They bend to rise again. --S. M. 

"Come, Miss Whitmore, you must rouse yourself from this unwomanly grief. It is quite improper for a young lady of your rank and fortune to beshedding tears for the immoral conduct of a worthless young profligate. "

"Peace, Dorothy; don't scold the poor child. You see her heart is nearlybroken. It will do her good to cry. Come, my own darling, come to yourold father's arms, and never mind what your aunt says to you. "

"Really, Captain Whitmore, if you mean to encourage your daughter'sdisrespectful conduct to me, the sooner we part the better. "

"Dolly, Dolly, have you no feeling for the poor child? Do hold thatcruel tongue of yours. It never sounded so harsh and disagreeable to mebefore. Look up, my Julee, and kiss your old father. "

And Juliet made an effort to raise her head from her father's bosom, andlook in his face. The big tears weighed down her eyelids, and she sankback upon his shoulder, faintly murmuring, "And I thought him so good. "

"Yes, " said Miss Dorothy, whose temper was not at all softened by herbrother's reproof; "you never would believe me. You would follow yourown headstrong fancy; and now you see the result of your folly. I oftenwondered to see you reading and flirting with that silent, down lookingyoung man, while his frank, good-natured cousin was treated withcontempt. I hope you will trust to my judgment another time. "

"Aunt, spare me these reproaches. If I have acted imprudently I amseverely punished. "

"I am sure the poor child was not worse deceived than I have been, " saidthe Captain; "but the lad's to be pitied; he comes of a bad breed. Butrouse up, my Julee--show yourself a girl of spirit. Go to your own room;a little sleep will do you a world of good. To-morrow you will forget itall. "

"That poor girl!" said Juliet, and a shudder ran through her frame. "Howcan I forget her? Her pale face--her sunken eyes--her look ofunutterable woe. Oh, she haunts me continually; and I--I--may have beenthe cause of all this misery. My head aches sadly. I will go to bed. Ilong to be alone. "

She embraced her father, and bade him good night, and curtseying to auntDorothy, for her heart was too sore to speak to her, she sought thesilence and solitude of her own chamber. 

Oh, what luxury it was to be alone--to know that no prying eyes lookedupon her grief; no harsh voice, with unfeeling common-place, tore openthe deep wounds of her aching heart, and made them bleed afresh!

"Oh, that I could think him innocent!" she said. "Yet I cannot whollyconsider him guilty. He looked--oh, how sad and touching was that look!It spoke of sorrow, but it revealed no trait of remorse; but then, wouldMary, by her strange conduct, have condemned a man whom she knew to beinnocent? Alas! it must be so, and 'tis a crime to love him. "

She sank upon her knees, and buried her face in the coverlid of thebed, but no prayer rose to her lips--an utter prostration of soul wasthere, but the shrine of her God was dark and voiceless; the waves ofhuman passion had flowed over it, and marred the purity of theaccustomed offering. Hour after hour still found her on her knees, yetshe could not form a single petition to the Divine Father. As Southeyhas beautifully expressed the same feelings in the finest of all hispoems:

 "An agony of tears was all her soul could offer. "

Midnight came; the moon had climbed high in the heavens. The family hadretired for the night, and deep silence reigned through the house, whenJuliet rose from her knees, and approaching the open casement, lookedlong and sadly into the serene, tranquil depths of the cloudless night. 

Who ever gazed upon the face of the divine mother in vain? The spirit ofpeace brooded over the slumbering world--that holy calm which no passionof man can disturb--which falls with the same profound stillness roundthe turmoil of the battle-field, and the bed of death--which enfolds inits silent embrace the eternity of the past--the wide ocean of thepresent. How many streaming eyes had been raised to that cloudlessmoon!--how many hands had been lifted up in heart-felt prayer to thosesolemn star-gemmed heavens! What tales of bitter grief had been pouredout to the majesty of night! The eyes were quenched in the darkness ofthe grave; the hands were dust; and the impassioned hearts that oncebreathed those plaintive notes of woe, where, oh where were they? Thespirit that listened to the sorrows of their day had no revelation tomake of their fate!

"And I, what am I, that I should repine and murmur against the decreesof Providence?" sighed Juliet. "The sorrows that I now endure have beenfelt by thousands who now feel no more. God, give me patience underevery trial. In humble faith teach me resignation to Thy divine will. "

With a sorrowful tranquillity of mind she turned from the window, strucka light, and prepared to undress, when her attention was arrested by aletter lying upon her dressing table. She instantly recognised the hand, and hastily breaking the seal, read with no small emotion the followinglines

 Say, dost thou think that I could be False to myself and false to thee? This broken heart and fever'd brain May never wake to joy again. Yet conscious innocence has given A hope that triumphs o'er despair; I trust my righteous cause to heaven, And brace my tortured soul to bear The worst that can on earth befall, In losing thee--my life, my all!

 The dove of promise to my ark, The pole-star to my wandering bark, The beautiful by love enshrined, And worshipp'd with such fond excess; Whose being with my being twined In one bright dream of happiness, Not death itself can rend apart The link that binds thee to my heart. 

 Spurn not the crush'd and wither'd flower; There yet shall dawn a brighter hour, When ev'ry tear you shed o'er this Shall be repaid with tenfold bliss; And hope's bright arch shall span the cloud That wraps us in its envious shroud. Then banish from thy breast for ever The cold, ungenerous thought of ill, Falsehood awhile our hearts may sever, But injured worth must triumph still. 

Juliet did not for a moment doubt that Anthony Hurdlestone was theauthor of these lines, and involuntarily she pressed the paper to herlips. Realities are stern things, but Juliet could not now believe himguilty: and with all the romance of her nature, she was willing to hopeagainst hope; and she retired to bed, comforted for her past sufferings, and as much in love with Anthony as ever. 

While Juliet enjoyed a profound and tranquil sleep, her unfortunatelover was a prey to the most agonising doubts and fears. "Surely, surely, she cannot think me guilty, " thought the devoted Anthony, as hetossed from side to side upon his restless bed. "She is too generous tocondemn me without further evidence. Yet, why do I cling to a forlornhope? Stronger minds than hers would believe appearances which speak soloudly against me. But why should I bear this brand of infamy? I will goto her in the morning and expose the real criminal. "

This idea, entertained for a moment, was quickly abandoned. What, if hedid expose his cousin's guilt, might not Godfrey deny the facts, andMary, in order to shield her unprincipled lover, bear him out in hisdenial; and then his ingratitude to the father would be moreconspicuously displayed in thus denouncing his son. No: for Algernon'ssake he would bear the deep wrong, and leave to Heaven the vindicationof his honor. He had made an appeal to her feelings; and youth, eversanguine, fondly hoped that it had not been made in vain. 

Another plan suggested itself to his disturbed mind. He would informGodfrey of the miserable situation in which he was placed, and trust tohis generosity to exonerate him from the false charge, which Mary, inher waywardness or madness, had fixed upon him. Judging his cousin'smind by his own, he felt that he was secure--that, however painful toGodfrey's self-love, he would never suffer him to bear the reproach of acrime committed by himself. 

Confident of success, he rose by the dawn of day, and sought hiscousin's apartment. After rapping several times at the door, his summonswas answered by Godfrey in a grumbling tone, between sleeping andwaking. 

"I must see you, Godfrey, " cried Anthony, impatiently shaking the door. "My errand brooks no delay. "

"What the deuce do you want at this early hour?" said Godfrey with aheavy yawn. "Now do be quiet, Tony, and give a man time to pull his eyesopen. "

Again the door was violently shaken. Godfrey had fallen back into a deepsleep, and Anthony, in his eagerness to gain an audience, made noiseenough to have roused the Seven Sleepers from their memorable nap. Witha desperate effort Godfrey at length sprang from his bed, and unlockedthe door, but, as the morning was chilly, he as quickly retreated to hiswarm nest, and buried his head in the blankets. 

"Godfrey, do rouse yourself, and attend to me; I have something of greatconsequence to communicate, the recital of which cannot fail to grieveyou, if you retain the least affection for me. "

"Could you not wait until after breakfast?" and Godfrey forced himselfinto a sitting posture. "I was out late last night, and drank too muchwine. I feel confoundedly stupid, and the uproar that you have beenmaking for the last hour at the door has given me an awful headache. But what is the matter with you, Tony? You look like a spectre. Are youill? or have you, like me, been too long over your cups?"

"You know I never drink, Godfrey, nor have I any bodily ailment; but intruth my mind is ill at ease. I am sick at heart, and you, you, cousin, are the cause of my present sufferings. "

"Ah! the old love story. You repent of giving up Juliet, and want me torelease you from your promise. I am not such a romantic fool! I nevergive up an advantage once gained, and am as miserly of opportunities asyour father is of his cash. But speak out Anthony, " he continued, seeinghis cousin turn pale, "I should like to hear what dreadful charge youhave to bring against me. "

"You shall hear, Godfrey, if I have strength and courage to tell you. "Anthony sat down on an easy chair by the side of the bed, and after along pause, in which he tried to compose his agitated feelings, heinformed his cousin of the conversation that he had overheard betweenMary and her brother, and what had subsequently happened. Godfreylistened with intense interest until he came to that part of thenarrative where Mary, in her wandering mood, had confounded him withAnthony; and there, at the very circumstance which had occasioned hiscousin such acute anguish, and when he expected from him the deepestsympathy, how were his feelings shocked as, throwing himself back uponhis pillow, Godfrey burst into a loud fit of laughter, exclaiming in ajocular and triumphant tone, "By Jove, Anthony, but you are an unluckydog!"

This was too much for the excited state of mind under which Anthony hadbeen laboring for some hours, and with a stifled groan he fell acrossthe bed in a fit. Godfrey alarmed in his turn, checked his indecentmirth, and dressing himself as quickly as he could, roused up his valetto run for the surgeon. The fresh air and the loss of a little bloodsoon restored the unfortunate young man to his senses and to a deepconsciousness of his cousin's ungentlemanly and base conduct. 

Instead of being sorry for this unfortunate mistake, Godfrey secretlycongratulated himself upon his singular good fortune, and laughed at thestrange accident that had miraculously transferred the shame of his ownguilt to his cousin. 

"This will destroy for ever what little influence he possessed withJuliet, and will close the Captain's doors against him. If I do notimprove my present advantage, may I die a poor dependent upon the bountyof a Hurdlestone!"

Again he laughed, and strode onward to the Lodge, humming a gay tune, and talking and whistling alternately to his dog. 

He found Miss Dorothy and her niece at work; the latter as pale asmarble, the tears still lingering in the long dark lashes that veiledher sad and downcast eyes. The Captain was rocking to and fro in an easychair, smoking his pipe and glancing first towards his daughter, andthen at her starch prim-looking aunt, with no very complaisantexpression. 

"By Jove, Dorothy! if you continue to torment that poor child with youreternal sermons, you will compel me to send you from the house. "

"A very fitting return for all my services, " whimpered Miss Dorothy;"for all the love and care I have bestowed upon you and your ungratefuldaughter! Send _me_ from the house--turn _me_ out of doors! _Me_, at mytime of life;" using that for argument's sake which, if addressed to herby another, would have been refuted with indignation; "to send _me_forth into the world, homeless and friendless, to seek my living amongstrangers! Brother, brother, have you the heart to address this to me?"

"Well, perhaps I was wrong, Dolly, " replied the kind-hearted sailor, repenting of his sudden burst of passion; "but you do so provoke me byyour ill-humor, your eternal contradiction, and your old-maidish ways, that it is impossible for a man always to keep his temper. It's a hardthing for a fellow's wife to have the command of the ship, but it seemsdeucedly unnatural for him to be ruled by a sister. "

"Is it not enough, brother, to make a virtuous woman angry, when shehears the girl, whose morals she has fostered with such care, defendinga wicked profligate wretch like Anthony Hurdlestone?"

"Excuse me, aunt, I did not defend his conduct, supposing him guilty, "said Juliet, with quiet dignity; "for if that be really the case suchconduct is indefensible. I only hoped that we had been mistaken. "

"Pshaw, girl! You are too credulous, " said her father. "I have no doubtof his guilt. But here is Mr. Godfrey; we may learn the truth from him. "

With an air of the deepest concern, Godfrey listened to the Captain'sindignant recital of the scene he had witnessed in the park, and withhis uncle Mark's duplicity (only Godfrey was a laughing villain, alwaysthe most dangerous sinner of the two) he affected to commiserate thefolly and weakness of his cousin, in suffering himself to be entangledby an artful girl. 

"He is a strange lad, a very strange lad, Captain Whitmore. I have knownhim from a child, but I don't know what to make of him. His father is abad man, and it would be strange if he did not inherit some of hispropensities. "

"Weaknesses of this nature were not among his father's faults, " said theCaptain. "I must confess that I liked the young man, and he had, I amtold, a very amiable and beautiful mother. "

"I have heard my father say so--but she was his first love, and love isalways blind. I should think very little of the moral worth of a womanwho would jilt such a man as my father, to marry a selfish miserlywretch like Mark Hurdlestone for his money. "

"You are right, Mr. Hurdlestone, " said Juliet. "Such a woman wasunworthy of your father. Poor Anthony, he has been very unfortunate inhis parents; yet I hoped of him better things. "

"You think, Mr. Godfrey, that there is no doubt of his guilt?" askedMiss Dorothy. 

"The girl must know best, " returned Godfrey, evading, whilst at the samemoment he confirmed the question. "He always admired her from a boy. Wehave had many disputes, nay downright quarrels, about her beauty. Shewas never a great favorite of mine. I admire gentle, not man-likewomen. "

"He is a scoundrel!" cried the Captain, throwing down his pipe with asound that made his daughter start. "He shall never darken my doorsagain, and so you may tell him, Mr. Godfrey, from me!"

"This is a severe sentence, but he deserves it!" said Godfrey. "I fearmy father will one day repent that he ever fostered this viper in hisbosom. Yet, strange to say, he always preferred him to me. Report saysthat there is a stronger tie between them, but this is a base slanderupon the generous nature of my father. He loved Anthony's mother betterthan he did mine; and he loves her son better than he does me. "

"Poor lad, " said the Captain, warmly grasping his hand, "You have beenunkindly treated among them; and you shall always find a friend and afather in me. "

Godfrey was a little ashamed of his duplicity, and would gladly, ifpossible, have recalled that disgraceful scene; but having so farcommitted himself, he no longer regarded the consequences; but hedetermined to bear it out with the most hardened effrontery. 

Whilst the victim of his diabolical art was writhing upon a sick bedunder the most acute mental and bodily pain, the author of his sufferingwas enjoying the most flattering demonstrations of regard, which werelavishly bestowed upon him by the inhabitants of the Lodge. But thevengeance of Heaven never sleeps, and though the stratagems of wickedmen may for a time prove successful, the end generally proves the truthof the apostle's awful denunciation: "_The wages of sin is death_. "

CHAPTER XII. 

 Art thou a father? did the generous tide Of warm parental love e'er fill thy veins, And bid thee feel an interest in thy kind? Did the pulsation of that icy heart Quicken and vibrate to some gentle name, Breathed in secret at its sacred shrine?--S. M. 

Short was the time allowed to Anthony Hurdlestone to brood over hiswrongs. His uncle's affairs had reached a crisis, and ruin stared him inthe face. Algernon Hurdlestone had ever been the most imprudent of men;and under the fallacious hope of redeeming his fortune, he had, unknownto his son and nephew, during his frequent trips to London, irretrievably involved himself by gambling to a large extent. This falsestep completed what his reckless profusion had already begun. He foundhimself always on the losing side, but the indulgence of this fatalpropensity had become a passion, the excitement necessary to hisexistence. The management of his estates had always been entrustedentirely to a steward, who, as his master's fortunes declined, wasrapidly rising in wealth and consequence. Algernon never troubledhimself to enquire into the real state of his finances, whilst Johnstonecontinued to furnish him with money to gratify all the whims and wantsof the passing moment. 

The embarrassed state of the property was unknown to his youngrelatives, who deemed his treasures, like those of the celebratedAbulcasem, inexhaustible. Godfrey, it is true, had latterly receivedsome hints from Johnstone how matters stood, but his mind was so whollyoccupied with his pursuit of Juliet Whitmore, and the unpleasantpredicament in which he was placed by his unfortunate connexion withMary Mathews, that he had banished the disagreeable subject from histhoughts. 

The storm which had been long gathering at length burst. Algernon wasarrested, his property seized by the sheriff, himself removed to thejail of the county town of ----. Thither Anthony followed him, anxiousto alleviate by his presence the deep dejection into which his Uncle hadfallen, and to offer that heartfelt sympathy so precious to the woundedpride of the sufferer. 

The gay and joyous disposition of Algernon Hurdlestone yielded to thepressure of misfortune. His mind bowed to the heavy stroke, and he gavehimself up to misery. His numerous creditors assailed him on all sideswith their harassing importunities; and in his dire distress he appliedto his rich brother, and, humbly for him, entreated a temporary loan oftwo thousand pounds until his affairs could be adjusted, and theproperty sold. This application, as might have been expected, wasinsultingly rejected on the part of the miser. 

Rendered desperate by his situation, Algernon made a second attempt, andpleaded the expense he had been at in bringing up and educating his son, and demanded a moderate remuneration for the same. To this ill-judgedapplication, Mark Hurdlestone returned for answer, "That he had notforced his son upon his protection; that Algernon had pleased himself inadopting the boy; that he had warned him of the consequences when hetook that extraordinary step; and that he must now abide by the result;that he, Algernon, had wasted his substance, like the prodigal of old, in riotous living, but that he, Mark, knew better the value of money, and how to take care of it. "

"Your father, Tony, is a mean pitiful scoundrel!" cried the heart-brokenAlgernon, crushing the unfeeling letter in his hand, and flinging itwith violence from him. "But I deserved to be treated with contempt, when I could so far forget myself as to make an application to him!Thirty years ago, I should have deemed begging my bread from door todoor an act of less degradation. But, Tony, time changes us all. Misfortune makes the proudest neck bow beneath the yoke. My spirit issubdued, Tony, my heart crushed, my pride gone. I am not what I was, mydear boy. It is too late to recall the past. But I can see too late theerrors of my conduct. I have acted cruelly and selfishly to poorGodfrey, and squandered in folly the property his mother brought me, andwhich should have made him rich. And you, my dear Anthony, this blowwill deprive you of a father, aye, and of one that loved you too. Iwould rather share a kennel with my dogs, than become an inmate of thehome which now awaits you. "

"Home!" sighed the youth. "The wide world is my home, the sufferingchildren of humanity my lawful kinsmen. "

Seeing his uncle's lip quiver, he took his hand and affectionatelypressed it between his own, while the tears he could not repress fellfreely from his eyes. "Father of my heart! would that in this hour ofyour adversity I could repay to you all your past kindness. But cheerup, something may yet be done. My legitimate father has never seen me asa man. I will go to him. I will plead with him on your behalf, untilnature asserts her rights, and the streams of hidden affection, so longpent up in his iron heart, overflow and burst asunder these bars ofadamant. Uncle, I will go to him this very day, and may God grant mesuccess!"

"It is in vain, Anthony. Avarice owns no heart, has no naturalaffections. You may go, but it is only to mortify your pride, agonizeyour feelings, and harden your kind nature against the whole world, without producing any ultimate benefit to me. "

"It is a trial, uncle, but I will not spare myself. Duty demands theattempt, and successful or unsuccessful, it shall be made. "

He strode towards the door. Algernon called him back. "Do not stay long, Tony. I feel ill and low spirited. Godfrey surely does not know that Iam in this accursed place. Perhaps he is ashamed to visit me here. Poorlad, poor lad! I have ruined his prospects in life by my extravagance, but I never thought that it would come to this. If you see him on yourway, Anthony, tell him (here his voice faltered), tell him, that hispoor old father pines to see him, that his absence is worse thanimprisonment--than death itself. I have many faults, but I love him onlytoo well. "

This was more than Anthony could bear, and he sprang out of the room. 

With a heart overflowing with generous emotions, and deeply sympathisingin his uncle's misfortunes, he mounted a horse which he had borrowed ofa friend in the neighborhood, and took the road that led to his father'smansion; that father who had abandoned him, while yet a tender boy, tothe care of another, and whom he had never met since the memorable hourin which they parted. 

Oak Hall was situated about thirty miles from Norgood Park, and it wasnear sunset when Anthony caught the first glimpse of the picturesquechurch of Ashton among the trees. With mingled feelings of pride, shame, and bitterness he rode past the venerable mansion of his ancestors, andalighted at the door of the sordid hovel that its miserable possessorhad chosen for a home. 

The cottage in many places had fallen into decay, and admitted throughcountless crevices the wind and rain. A broken chair, a three-leggedstool, and the shattered remains of an oak table, deficient of one ofits supporters, but propped up with bricks, comprised the wholefurniture of the wretched apartment. 

The door was a-jar that led into an interior room that served for adormitory. Two old soiled mattresses, in which the straw had not beenchanged for years, thrown carelessly upon the floor, were the solegarniture of this execrable chamber. Anthony glanced around withfeelings of an uncontrollable disgust, and all his boyish antipathy tothe place returned. The lapse of nearly twenty years had not improvedthe aspect of his old prison-house, and he was now more capable ofappreciating its revolting features. The harsh words, and still harsherblows and curses, which he had been wont to receive from the miser andhis sordid associate, Grenard Pike, came up in his heart, and, in spiteof his better nature, steeled that heart against his ungracious parent. 

The entrance of Mark Hurdlestone, whose high stern features, once seen, could never be forgotten, roused Anthony from his train of gloomyrecollections, and called back his thoughts to the unpleasant businessthat brought him there. 

Mark did not at the first glance recognise his son in the tallelegantly-dressed young man before him; and he growled out, "Who areyou, sir, and what do you want?"

"Mr. Hurdlestone, " said Anthony respectfully, "I am your son. "

The old man sat down in the chair. A dark cloud came over his brow, asif he already suspected the nature of his son's mission, and he knittedhis straight bushy eyebrows so closely together that his small fierydark eyes gleamed like sparks from beneath the gloomy shade. 

"My son; yes, yes. I've heard say that 'tis a wise son that knows hisown father. It must be a very wise father who could instinctively knowhis own son. Certainly, I should never have recognised mine in the gaymagpie before me. But sit down, young sir, and tell me what brought youhere. Money, I suppose; money, the everlasting want that the extravagantsons of pleasure strive to extort from the provident, who lay up duringthe harvest of life a provision for the winter of age. If such be yourerrand, young man, your time is wasted here. Anthony Hurdlestone, I havenothing to give. "

"Not even affection it would appear, to an only son. "

"I owe you none. "

"In what manner have I forfeited my natural claim upon your heart?"

"By transferring the duty and affection which you owed to me to another. Go to him who has pampered your appetites, clothed you with softraiment, and brought you up daintily to lead the idle life of agentleman. I disown all relationship with a useless butterfly. "

Anthony's cheek reddened with indignation. "It was not upon my ownaccount I sought you, sir. From my infancy I have been a neglected andforsaken child, for whom you never showed the least parental regard. Hard blows and harder words were the only marks of fatherly regard thatAnthony Hurdlestone ever received at your hands. To hear you curse me, when, starving with cold and hunger, I have asked you for a morsel ofbread--to hear you wish me dead, and to see you watch me with hungryeager eyes, as if in my wasted meagre countenance you wished to find aprophetic answer--were sights and sounds of every-day occurrence. Couldsuch conduct as this beget love in your wretched child? Yet, God knows!"exclaimed the young man, clasping his hands forcibly together, whiletears started to his eyes--"God knows how earnestly I have prayed tolove you, to forget and forgive these unnatural injuries, which havecast the shadow of care over the bright morning of youth, and made theworld and all that it contains a wilderness of woe to my blighted heart. "

The old man regarded him with a sullen scowl; but whatever were hisfeelings (and that he did feel the whole truth of the young man'spassionate appeal, the restless motion of his foot and hand sufficientlyindicated) he returned no answer; and Anthony emboldened by despair, andfinding a relief in giving utterance to the long pent-up feelings whichfor years had corroded his breast, continued, "I rightly concluded that I should be considered by you, Mr. Hurdlestone, an unwelcome visitor. Hateful to the sight of the injureris the person of the injured, and I stand before you a living reproach, an awful witness both here and hereafter at the throne of God of whatyou ought to have been, and what you have neglected to be--a father toyour motherless child. But let that pass. I am in the hands of One whois the protector of the innocent, and in His righteous hands I leave mycause. Your brother, sir, who has been a father to me, is in prison. Hisheart, sorely pressed by his painful situation, droops to the grave. Icame to see if you, out of your abundance, are willing to save him, Father, let your old grudge be forgotten. Let the child of your poorlost Elinor be the means of reconciling you to each other. Cease toremember him as a rival: behold him only in the light of a brother--ofthat twin brother who shared your cradle--of a friend whom you havedeeply injured--a generous fellow-creature fallen, whom you have thepower to raise up and restore. Let not the kind protector of your sonend his days in a jail, when a small sum, which never could be missedfrom your immense wealth, would enable him to end his days in peace. "

"A _small_ sum!" responded the miser, with a bitter laugh. "Let me hearwhat _you_, consider a _small_ sum. Your uncle has the impudence todemand of me the sum of _two thousand pounds_, which is _his idea_ of a_small sum_, which he considers a _trifling remuneration_ for bringingup and educating my son from the age of seven years to twenty. AnthonyHurdlestone, go back to your employer, and tell him that I neverexpended that sum in sixty years. "

"You do not mean to dismiss me, sir, with this cruel and insultingmessage?"

"From me, young man, you will obtain no other. "

"Is it possible that a creature, made in God's image, can possess such ahard heart? Alas! sir, I have considered your avarice in the light of adire disease; as such I have pitied and excused it. The delusion isover. You are but too sane, and I _feel_ ashamed of my father!"

The old man started and clenched his fist, his teeth grated together, he glared upon his son with his fiery eyes, but remained obstinatelysilent. 

Regardless of his anger, the young man continued--"It is a hard thingfor a son to be compelled to plead with his father in a cause like this. Is there no world beyond the grave? Does no fear of the future compelyou to act justly? or are your thoughts so wholly engrossed with thedust on which you have placed all your earthly affections, that you willnot, for the love of God, bestow a small portion of that wealth whichyou want the heart to enjoy, to save a brother from destruction? Oh!listen to me, father--listen to me, that I may love and bless you. " Heflung himself passionately at the old man's feet. "Give now, that youmay possess treasures hereafter, that you may meet a reconciled brotherand wife in the realms of bliss!"

"Fool!" exclaimed the miser, spurning him from his feet. "In heaven theyare neither married nor are given in marriage. Your mother and I willnever meet, and God forbid we should!"

Anthony shuddered. He felt that such a meeting was impossible; and hestarted from the degrading posture he had assumed, and stood before theold man with a brow as stern and a glance as fierce as his own. 

"And now, Anthony Hurdlestone, let me speak a few words to you, and markthem well. Is it for a boy like you to prescribe rules for his father'sconduct? Away from my presence! I will not be insulted in my own houseby a beardless boy, and assailed by such impertinent importunities. Reflect, young man, on your present undutiful conduct, and, if ever youprovoke me by a repetition of it, I will strike your name out of mywill, and leave my property to strangers more deserving of it. I hearthat you have been studying for the Church, under the idea that I willprovide for you in that profession; I could do it. I would have done it, and made good a promise I once gave you to that effect. But this meetinghas determined me to pursue another plan, and leave you to provide foryourself. "

"You are welcome so to do, Mr. Hurdlestone, " said Anthony, proudly; "theeducation which I have received at your brother's expense will place meabove want. Farewell! and may God judge between us!"

With a heavy heart, Anthony returned to ----. He saw a crowd collectedround the jail, and forcing his way to the entrance, was met by Godfrey;his face was deadly pale, and his lips quivered as he addressed hiscousin. 

"You are too late, Anthony--'tis all over. My poor father--. "

He turned away, for his heart, at that time, was not wholly dead to thefeelings common to our nature. He could not conclude the sentence. Anthony instantly comprehended his meaning, and rushed past him into theroom which had been appropriated to his uncle's use. 

And there, stretched upon that mean bed, never to rise up, or whistle tohawk or hound, lay the generous, reckless Algernon Hurdlestone. His facewore a placid smile; his grey hair hung in solemn masses round his open, candid brow; and he looked as if he had bidden the cares and sorrows oftime a long good-night, and had fallen into a deep, tranquil sleep. 

A tall man stood beside the bed, gazing sadly and earnestly upon theface of the deceased. Anthony did not heed him--the arrow was in hisheart. The sight of his dead uncle--his best, his dearest, his onlyfriend--had blinded him to all else upon earth. With a cry of deep andheart-uttered sorrow, he flung himself upon the breast of the dead, andwept with all the passionate, uncontrollable anguish which a finalseparation from the beloved wrings from a devoted woman's heart. 

"Poor lad! how dearly he loved him!" remarked a voice near him, addressing the person who had occupied the room when Anthony firstentered. It was Mr. Grant, the rector of the parish, who spoke. 

"I hope this sudden bereavement will serve him as a warning to amend hisown evil ways, " returned his companion, who happened to be no other thanCaptain Whitmore, as he left the apartment. 

The voice roused Anthony from his trance of grief, and stung by theunmerited reproach, which he felt was misplaced, even if deserved, in anhour like that, he raised his dark eyes, flashing through the tears thatblinded them, to demand of the Captain an explanation. But theself-elected monitor was gone; and the unhappy youth again bowed hishead, and wept upon the bosom of the dead. 

"Anthony, be comforted, " said the kind clergyman, taking his youngfriend's hand. "Your poor uncle has been taken in mercy from the evil tocome. You know his frank, generous nature--you know his extravaganthabits and self-indulgence. How could such a man struggle with thesorrows and cares of poverty, or encounter the cold glances of thosewhom he was wont to entertain? Think, think a moment, and restrain thispassionate grief. Would it be wise, or kind, or Christian-like, to wishhim back?"

Anthony remembered his interview with his father--the wreck of the lasthope to which his uncle had clung; and he felt that Mr. Grant was right. 

"All is for the best. My loss is his gain--but such a loss--such adreadful loss!--I know not how to bear it with becoming fortitude!"

"I will not attempt to insult your grief by offering common-placecondolence. These are but words, of course. Nature says, weep--weepfreely, my dear young friend; but do not regret his departure. "

"How did he die?--dear kind uncle! Was he at all prepared for such asudden unexpected event?"

"The agitating occurrences of the last week had induced a tendency ofblood to the head, which ended in apoplexy. From the moment of seizurehe was insensible to all outward objects; he did not even recognise hisson, in whose arms he breathed his last. Of his mental state, it isimpossible for us to determine. He had faults, but they were more theresult of unhappy circumstances than of any peculiar tendency to evil inhis nature. He was kind, benevolent, and merciful: a good neighbor, anda warm and faithful friend. Let us hope that he has found forgivenessthrough the merits of his Redeemer, and is at rest. "

Anthony kissed his uncle's cold cheek, and said, "God bless him!" withgreat fervor. 

"And now, my young friend, tell me candidly, in what way you haveoffended Captain Whitmore--a man both wealthy and powerful, and who hasproved himself such a disinterested friend to your uncle and cousin; andwho might, if he pleased, be of infinite service, to you? Can youexplain to me the meaning of his parting words?"

"Not here--not here, " said Anthony, greatly agitated. "By the dead bodyof the father, how can a creature so long dependent upon his bountydenounce his only son? Captain Whitmore labors under a strongdelusion--he has believed a lie; and poor and friendless as I am, I amtoo proud to convince him of his error. "

"You are wrong, Anthony. No one should suffer an undeserved stigma torest upon his character. But I will say no more upon a painful subject. What are you going to do with yourself? Where will you find a hometo-night?"

"Here with the dead. Whilst he remains upon earth I have no other home. I know Mr. Winthrop the jailer--he is a kind benevolent man; he will notdeny me an asylum for a few days. "

"My house is close at hand; remain with me until the funeral is over. "

"There will be no delay, I hope. They will not attempt to seize thebody. "

"Captain Whitmore has generously provided for that. He paid the creditoron whose suit your uncle was detained, this morning; but the Colonel wastoo ill to be moved. "

"That was noble--generous. God bless him for that! And Godfrey--what isto become of him?"

"The Captain has insisted on his living at the Lodge until his affairsare settled. Your cousin bore the death of his father with uncommonfortitude. It must have been a terrible shock!"

"That is a sad misapplication of the word. A want of natural affectionand sensibility, the world calls fortitude. Godfrey had too littlerespect for his father while living, to mourn very deeply for hisdeath. "

"Alas! my young friend; what he is, in a great measure, his father madehim. I have known Godfrey from the petted selfish child to theself-willed, extravagant, dissipated young man; and though I augur verylittle good from what I do know of his character, much that isprominently evil might have been restrained by proper management, andthe amiable qualities which now lie dormant been cherished andcultivated until they became virtues. The loss of fortune, if it leadshim to apply the talents which he does possess to useful purposes, may, in the end, prove a great gain. "

Anthony shook his head. "Godfrey will never work. "

"Then, my dear sir, he must starve. "

"He will do neither. "

And the conversation between the friends terminated. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 The world has done its worst, you need not heed Its praise or censure now. --Your name is held In deep abhorrence by the good: the bad Make it a sad example for fresh guilt. --S. M. 

We will leave Anthony Hurdlestone to weep and watch beside the newlydead, and conduct our readers into the cottage occupied by FarmerMathews and his family. 

Returning the night before from market, very much the worse from liquor, the farmer had fallen from his horse, and received a very severeconcussion of the brain. William, surprised at his long absence, leftthe house at daybreak in search of his father, and found him lying, apparently dead, within sight of his own door. 

With Mary's assistance, he carried him into the house. Medical aid wascalled in, and all had been done that man could do to alleviate thesufferings of the injured farmer, but with little effect. The man hadreceived a mortal blow, and the doctor, when he left that evening, hadpronounced the fatal sentence that his case was hopeless; that, in allprobability, he would expire before the morning. 

As the night drew on, the elder Mathews became quite unconscious ofsurrounding objects, and but for the quick hard breathing, you wouldhave imagined him already dead. 

The door of the cottage was open, to admit the fresh air; and in thedoor way, revealed by the solitary candle which burnt upon the littletable by the bed-side, stood the tall athletic figure of WilliamMathews. His sister was sitting in a low chair by the bed's head, hereyes fixed with a vacant stare upon the heavy features of the dying man. 

"William, " she said, in a quick deep voice, "where are you? Do come andwatch with me. I do not like to be alone. "

"You are not alone, " returned the ruffian sullenly; "I am here; and someone else is here whom you cannot see. "

"Whom do you mean?"

"The devil, to be sure, " responded her brother. "He is always near us;but never more near than in the hour of death and the day of judgment. "

"Good Lord, deliver us!" said the girl, repeating unconsciously aloudpart of the liturgy of the Church to which nominally she belonged. 

"All in good time, " responded the human fiend. "Has father shown anysign of returning sense since the morning?"

"No, he has remained just in the same state. William, will he die?"

"You may be sure of that, Mary. Living men never look as he does now. "

"It is a terrible sight, " said his sister. "I always did hope that Ishould die before father; but since I got into this trouble I havewished that he might never live to know it. That was sin, William. Seehow my wicked thoughts have become prophecy. Yet I am so glad that henever found out my crime, that it makes the tears dry in my eyes to seehim thus. "

"You make too much fuss about your condition, girl! What is done cannotbe undone. All you can now do is to turn it to the best possibleaccount. "

"What do you mean, William?"

"Make money by it. "

"Alas, " said the girl, "what was given away freely cannot be redeemedwith gold. Had I the wealth of the whole world, I would gladly give itto regain my lost peace of mind. Oh, for one night of calm fresh sleep, such as I used to enjoy after a hard day's work in the field. What wouldI not give for such a night's rest? Rest! I never rest now. I work andtoil all day; I go to bed--heart-weary and head-weary--but sleep nevercomes as it used to come. After long hours of tossing from side to side, just about the dawn of day, a heavy stupor comes over me, full offrightful sights and sounds, so frightful that I start and awake, andpray not to sleep again. "

"And what has made such a change--that one act?" said the ruffian. "Pshaw! girl. God will never damn your soul for the like of that. It wasfoolish and imprudent; but I don't call _that_ sin. "

"Then what is sin?" said the girl solemnly. 

"Why, murder, and theft, and--"

"And what?"

"Hang me! if I wish to go deeper into the matter. But if that is sin, which you make such a to-do about, then the whole world are sinners. "

"Do you think that you are not a sinner, William?"

"I never thought a word about it, " said the man. "I am not a whit worsethan others; but I am poorer, and that makes my faults more conspicuous. There is Godfrey Hurdlestone, every whit as bad as I am, yet were we tobe tried by the same jury, the men that would hang me would acquit him. But his day is over, " he continued, talking to himself. "He is now aspoor as me; and if the rich heiress does not marry him, will be muchworse off. "

"Marry!" cried Mary, springing from her seat, and grasping her brother'sarm. "Who talks of Godfrey Hurdlestone marrying?"

"I talk of it--every one talks of it--he boasts of it himself. I wastold last night by Captain Whitmore's serving-man, that his master hadgiven his consent to the match, and that the young lady was cominground, and that Mr. Godfrey was every day at the house. Perhaps theColonel being cooped up in jail may spoil the young man's wooing. "

"In jail! Colonel Hurdlestone in jail! Can that be true?"

"Fact. "

"And Mr. Godfrey? What will become of Mr. Godfrey?"

"He will become one of us, and have to take care of himself. And if hedoes marry Miss Whitmore, he will have enough to take care of you. "

"Do you think that I would share his affections with another woman?"cried the girl, her pale cheeks flushing to crimson. "Brother, I am notsunk so low as that--not quite so low. "

"You are sunk quite low enough for anything, Mary. You may be as bad asyou like now, the world will think no worse of you than it does atpresent. You have made a bad bargain, and you must stand by it. If youcannot be the man's wife, you must rest content with being his mistress;married or single you will always be Godfrey Hurdlestone's better half. Miss Whitmore is not to compare to you, in spite of her pretty waxenface, and she is not the woman to please such a wild fellow as him. Hewill grow tired of her before the honeymoon is over, and you will haveit all your own way. "

"Juliet Whitmore shall never be his wife, nor any other woman, while Ilive. But, William, if he is as poor as you say he is, what use will itbe to you my continuing to live with him in sin? He cannot give me moneyif he has none for himself. "

"Hush, " said the ruffian, drawing nearer, and glancing quickly round, tobe certain that they were alone. "Did you never hear of the rich miser, Mark Hurdlestone?"

"Mr. Anthony's father?"

"The same. And do you not know that, were Anthony out of the way, removed by death or any other cause, Godfrey Hurdlestone would be hisheir?"

"Well, what of that? Anthony is alive and well, and may outlive us all. "

"Strong men often die very suddenly. There is an ill-luck hangs aboutthis same Mr. Anthony. I prophesy that his life will be a short one. Hark! Was that a groan? Father is coming to himself. "

He took the candle and went up to the bed. The sick man still breathed, but remained in the same stupor as before. "This cannot last long, " saidhis son, stooping over the corpse-like figure. "Father was a strong manfor his age, but 'tis all up with him now. I wish he could speak to us, and tell us where he is going; but I'm thinking that we shall never hearthe sound of his voice again. The bell will toll for him before sunriseto-morrow. "

He had scarcely finished speaking when the slow, deep boom of thedeath-bell awoke the sluggish stillness of the heavy night. The brotherand sister started, and Mary gave a loud scream. 

"Who's dead?" said Mathews, stepping to the open door "some of thequality, or that bell would not speak out at this late hour of night. Ha! Mr. Godfrey Hurdlestone. Is that you?"

"What's wrong here?" cried Godfrey, glancing rapidly round the cottage. "Mathews, have you heard the news? My poor father's dead. "

"Dead!" exclaimed both his companions in a breath. "Colonel Hurdlestonedead! When did he die?"

"This evening, at sunset. 'Tis a bad piece of business, Mathews. He diedinsolvent, and I am left without a penny. "

"Alas, what will become of us all!" shrieked Mary, flinging herselffrantically upon the bed. "William, he has ceased to breathe. Our fathertoo is dead!"

The grief of the lower orders is generally loud and violent. Unaccustomed to restrain their feelings, Nature lifts up her voice, andtells, in tones which cannot be misunderstood, the blow which has lefther desolate. And so Mary Mathews poured forth the anguish of her soulover the parent that, but a few days before, she had wished dead, toconceal from him her guilt. Yet now that he was gone--that the strongtie was broken, and her conscience reproached her for having cherishedfor a moment the unnatural thought--she wept as if her heart had neverknown a deeper sorrow. Her brother and lover strove in vain to comforther. She neither saw nor heeded them, but in a stern voice bade themdepart and leave her alone. 

"The wilful creature! Let her have her own way, Mr. Godfrey. Grief likethat, like the down-pouring of a thunder-shower, soon storms itself torest. She will be better soon. Leave her to take care of the dead, whileyou and I step into the kitchen and consult together about the living. "

Godfrey, who had suffered much that day from mental excitement, feltdoubly depressed by the scene he had just witnessed, and gladly obeyed. 

Mathews lighted a fresh candle, and led the way into the kitchen. Thefire that had been used to prepare the evening meal was nearly out;Mathews raked the ashes together and threw a fresh billet into thegrate; then reaching from a small cupboard a bottle and a glass, he drewa small table between them, and stretching his legs towards the cheeringblaze he handed a glass of brandy to his companion. 

"Hang it, man! don't look so down in the mouth. This is the best friendin time of need. This is my way of driving out the blue devils thatpinch and freeze my heart. "

Godfrey eagerly seized the proffered glass and drained it at a draught. 

"Well, that's what I call hearty!" continued the ruffian, following hisexample. "There's nothing like that for killing care. I don't wonder atyour being low. I feel queer myself--devilish queer. It is a strangething to lose a father. A something is gone--a string is loosened fromthe heart, which we feel can never be tied again. I wonder whether thesouls gone from among us to-night are lost or saved--or if there be aheaven or hell?"

"Pshaw!" said Godfrey, lighting his pipe, "do you believe such idlefables?"

"Why, do you see, Master Godfrey, I would fain think them false for myown sake--mere old women's tales. But terrible thoughts will come intomy mind; and though I seldom think of heaven, I often hear a voice fromthe shut up depths of my heart--a voice that I cannot stifle. Do notsmile, " said the man gloomily, "I am in no mood to be laughed at. Badas I am, confound me if you are not ten times worse. "

"If you are so afraid of going to hell, " said Godfrey, sarcastically, "why do you not amend your life? I, for my part, am troubled with nosuch qualms of conscience. "

"If you had seen blood as often upon your hand as I have upon mine, youwould tell a different story. Kill a man, and then see if what we hearof ghosts and spirits are mere fables. I tell thee, Godfrey Hurdlestone, they never die, but live and walk abroad, and haunt you continually. Thevoice they speak with will be heard. In solitary places--in the midst ofcrowds--at fairs and merry-makings--in the noon of day, and at the deadof night, I have heard their mocking tones. " He leaned his elbows uponhis knees, and supported his chin between the palms of his hands, andcontinued to stare upon Godfrey with vacant bloodshot eyes. 

"Don't take me for a ghost, " said Godfrey, the same sarcastic smilepassing over his handsome face. "What does it matter to us where ourfathers are gone? If there is a place of future rewards or punishments, depend upon it we shall only have to answer for our own sins; and as youand I have, at present, but a small chance of getting to heaven, we mayas well make the most of our time on earth. "

"Confound that death-bell, " said the smuggler, "it has a living voiceto-night. I never hear it but it reminds me of Newgate, and I fancy thatI shall hear it toll for my own death before I die. "

"A very probable consummation, though certainly not a very pleasantone, " said Godfrey ironically. "But away with such melancholy presages. Take another sup of the brandy, Mathews, and tell me what you are goingto do for a living. The lease of your farm expires in a few days. Mr. ---- has taken possession of the estates, and means, Johnstone tells me, to put in another tenant. What will become of you and Mary in themeanwhile?"

"I have not thought about it yet. At any rate, I can always live by theold trade, and fall upon my feet. At all events, we must leave thisplace. It is little that father has saved. The neighbors think him rich, but a drunkard never dies rich; and you know, Mr. Godfrey, that theweight of a pig is never known until after it is dead. There will not bemuch more than will bury him. There are the crops in the ground, to besure, and the cattle, and a few sticks of furniture; but debts of honormust be paid, and I have been very unlucky of late. By the by, MasterGodfrey, what does your cousin mean to do with himself?"

"He must go home to his miserly dad, I suppose. "

"Humph! I think that I will go to Ashton and settle in that neighborhoodmyself; I like to be near old friends. "

"What can induce _you_, Mathews, to go there?"

"I have my reasons. Strong reasons too, in which I am sure _you_ willheartily concur. " He looked into his companion's eyes, with anexpression so peculiar, that Godfrey started as if some new light hadsuddenly flashed upon his soul, while Mathews continued in a lowervoice, "Suppose, now that we could get up a regular quarrel between oldIronsides and his son; who would then be the miser's heir?"

Godfrey took the hand of the smuggler and pressed it hard. 

"Can you form no better scheme than that?"

"I understand you, Mr. Godfrey. You are a perfect genius in wickedness. The devil never found a fitter agent for doing his business on a grandscale. Yes, yes, I understand you. "

"Would it be possible?"

"All things are possible to those who have the courage to perform. If Icould remove this obstacle out of your way, what would be my reward?"

"A thousand pounds!"

"Your conscience! Do you think that I would risk my neck for such apaltry bribe?"

"You have done it often for the hundredth part. "

"That's neither here nor there. If I have played the fool a dozen times, that's no reason that I am to do so again. Go shares, and promise tomake an honest woman of Mary, and you shall not be long out ofpossession. "

"The sacrifice is too great, " said Godfrey, musing. "Let us say no moreabout it at present. "

"You will think about it?"

"Thoughts are free. "

"Not exactly. Evil thoughts lead to evil deeds, as surely as fruitfollows flowers upon the tree. Try to lay that babe of the brain torest, and see if it will not waken to plague you yet. "

"It was one of your own begetting--you should know best how to quiet theimp. "

"Leave me alone for that. The day is breaking; we must part. We haveboth melancholy duties to perform. "

"I wish the funeral was over, " said Godfrey, "I hate being forced to acta conspicuous part in so grave a farce. "

"Your cousin will help you out. He is the real mourner; you, the actor. Remember what I hinted to you, and let me know your opinion in a fewdays. "

"The risk is too great, " said Godfrey, shrugging his shoulders. "When Iam reduced to my last shift, it will be time enough to talk of that. "

The grey misty dawn was just struggling into day, when Godfrey left thecottage. Mathews looked after him, as, opening a side gate that led to afoot-path that intersected the park, he vanished from his sight. 

"Well, there goes the greatest scoundrel that ever was unhung, " hemuttered to himself. "He has never shed blood, nor done what I havedone, but hang me if I would exchange characters with him, bad as I maybe. He thinks to make a fool of me; but if I do not make him repay athousand fold the injuries he has heaped on me and mine, may we swing onthe same gallows. "

In no very enviable mood, Godfrey pursued his way though the lonelypark. The birds had not yet sung their matin hymn to awaken the earth. Deep silence rested upon the august face of nature. Not a breath of airstirred the branches, heavy with dew-drops. The hour was full of beautyand mystery. An awe fell insensibly upon the heart, as if it saw the eyeof God visibly watching over the sleeping world. Its holy influence wasfelt even by the selfish heartless Godfrey. 

The deep silence--the strange stillness--the uncertain light--the sceneshe had lately witnessed--his altered fortunes--his degradingpursuits--the fallen and depraved state of his mind, crowded into histhoughts, and filled his bosom with keen remorse and painful regrets. 

"Oh, that I could repent!" he cried, stopping, and clasping his handstogether, and fixing his eyes mournfully upon the earth, --"that I couldbelieve that there was a God--a heaven--a hell! Yet if there be nohereafter, why this stifling sense of guilt--this ever-hauntingmiserable consciousness of unworthiness? Am I worse than other men, orare all men alike--the circumstances in which they are placed producingthat which we denominate good or evil in their characters? What if Idetermine to renounce the evil, and cling to the good; would it yet bewell with me? Would Juliet, like a good angel, consent to be my guide, and lead me gently back to the forsaken paths of rectitude and peace?"

While the voice in his heart yet spake to him for good, another voicesounded in his ears, and all his virtuous resolutions melted into air. 

"Godfrey, " said the voice of Mary Mathews, "dear Mr. Godfrey, have Ibecome so indifferent to you, that you will neither look at me nor speakto me?"

She was the last person in the world who at that moment he wished tosee. The sight of her recalled him to a sense of his degradation, andall that he had lost by his unhappy connexion with her, and he secretlywished that she had died instead of her father. 

"Mary, " he said, coldly, "what do you want with me? The morning is dampand raw; you had better go home. "

"What do I want with you?" reiterated the girl. "And is it come to that?Can you, who have so often sworn to me that you loved me better thananything in heaven or on earth, now ask me, in my misery, what I wantwith you?"

"Hot-headed rash young men will swear, and foolish girls will believethem, " said Godfrey, putting his arm carelessly round her waist, anddrawing her towards him. "So it has been since the world began, and soit will be until the end of time. "

"Was all you told me, then, false?" said Mary, leaning her head backupon his shoulder, and fixing her large beautiful tearful eyes upon hisface. 

That look of unutterable fondness banished all Godfrey's goodresolutions. He kissed the tears from her eyes, as he replied, "Not exactly, Mary. But you expect too much. "

"I only ask you not to cease to love me--not to leave me, Godfrey, foranother. "

"Who put such nonsense into your head?"

"William told me that you were going to marry Miss Whitmore. "

"If such were the case, do you think I should be such a fool as to tellWilliam?"

"Alas! I am afraid that it is only too true. " And Mary burst into tearsafresh. "You do not love me as you did, Godfrey, when we first met andloved. You used to sit by my side for hours, looking into my face, andholding my hand in yours; and we were happy--too happy to speak. Welived but in each other's eyes; and I hoped--fondly hoped--that thatblessed dream would last for ever. I did not care for the anger offather or brother--woe is me! I never had a mother. One kiss from thosedear lips--one kind word breathed from that dear mouth--sunk from my earinto my heart, and I gloried in what I ought to have considered myshame. Oh, why are you changed, Godfrey? Why should my love remain likea covered fire, consuming my heart to ashes, and making me a prey totormenting doubts and fears, while you are unmoved by my anguish, andcontented in my absence?"

"You attribute that to indifference, which is but the effect ofcircumstances, " returned Godfrey, somewhat embarrassed by herimportunities. "Perhaps, Mary, you are not aware that the death of myfather has left me a poor and ruined man?"

"What difference can that possibly make in our love for each other?" AndMary's eyes brightened through a cloud of tears. "I rejoice in your lossof fortune, for it has made us equals. "

"Not quite!" cried the young man, throwing her from him, as if stung byan adder. "Birth, education, the prejudices of society, have placed aneternal barrier between us. Impoverished though I be, I never can so farforget myself as to mate with a vulgar peasant!"

"Say that word again--that word of misery!" cried the unhappy girl, clinging to his arm. "Recall your many promises--the awful oath youswore on that fatal night, when I first yielded to temptation, when yousolemnly declared, in the name of Almighty God, that the moment you wereyour own master, you would make me your wife. "

"Mary, " said Godfrey, sternly, "do not deceive yourself--I never willmake you my wife!"

"Then God forgive you, and grant me patience to bear my wrongs!"murmured the poor girl, as she sunk down upon the ground, and buried herface in the dewy grass; while her heartless seducer continued hissolitary walk to the Lodge. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 My mind is like a vessel tossed at sea By winds and waves--her helm and compass lost; No friendly hand to guide her o'er the waste, Or point to rocks and shoals that yawn beneath. --S. M. 

The day after his uncle's funeral, as Anthony sat alone in the goodrector's study, pondering over his recent loss, painfully alive to hispresent condition, and the uncertainty of his future prospects, he wasinformed by the servant that a gentleman wished to see him. 

Since Algernon's death, he and Godfrey had not met except at thefuneral, in which they had assisted as chief mourners. He was veryanxious to speak to his cousin, and consult with him about their privateaffairs; and he obeyed the summons with alacrity. Instead of the personwhom he expected to see, a well-dressed intelligent-looking young manadvanced to meet him. 

"Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone, " he said, "I hope you will not consider mypresent visit an intrusion, when I inform you that I am your nearkinsman, the son of that Edward Wildegrave who held the office of judgefor so many years in India, in which country he died about six yearsago. My father and your mother were first cousins by the father's side. Brought up in a distant part of England, I never had an opportunity offalling in with the only remaining branch of the Wildegrave family; andit was not until the death of my father, which left me an independentman, that I was even aware of your existence. A few months ago I boughtthe property of Milbank, in the parish of Ashton, which once belonged tomy unfortunate uncle; and I heard your history from the wife of our farmservant, Ruth Candler. This led me to make many inquires about you; andRuth's relations were fully confirmed by the statements of my lawyer. His account of your early trials and singular position created in mymind such an intense interest in your fate, that I lost no time inriding over to offer my services, and a share of my house until you canarrange your plans for the future. I hope you will not refuse to grantme this favor. My offer is made in the sincerity of friendship; and Ishall be deeply disappointed if you refuse to accept it. "

"I will most thankfully accept it, " said Anthony, his fine face glowingwith pleasure at this unexpected meeting. "But are you certain, Mr. Wildegrave, that my doing so will in no way inconvenience you?"

"Inconvenience me? a bachelor! Your society will be a greatacquisition. "

"And poor Ruth Candler--is she still living? She was a mother to meduring my motherless infancy, and I shall be so glad to see her again. As to you, Mr. Wildegrave, I cannot express half the gratitude I feelfor your disinterested kindness. The only circumstance which casts theleast damp upon the pleasure I anticipate in my visit to Ashton, is thenear vicinity of my father, who may take it into his head to imaginethat I come there in order to be a spy upon his actions. "

"I know the unhappy circumstances in which you are placed; yet I thinkthat we shall be able to overrule them for your good. Howeverdisagreeable your intercourse with such a man must be, it is not prudentto lose sight of him altogether. While you are in his immediateneighborhood, he cannot easily forget that he has a son. That artfuldesigning old scoundrel, Grenard Pike, will do all in his power to keepyou apart. Your living with me will not affect Mr. Hurdlestone's pocket;and his seeing you at church will remind him, at least once a week, thatyou are alive. "

"Church! Can a man destitute of charity feel any pleasure in attending aplace of worship, that teaches him that his dearest enjoyment is adeadly sin?"

"It seems a strange infatuation; but I have remarked, that, let theweather be what it may, neither cold nor heat, nor storm nor shine, everkeeps Mark Hurdlestone from church. He is still in the old place; hisfine grey locks flowing over his shoulders, with as proud andaristocratic an expression on his countenance as if his head were gracedwith a coronet, instead of being bound about with an old redhandkerchief, which he wears in lieu of a hat; the rest of his personclothed in rags, which a beggar would spurn from him in disdain. "

"Is he insensible to the disgust which his appearance must excite?"

"He seems perfectly at ease. His mind is too much absorbed in mentalcalculations to care for the opinion of any one. If you sit in thefamily pew, which I advise you to do, you will have to exercise greatself-control to avoid laughing at his odd appearance. "

"I am too much humiliated by his deplorable aberration of mind to feelthe least inclination to mirth. I wish that I could learn to respect andlove him as a father should be respected and loved; but since my lastvisit to Ashton my heart is hardened against him. A dislike almostamounting to loathing, has usurped the place of the affection whichnature ever retains for those who are bound together by kindred ties. "

"If you were more accustomed to witness his eccentricities you would beless painfully alive to their absurdity. Use almost reconciles us toanything. If you were to inhabit the same house with Mark Hurdlestone, and were constantly to listen to his arguments on the love of money, youmight possibly fall in love with hoarding, and become like him aworshipper of gold. "

"Avarice generally produces a reaction in the minds of those who witnessits effects, " said Anthony. "I will not admit the truth of yourproposition, for experience has proved that the son of a miser commonlyends in being a spendthrift. "

"With some exceptions, " said Frederic Wildegrave, with a good-humoredsmile. "But really, when he pleases, your father can be a sensible, agreeable companion, and quite the gentleman. The other day I had a longchat with him, partly upon business, partly from curiosity. I wanted tobuy from him an odd angle of ground, about half an acre, that made anawkward bite into a favorite field. I went to him, and, knowing hishabits, I offered him at once the full value of the land. He saw that myheart was set upon the purchase, and he trebled the price. I laughed athim; and we held a long palaver of about two hours, and never came oneinch nearer to the settlement of the question. At length I pulled out mypurse, and counted the gold down upon the table before him. 'There isthe money, ' I said. 'I have offered you, Mr. Hurdlestone, the full valueof the land. You can take it or leave it. '

"The sight of the gold acted upon him like the loadstone upon theneedle. He began counting over the pieces; his fingers literally stuckto them. One by one they disappeared from my sight, and when all weregone, he held out his hand and begged for one guinea more. I put the peninto his hand, and the paper before him; he sighed heavily as he signedthe receipt for the full sum, and told me that I was a prudent youngman; that I deserved to be rich; and must succeed in the world, for Iknew as well how to take care of my money as he did. He then enteredupon subjects of more general interest, and I was so much pleased withhis talents and general information (chiefly obtained, I believe, frombooks, which are his sole amusement, and with which he is amplyfurnished from the library at the Hall, ) that I invited myself to comeover and spend an evening with him. The old fox took the alarm at this. He told me that he was quite a recluse, and never received company; butthat some evening, when I was quite alone, he would step in and take acup of coffee with me--a luxury which he has never allowed himself forthe last twenty years. "

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Grant. YoungWildegrave entered immediately upon the purport of his visit, and therector, who had a very large family to support upon very limited means, readily consented to Anthony's removal to Ashton. 

The morning was spent in preparing for his journey, and not without afeeling of regret Anthony bade adieu to his kind host, and the place inwhich he had passed the only happy years of his life. 

As his friend slowly drove through Norgood Park, and past HazelwoodLodge, he turned an anxious gaze towards the house. Why did the colorflush his cheek as he hastily looked another way? Juliet was standing inthe balcony, but she was not alone; a tall figure was beside her. It wasGodfrey Hurdlestone, and the sight of him at such a time, and sosituated, sent a pang of anguish through the heart of the young lover. 

Frederic Wildegrave marked the deep dejection into which his companionhad fallen, and rightly concluded that some lady was the cause. "Poorfellow, " thought he, "has he, to add to his other misfortunes, beenindiscreet enough to fall in love?"

Wishing to ascertain if his suspicions were true, he began to questionAnthony about the inhabitants of the Lodge, and soon drew from his frankand confiding cousin the history of his unhappy passion, and theunpleasant misapprehension that had closed Captain Whitmore's doorsagainst him. 

"Well, Anthony, " he said, "it must be confessed that you are an unluckyfellow. The sins of your father appear to cast a shadow upon thedestinies of his son. Yet, were I in your place, I should write toCaptain Whitmore, and clear up this foul stigma that your treacherouscousin has suffered to rest upon your character. "

"No, " said Anthony, "I cannot do it; I am too proud. She should not soreadily have admitted my guilt. Let Godfrey enjoy the advantage he hasgained. I swore to his father to be a friend to his son, to stand by himthrough good and bad report; and though his cruel duplicity hasdestroyed my happiness, I never will expose him to the only friend whocan help him in his present difficulties. "

"Your generosity savors a little too much of romance; Godfrey isunworthy of such a tremendous sacrifice. "

"That does not render my solemn promise to my uncle less binding. Forbearance on my part is gratitude to him; and my present self-denialwill not be without a reward. "

Frederic was charmed with his companion, and could Anthony have lookedinto his heart, he would have been doubly convinced that he was right. 

They struck into a lonely cross-country road, and half an hour's smartdriving brought them to Wildegrave's residence. It was a prettyfarm-house, surrounded by extensive orchards, and a large upland meadow, as smooth as a bowling-green. Anthony was delighted at the locality. Thepeaceful solitude of the scene was congenial to his feelings, and heexpressed his pleasure in lively tones. 

"'Tis an old-fashioned place, " said Frederic; "but it will not bewithout interest to you. In that chamber to the right, your grandfatherand your mother were born. "

"They were both children of misfortune, " replied Anthony. "But the fateof my grandfather, although he died upon the scaffold, beneath the cruelgaze of an insulting mob, was a merciful dispensation, to the death byinches which awaited his unhappy child. "

"That room, " resumed Frederic, "contains the portraits in oil of yourgrandfather and your mother. The one in the prime of life, the other agay blooming girl of fifteen. From the happy countenances of both youwould never augur aught of their miserable doom. "

"You must let me occupy that chamber, cousin Wildegrave. If I may judgeby my present prospects, I am likely to inherit the same evil destiny. "

"These things sometimes run in families. It is the 'visiting the sins ofthe fathers upon the children, until the third and fourth generation, '"said Frederic, pulling up his horse at the front gate. "The mantle ofthe Wildegrave, Anthony, has not descended upon you alone. "

On the steps of the house they were welcomed by a very fairinteresting-looking girl of sixteen; but so fragile and childlike thatshe scarcely seemed to have entered upon her teens. She blushed deeplyas she received the stranger and her brother. 

"Anthony, permit me to introduce you to another cousin. This is mysister Clarissa. "

"You did not inform me that you had a sister. This is indeed anunexpected and happy surprise, " said Anthony, shaking hands with theyoung lady. 

"I thought it best to introduce all my pets together, " returnedWildegrave, patting his sister's meek head. "Clary is a shy, timid, little creature, very unlike your sparkling Juliet, with whom I happento be personally acquainted; but she is a dear good girl, and thedarling of her brother's heart. Her orphan state seems to presspainfully upon her young mind. She seldom smiles, and I can never induceher to go into company. But we must try and break her of these monastichabits, for she is not so young as she looks, and by this time sheshould know her position in society. "

"I do not love the world, nor the world's ways, Frederic, " said hissister, gravely. "It contains but one happy spot, my own dear tranquilhome, and I love it so well, that I never wish to leave it. "

"But you must not expect to live at home for ever, Clary, " said herbrother, as he took his place at the tea-table. "Suppose I was to takeit into my head to marry, what would you do then? Perhaps you would notlove my wife so well as you do me. "

"It is time to prepare for that when she comes, " said Clary. "I think Ishall live along with you, dear Fred, as long as I require an earthlyhome. "

Something like a sad smile passed over the pensive face of the fairchild, for a child she still was, in stature and simplicity. 

"And so you shall, my darling. I have no idea of bringing home a newmistress to Millbank; and long may you live to enjoy your birds, andlambs, and dogs, and cats, and all the numerous pets that you have takenupon yourself to adopt and cherish. "

"Ah! Fred, that reminds me of a pair of lovely Barbary doves I gotto-day from some unknown friend. They came from London by the coach, ina pretty green cage, with no note or message; but simply directed to'Miss Wildegrave. ' I must bring them to show you; they are such loves. "

Away ran Clary to fetch her new pets. Frederic looked after her, andlaughed. "I sent for the doves, Anthony, as a little surprise. Howdelighted she is. She is a fragile creature, Cousin Hurdlestone; and Imuch fear that she will not require my care long. My mother died ingiving her birth; and, since the death of my sister Lucy, who was amother to Clary, the child has drooped sadly. She was alwaysconsumptive, and during the last two months I can perceive a greatchange in her for the worse. "

"I do not wonder at your anxiety. Oh, that I had such a sister to love!"

"Love! she was made to love. So gentle, affectionate, and confiding. Itwould break my heart to lose her. "

"You must not anticipate evil. And, after all, Cousin Wildegrave, isdeath such a dreadful evil to a fair young creature, too good andamiable to struggle with the ills of life? If I were in her place, Ithink I could exclaim, 'that it was a good and blessed thing to die!'"

"You are right, " whispered the sweet low voice of Clarissa Wildegrave. "Death is our best friend. I see, Mr. Hurdlestone, that you and I arerelated--that we shall love each other, for we think alike. "

This would have been a strange speech, could it have been taken in anyother sense than the one in which it was meant; and Anthony, as he tookthe dove, the emblem of purity, from the fair hand of Clary, thoughtthat a beautiful harmony existed between the bird and its mistress. 

"I am sure we shall love each other, Miss Wildegrave. Will you accept meas a second brother?"

"I don't want two brothers, Mr. Hurdlestone. I love Frederic so wellthat I never mean him to have a rival. No; you shall remain my cousin. Cousins often love as well as sisters and brothers. "

"And sometimes a great deal better, " said Frederic, laughing. "But sinceyou have made up your mind to love Anthony, sit down and give us anothercup of tea. "

"There is some one below-stairs, Mr. Anthony, who loves you at anyrate, " continued Clary, after handing the gentlemen their replenishedcups. "One who is quite impatient to see you, who is never tired oftalking about you, and calls you her dear boy, and says that she neverloved any of her own sons better than you. "

"Ruth! is she here? Let me see her directly, " said Anthony, rising fromthe table. 

"Sit down, Mr. Hurdlestone. I will ring the bell for her. She can speakto you here. "

In a few minutes, a plainly-dressed, middle-aged woman entered the room. 

"My dear foster-mother! Is that you?" said Anthony, springing to meether. 

"Why yees, Muster Anthony, " said the honest creature, flinging her armsround his neck, and imprinting on either cheek a kiss that rang throughthe room; while she laughed and cried in the same breath. "The Lord loveyou! How you bees grown. Is this here fine young gentleman the poorhalf-starved little chap that used to come begging to Ruth Candler for asup o' milk and a morsel o' bread? Well, yer bees a man now, and able toshift for yoursel, whiles I be a poor old woman, half killed by povertyand hard work. When you come in for your great fortin, don't forget oldRuth. "

"Indeed I will not, my good mother; if ever that day arrives, I shallknow how to reward my old friends. But you make a strange mistake, Ruth, when you call yourself old. You look as young as ever. And how are allmy old play-fellows?"

"Some dead; some in service; and my eldest gal, Mr. Anthony, is marriedto a Methody parson, only think, my Sally, the wife of a Methodyparson. "

"She was a good girl. "

"Oh, about as good as the rest on us. And, pray, how do old Shock comealong? Is the old dog dead?"

"Of old age, Ruth. He got so fat and sleek in my uncle's house, younever would have known the poor starved brute. "

"In truth, you were a poverty pair--jist a bag o' bones the twain o' ye. I wonder the old Squire warn't ashamed to see you walk the earth. An'they do tell me, Measter Anthony, that he be jist as stingy as ever. "

"Age seldom improves avarice. "

"Why, nothing gets the better for being older, but strong beer. An' thatsometimes gets a little sourish with keeping. "

Anthony took the hint. "Ah, I remember. Your husband was very fond ofale--particularly in harvest-time You must give him this, to drink myhealth. " And he slipped a guinea into her hand. "And to-morrow, when Icome over the hill, I shall expect him to halloo largess. "

"The Lord love you, for a dear handsome young gentleman. An' my Dickwill do that with the greatest of pleasure. " And, with an awkwardattempt at a curtsey, the good woman withdrew. 

After chatting some little time with Frederic and Clary, Anthony retiredto the room appropriated to his use. 

The quiet, unobtrusive kindness of his young relatives had done much tosoothe and tranquillize his mind; and he almost wished, as he paced toand fro the narrow limits of his airy little chamber, that he couldforget that he had ever known and loved the beautiful and fascinatingJuliet Whitmore. 

"Why should mere beauty possess such an influence over the capriciouswandering heart of man?" he thought; "yet it is not beauty alone thatmakes me prefer Juliet to the rest of her sex. Her talents, her deepenthusiasm, captivate me more than her handsome face and graceful form. Oh, Juliet! Juliet! why did we ever meet? or is Godfrey destined toenact the same tragedy that ruined my uncle's peace, and consigned mymother to an early grave?"

As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, his eyes rested uponhis mother's picture. It was the first time that he had ever beheld herbut in dreams. Radiant in all its girlish beauty, the angelic facesmiled down upon him with life-like fidelity. The rose that decked herdark floating locks, less vividly bright than the glowing cheeks andlips of happy youth; the large black eyes, "half languor and half fire, "that had wept tears of unmitigated anguish over his forlorninfancy--rested upon his own, as if they were conscious of his presence. Anthony continued to gaze upon the portrait till the blinding tears hidit from his sight. 

"Oh, my mother!" he exclaimed, "better had it been for thee to have diedin the bloom of youth and innocence, than to have fallen the victim ofan insidious--villain, " he would have added, but that villain was hisfather; and he paused without giving utterance to the word, shocked athimself that his heart had dared to frame the impious word hisconscience forbade him to speak. 

What a host of melancholy thoughts crowded into his mind while lookingon that picture. The grief and degradation of his early days: hisdependent situation while with his uncle: the unkind taunts of hisungenerous cousin; his blighted affections and dreary prospects for thefuture. How bitterly did he ponder over these!

What had he to encourage hope, or give him strength to combat with theills that beset him on every side? Homeless and friendless, he thought, like Clary, that death would be most welcome, and sinking upon hisknees, he prayed long and fervently for strength to bear with manlyfortitude the sorrows which from his infant years had been his bitterportion. 

Who ever sought counsel of God in vain? An answer of peace was given tohis prayers. "Endure thou unto the end, and I will give thee a crown oflife. " He rose from his knees, and felt that all was right; that hispresent trials were awarded to him in mercy; that had all things gone onsmoother with him, like Godfrey, he might have yielded himself up tosinful pleasures, or followed in the footsteps of his father, andbartered his eternal happiness for gold. 

"This world is not our rest. Then why should I wish to pitch my tent onthis side of Jordan, and overlook all the blessings of the promisedland? Let me rather rejoice in tribulations, if through them I mayobtain the salvation of God. "

That night Anthony enjoyed a calm refreshing sleep. He dreamed of hismother, dreamed that he saw her in glory, that he heard her speak wordsof comfort to his soul, and he awoke with the rising sun, to pour outhis heart in thankfulness to Him who had bestowed upon him themagnificent boon of life. 

The beauty of the morning tempted him to take a stroll in the fieldsbefore breakfast. In the parlor he had left his hat and cane. Onentering the room to obtain them, he found Clary already up and readingby the open window. "Good morning, gentle coz, " and he playfully liftedone of the glossy curls that hid her fair face from his view. "What areyou studying?"

"For eternity, " said Clarissa, in a sweet solemn tone, as she raised tohis face her mild serious eyes. 

"'Tis an awful thought. "

"Yes. But one full of joy. This is the grave, cousin Anthony. This worldto which we cling, this sepulchre in which we bury our best hopes, thisworld of death. That which you call death is but the gate of life; thedark entrance to the land of love and sunbeams. "

What a holy fire flashed from her meek eyes as she spoke! What deepenthusiasm pervaded that still fair face! Could this inspired creaturebe his child-like simple little cousin? Anthony continued to gaze uponher with astonishment, and when the voice ceased, he longed to hear herspeak again. 

"Tell me, Clary, what power has conquered, in your young heart, the fearof death?"

"Truth!--simple truth. That mighty pillar that upholds the throne ofGod. I sought the truth. I loved the truth, and the truth has made mefree. Death! from a child I never feared death. 

"I remember, Anthony, when I was a very little girl, so young that it isthe very first thing that memory can recall, I was sick, and sitting uponthe ground at my dear sister Lucy's feet. My head was thrown back uponher lap, and it ached sadly. She patted my curls, and leaning forward, kissed my hot brow, and told me, 'That if I were a good girl when I diedI should go to heaven. ' Eagerly I asked her--What was death, and whatwas heaven?

"Death, she told me, was the end of life here, and the beginning of anew life that could never end, in a better world. That heaven was aglorious place, the residence of the great God, who made me and thewhole world. But no pain or sorrow was ever felt in that blissful place. That all the children of God were good and happy. 

"I wept for joy when she told me all this. I forgot my pain. I longed todie and go to heaven; and from that hour death became to me a greatanticipation of future enjoyment. It mingled in all my thoughts. It cameto me in dreams, and it always wore a beautiful aspect. 

"There was a clear deep pond in our garden at Harford, surrounded withgreen banks covered with flowers, and overhung with willows. I used tosit upon that bank and weave garlands of the sweet buds and tenderwillow shoots, and build castles about that future world. The image ofthe heavens lay within the waters, and the trees and flowers looked morebeautiful reflected in their depths. Ah, I used to think, one plungeinto that lovely mirror, and I should reach that happy world--shouldknow all. But this I said in my simplicity, for I knew not at thattender age that self-destruction was a sin; that man was forbidden tounclose a gate of which the Almighty held the key. His merciful handwas stretched over the creature of his will, and I never made the rashattempt. 

"As I grew older, I saw three loved and lovely sisters perish one byone. Each, in turn, had been a mother to me, and I loved them with mywhole heart. Their sickness was sorrowful, and I often wept bitterlyover their bodily sufferings. But when the conqueror came, how easilythe feeble conquered. Instead of fearing the destroyer, as you callDeath, they went forth to meet him with songs of joy, and welcomed himas a friend. 

"Oh, had you seen my Lucy die! Had you seen the glory that rested uponher pale brow; had you heard the music that burst from her sweet lipsere they were hushed for ever; had you seen the hand that pointed upwardto the skies; you would have exclaimed, with her, 'O death, where is thysting! O grave, where is thy victory?'"

The child paused, for her utterance was choked with tears. Anthony tookher hand; he started, for pale as it was, it burnt with an unnaturalheat. Fever was in every vein. "Are you ill, Clary?"

"Ill? Oh, no! but I never feel very well. I have had my summons, Anthony; I shall not be long here. "

Seeing him look anxiously in her face, she smiled, and going to a cornerof the room, brought forward a harp which had escaped his observation, and said, playfully, "I have made you sad, cousin, when I wished tocheer you. Come, I will sing to you. Fred tells me that I sing well. Ifyou love music as I do, it will soon banish sorrow from your heart. "

There was something so refreshing in the candor of the young creature, that it operated upon the mind of Anthony like a spell, and when thefinest voice he ever in his life heard burst upon his ear, and filledthe room with living harmony, he almost fancied he could see the haloencircling the lofty brows of the fair young saint:

 The flowers of earth are fair As the hopes we fondly cherish; But the canker-worm of care Bids the best and brightest perish. The heavens to-day are bright, But the morn brings storm and sorrow; And the friends we love to-night May sleep in earth to-morrow. 

 Spirit, unfold thy drooping wing; Up, up to thy kindred skies. Life is a sad and weary thing; He only lives who dies. His the immortal fruits that grow By life's eternal river, Where the shining waves in their onward flow Sing Glory to God for ever. 

These lines were sung to a wild, irregular air, but one full of pathosand beauty. 

"You must give me that hymn, Clary. "

"It is gone, and the music with it. I shall never be able to remember itagain. But I will play you another which will please you better, thoughthe words are not mine. " And turning again to the harp, she sang, in alow, plaintive strain, unlike her former triumphant burst of song:

 Slowly, slowly tolls the bell, A heavy note of sorrow; But gaily will its blithe notes swell The bridal peal to-morrow, To-morrow!

 The dead man in his shroud to-night No hope from earth can borrow; The bride within her tresses bright Shall wreathe the rose to-morrow, To-morrow!

 The drops that gem that lowly bier, Though shed in mortal sorrow, Will not recall a single tear In festal halls to-morrow! To-morrow!

 'Tis thus through life, from joy and grief, Alternate shades we borrow; To-night in tears we find relief, In smiles of joy to-morrow, To-morrow!

"What divine music!"

"And the words, Cousin Anthony--you say nothing about the words. "

"Are both your own?"

"Oh, no; I am only in heart a poet. I lack the power to give utteranceto--

 'The thoughts that breathe and words that burn. '

They were written by a friend--a friend, whom, next to Fred, I lovebetter than the whole world--Juliet Whitmore. "

"And do _you_ know Juliet?"

"I will tell you all about it, " said Clary, leaving her harp and sittingdown beside him. "After dear Lucy died, I was very, very ill, and Fredtook me to the sea-side for the benefit of bathing. I was a poor, pale, wasted, woe-begone thing. We lodged next door to the house occupied byCaptain Whitmore, who was spending the summer upon the coast with hisfamily. 

"He picked acquaintance with me upon the beach one day; and whenevernurse took me down to bathe, he would pat my cheek, and tell me to bringhome a red rose to mix with the lily in my face. I told him, laughingly, 'That roses never grew by the sea shore, ' and he told me to come withhim to his lodgings and see. And then he introduced me to Juliet, and wegrew great friends, for though she was much taller and more womanly, shewas only one year older than me. And we used to walk, and talk a greatdeal to each other, all the time we remained at ----, which was aboutthree months; and, though we have not met since Fred bought Millbank, and came to this part of the country, she often writes to me sweetletters, full of poetry, --such poetry as she knows will please me; andin one of her letters, Cousin Anthony, she wrote a good deal about you. "

"About me!--Oh, tell me, Clary, what she said about me. "

"She said, " replied the child, blushing very deeply, and speaking so lowthat Anthony could only just catch the words, "that she loved you. Thatyou were the only man she had ever seen that realized her dreams of whatman ought to be. And what she said of you made me love you too, and Ifelt proud that you were my cousin. "

"Dear amiable Clary, " and the delighted Anthony unconsciously coveredthe delicate white hand held within his own with passionate kisses. 

"You must not take me for Juliet, " and Clary quietly withdrew her hand. "But I am so glad that you love her, because we shall be able to talkabout her. I have a small portfolio she gave me, full of pretty poems, which I will give to you, for I know all the poems by heart. "

Anthony no longer heard her. He was wrapt up in a blissful dream, fromwhich he was in no hurry to awaken. Many voices spake to his soul, butover all, he heard one soft deep voice, whose tones pierced its utmostrecesses, and infused new life and hope into his breast, whichsaid--"Juliet loves you. '"

CHAPTER XV. 

 She hath forsaken God and trusted man, And the dark curse by man inherited Hath fallen upon her. --S. M. 

We must now return to Godfrey Hurdlestone, and we find him comfortablysettled in the hospitable mansion of Captain Whitmore, a great favoritewith aunt Dorothy, and an object of increasing interest and sympathy tothe fair Juliet. 

Had she forgotten Anthony? Oh, no. She still loved him, but dared notwhisper to her own heart the forbidden fact. Did she believe him guilty?Not exactly. But the whole affair was involved in mystery, and she hadnot confidence enough in her own judgment to overrule the prejudices ofothers. She could not pronounce him innocent, and she strove to banishhis image as a matter of necessity--a sacrifice that duty demanded ofher--from her mind. 

Could she receive with pleasure the attentions of such a man as GodfreyHurdlestone? She did, for he was so like Anthony, that there were timeswhen she could almost have fancied them one and the same. He wanted thedeep feeling--the tenderness--the delicacy of her absent lover, but hehad wit, beauty, and vivacity, an imposing manner, and that easyassurance which to most women is more attractive than modest merit. 

Juliet did not love Godfrey, but his conversation amused her, andhelped to divert her mind from brooding over unpleasant thoughts. Shereceived him with kindness, for his situation claimed her sympathy, andshe did all in her power to reconcile him to the change which had takenplace in his circumstances. Godfrey was not insensible to the differencein her manner, when addressing him, to what it had been formerly, and heattributed that to a growing attachment which was but the result ofpity. Without giving him the least encouragement to entertain hopes shenever meant to realize, Juliet, with all the romance of her nature, hadformed the happy scheme of being able to convert the young infidel fromthe paths of doubt and error, and animating him with an earnest zeal toobtain a better heritage than the one he had lost. 

Young enthusiasts are fond of making proselytes, and Juliet was notaware that she was treading upon dangerous ground, with a very subtlecompanion. Untouched by the sacred truths she sought to impress upon hismind, and which indeed were very distasteful to him, Godfrey, in orderto insinuate himself into the good graces of his fair instructress, seemingly lent a willing ear to her admonitions, and pretended to bedeeply sensible of their importance. 

Since he had arrived at an age to think for himself, he had rejected theBible, and never troubled himself to peruse its pages. Juliet proposedthat they should read it together, and an hour every afternoon waschosen for that purpose. Godfrey, in order to lengthen these interviews, started objections at every line, in his apparent anxiety to arrive at aknowledge of the truth. 

With all the zeal of a youthful and self-elected teacher, Juliet found apeculiar pleasure in trying to clear up the disputed points; in removinghis doubts and strengthening his faith; and, when at length he artfullyseemed to yield to her arguments, the glow that brightened her cheeks, and proclaimed the innocent joy of her heart, gave to her lovelycountenance a thousand additional charms. 

One evening their lecture had been protracted to an unusual length; andJuliet concluded from the silence of her pupil, that he was at lastconvinced of the truth of her arguments. She closed the sacred volume, and awaited her companion's answer, but he remained buried in profoundthought. 

"Mr. Godfrey, do you still believe in the non-existence of a Deity?"

"Forgive me, Juliet, if my thoughts had strayed from heaven to earth. Iwill, however, tell you the purport of them. If all men are equal in thesight of the Creator, why does not the same feeling pervade the breastof his creatures?"

"Because men are not endowed with the wisdom of God, neither can theyjudge righteously, as he judges. That all men are equal in his sight, the text we have just read sufficiently proves: 'The rich and the poormeet together. The Lord is the maker of them all. '"

"Then why is wealth an object of adoration to the crowd, whilst poverty, even in those who once possessed great riches, is regarded with contemptand pity?"

"The world gives a value to things which in themselves are of noimportance, " said Juliet. "I think, however, that I should scorn myself, could I regard with indifference the friends I once loved, because theyhad been deprived of their worldly advantages. "

"You make me proud of my poverty, Miss Whitmore. It has rendered me richin your sympathy. "

"Obtain your wealth from a higher source, Mr. Hurdlestone, " said Juliet, not, perhaps, displeased with the compliment, "and you will learn toregard with indifference the riches of the world. "

"But supposing, my dear friend, for argument's sake, that you had alover to whom you were fondly attached, and he was suddenly deprived ofthe fortune which had placed you on an equality, would this circumstancealter your regard for him?"

"Certainly not. "

"And, in spite of these disadvantages, you would become his wife?"

"That would depend on circumstances. I might be under the guidance ofparents, who, from prudential motives, might forbid so rash a step; andit would be no act of friendship to the man I loved, to increase hisdifficulties by attempting to share them. "

"And in such a case would you not act upon the decision of your ownheart?"

"I dare not. The heart, blinded by its affections for the object of itslove, might err in its decision, and involve both parties in ruin. "

"But you could not call this love?"

"Yes, Mr. Hurdlestone, and far more deserving of the name than thesickly sentiment that so often wears the guise of real affection. "

"This girl is too much of a philosopher. I shall never be able to winher to my purpose, " said Godfrey, as Juliet quitted the room. 

A few days after this conversation, Godfrey proposed taking a ride onhorseback with Miss Whitmore. 

Juliet was fond of this exercise, in which she greatly excelled. Thisevening she did not wish to go, but was overruled by her father and AuntDorothy. The evening was warm and cloudy, and Juliet often lookedupwards and prophesied a storm. 

"It will not come on before night, " said her companion. "I rememberAnthony and I, when boys, were overtaken on this very spot by atremendous tempest. " It was the first time he had suffered the name ofhis cousin to pass his lips in the presence of Juliet. It brought thecolor into her cheeks, and in a timid voice she inquired if he knew whathad become of Anthony?

"He had a second cousin, it seems, a Mr. Wildegrave, who is residing inhis father's parish; Anthony has found a temporary home with him. "

Why did Juliet turn so pale? Did the recollection of the fair amiablegirl she had met and loved at ---- trouble her? She spoke no more duringtheir long ride. On their way home, they entered a dark avenue, that ledto the Lodge, and passed through Norgood Park. 

"I hate this road, " said Godfrey. "I have never travelled it since theold place passed into the hands of strangers. "

"It was thoughtless in me to propose this path, Mr. Godfrey; let usreturn by the road. "

She checked her horse as she spoke, when her attention was aroused by afemale figure, seated in a dejected attitude beneath an old oak tree. Her hair hung wildly about her shoulders; and her head was buriedbetween her knees. 

Godfrey instantly recognised the person; and looking up at the heavydark clouds, which had for some time been encroaching upon the richsaffron hues in the west, he said hastily turning his horse, "You areright, Miss Whitmore we are going to have a storm, and you have chosen adangerous path. Let us get from under these trees as fast as we can. "

"Stay a few minutes. I want to speak to this poor woman. "

"It is only some gipsy girl who has been sleeping under the tree. See, it begins to rain. Do you not hear the large drops pattering upon theleaves? If you do not put your horse on, you will get very wet. "

"I am not afraid of a few drops of rain. The person seems in distress--Imust speak to her. "

At this moment the girl slowly rose from her seat, and revealed thefaded, attenuated features of Mary Mathews. 

"Mary!" exclaimed Juliet, shocked and astonished at the recognition;"what are you doing here? The rain is falling fast. Had you not bettergo home?"

"Home!" said the girl gloomily. "I have no home. The wide world is myhome, and 'tis a bad place for the motherless and moneyless to live in. My father is dead; Mr. ---- seized our things yesterday for the rent, and turned us out into the streets; my brother is gone to Ashton to lookfor employment, and I thought this place was as good as another; I cansit here and brood over my wrongs. "

Juliet was inexpressibly shocked. She turned to address a remark to hercompanion, but to her increasing surprise, he was no longer in sight. Avague suspicion flashed upon her mind. She was determined to satisfy herdoubts. Turning again to the girl, she addressed her in a kind soothingtone. 

"Have you no friends, Mary, who can receive you until your brother isable to provide for you?"

"I never had many friends, Miss Juliet, and I have lost those I oncehad. You see how it is with me, " she cried, rising and wringing herhands. "No respectable person would now receive me into their house. There is the work-house, to be sure. But I will die here, beneath thebroad ceiling of heaven, before its accursed walls shall shut me in. "

Juliet's heart prompted her to offer the wretched girl an asylum; butshe dreaded the indignation of her fastidious aunt. Whilst she paused, irresolute how to act, the girl, emboldened by despair, suddenly caughthold of her bridle, and fixing her dim eyes upon her face, continued:--

"It is to you, Miss Juliet, that I owe all this grief and misery--yes, to you. Had you been a poor girl, like myself, I need not have cared foryou. My face is as pretty as yours, my figure as good. I am as capableof love, and of being loved; but I lack the gold, the fine clothing, andthe learning, that makes you my superior. People say that you are goingto marry Mr. Hurdlestone; and it is useless for a poor girl like me tooppose the wishes of a grand lady like you. But I warn you not to do it. He is my husband in the sight of God; and the thought of his marryingyou has broken my heart. Despair is strong; and when I saw you togetherjust now, I felt that I should like to murder you both!"

"Mary, " said Juliet, gravely, "you should not give ear to suchreports--they are utterly false. Do you imagine that any young woman ofprinciple would marry such a man as Mr. Hurdlestone?"

"Then why are you constantly together?" returned Mary, with flashingeyes. "Did he not ride away the moment he saw me?"

"You have mistaken one Mr. Hurdlestone for the other. The gentleman thatjust left me was Mr. Godfrey. "

"And is it not Mr. Godfrey I mean? Good kind Mr. Anthony would not harma lamb, much less a poor motherless girl like me!"

Again wringing her hands, she burst into a fit of passionate weeping. Juliet was dreadfully agitated; and springing from her horse, she satdown upon the bank beside the unfortunate young woman, regardless of theloud roaring of the thunder, and the heavy pouring of the rain, andelicited from her the story of her wrongs. 

Indignant at the base manner in which she had been deceived by GodfreyHurdlestone, Juliet bade Mary follow her to the Lodge, and inform heraunt of the particulars that she had just related to her. 

"I will never betray the man I love!" cried Mary, passionately. "When Itold you my secret, Miss Whitmore, it was under the idea that you lovedhim--that you meant to tear him from me. Tell no one, I beseech you, thesad story, which you wrung from me in my despair!"

She would have flung herself at Juliet's feet; but the latter drew back, and said, with a sternness quite foreign to her nature:

"Would you have me guilty of a base fraud, and suffer the innocent tobear the brand of infamy, which another had incurred? Affection cannotjustify crime. The feelings with which you regard a villain like GodfreyHurdlestone are not deserving of the name of love. "

"Ah, you young ladies are so hard-hearted, " said Mary, bitterly. "Pridehinders you from falling into temptation, like other folk. If you dared, you would be no better than one of us. "

"Mary, do not change my pity for your unhappy situation into contempt. Religion and propriety of conduct can protect the poorest girl from thecommission of crime. I am sorry for you, and will do all in my power tosave you from your present misery. But you must promise me to give upyour evil course of life. "

"You may spare yourself the trouble, " said the girl, regarding hercompanion's beautiful countenance, and its expression of purity andmoral excellence, with a glance of envious disdain. "I ask no aid; Ineed no sympathy; and, least of all, from you, who have robbed me of mylover, and then reproach me with the evil which your selfish love ofadmiration has brought upon me. "

A glow of anger passed over Miss Whitmore's face, as the girl turned toleave her. She struggled a few minutes with her feelings, until herbetter nature prevailed; and following Mary, she caught her by the arm:

"Stay with me, Mary! I forgive the rash words you uttered. I am sure youcannot mean what you say. "

"You had better leave me, " said the girl, gloomily. "Evil thoughts arerising in my heart against you, and I cannot resist them. "

"You surely would not do me any harm?" and Juliet involuntarily glancedtowards her horse, which was quietly grazing a few paces off, "particularly when I feel most anxious to serve you. "

The girl's countenance betrayed the most violent agitation. She turnedupon Juliet her fine eyes, in which the light of incipient madnessgleamed, and said in a low, horrid voice, "I hate you. I should like to kill you!"

Juliet felt that to run from her, or to offer the least resistance, would be the means of drawing upon herself the doom which her companionthreatened. Seating herself upon a fallen tree, and calmly folding herhands together, she merely uttered, "Mary, may God forgive you for yoursinful thought!" and then awaited in silence the issue of thisextraordinary and painful scene. 

The girl stood before her, regarding her with a fixed and sullen tone. Sometimes she raised her hand in a menacing attitude; and then, again, the sweet mild glance of her intended victim appeared to awe her intosubmission. 

"Shall I kill her?" she muttered aloud. "Shall I spoil that baby face, which he prefers to mine?" Then as if that thought aroused all the worstfeelings in her breast, she continued in a louder, harsher tone, "Yes--Iwill tread her beneath my feet--I will trample her into the dust; for heloves her. Oh, misery, misery! he loves her better than me--than me wholove him so well--who could die for him! Oh, agony of agonies! for hersake I am forgotten and despised!"

The heart of the woman was touched by the vehemence of her own passions. Her former ferocity gave way, and she sank down upon the ground, andburied her face in the long grass, and wept. 

Her agonising sobs and groans were more than Juliet could listen to, without offering a word of comfort to the mourner. Forgetful of herformer fears, she sat down by the prostrate weeper, and lifting her headupon her knees put back from her swollen face the long-neglectedtresses, which, drenched by the heavy rain, fell in thick masses overher convulsed features. Mary no longer offered any resistance. Her eyeswere closed, her lips apart. She lay quite motionless, but ever and anonthe pale lips quivered; and streams of tears gushed from beneath thelong lashes that shrouded her eyes, and fell like rain over hergarments. 

Oh, love and guilt, how dreadful is your struggle in the human heart!Like Satan after his first transgression, the divine principle, stillretains somewhat of its sovereign power and dignity, and appears littleless

 "Than archangel ruined. "

"Poor Mary!" sighed Juliet, "your sin has indeed found you out! Thankheaven, the man I love is not guilty of this moral murder. Oh, Anthony, how I have injured you! I ought to have known that you were utterlyincapable of a crime like this!"

"Leave me, Miss Juliet, " said Mary, regaining her self-possession;"leave me to my own sorrow. Oh, I wish I could die and forget it all!But I dare not die. Hateful as life has become, I dare not look upondeath. Do not weep for me--your tears will drive me mad! Do not look atme so--it makes me hate you. Do not ask me to go to the Lodge, for Iwill not go!" she cried, springing to her feet, and clenching her hands. "I am my own mistress! You cannot make me obey you. If I choose to biddefiance to the world, and live as I please, it is no business of yours. You shall not--you dare not attempt to control me!" And brushing pastMiss Whitmore, she was soon lost among the trees. Juliet drew a freerbreath when she was gone, and turning round beheld her father. 

"What are you doing here in the rain, Juliet? your habit is soaked withwater. And where is Godfrey?"

"Take me home, papa!" said Juliet, flinging herself into his arms, andsobbing upon his shoulder. "Godfrey is gone for ever. I have beendreadfully frightened; but I will tell you all when we get home. Icannot tell you here!"

CHAPTER XVI. 

 Whate'er thou hast to say, speak boldly out; Confront me like a man--I shall not start. Nor shiver, nor turn pale. My hand is firm, My heart is firmer still; and both are braced To meet the hour of danger--S. M. 

About a mile and a half from the village of Ashton, at the head of anobscure cross road, seldom traversed but by wagoners and their teams, orthe day laborer going to and fro from the neighboring farms to his work, there stood, a little back in a pathway field, a low public house, whosesignboard merely contained the following blunt announcement to mark theowner's calling, "Table Beer Sold Here. "

The master of this obscure house of entertainment (which from its lonelysituation might have been termed anything but public, ) was a notoriouspoacher, familiarly known as Old Strawberry; and his cottage, for itdeserved no better name, was the nightly resort of all the idle youngfellows in the parish. 

The in-door accommodations of the house consisted of two rooms below, and two attics above, and a long lean-to, which ran the whole length ofthe back of the building, forming an easy mode of egress, should needbe, from the chamber windows above. The front rooms were divided into asort of bar, which was separated from the kitchen by a high, old-fashioned stamped-leather screen, behind which a stout red facedmiddle aged woman held despotic sway, dispensing as many oaths to hercustomers as she did pots of beer. The other room was of a more privatenature. It was fitted up with tables, cards and dice, to which none butthe initiated were ever admitted. 

The outside of the place had a worn and dilapidated appearance; but theinside was not at all deficient in comfort. The public room contained agood substantial oak dining-table, a dozen well polished elm chairs, anold fashioned varnished clock, and a huge painted cupboard in a corner, the doors of which were left purposely open, in order to display dameStrawberry's store of "real chany" cups and saucers, four long-neckedcut-glass decanters, and a dozen long-legged ale-glasses. Then there wasa side-table decorated with a monstrous tea-board, in which wasportrayed, in all the colors of the rainbow, the queen of Sheba'smemorable visit to the immortal wisdomship of Solomon. 

Various pictures made gay the white-washed walls, amidst which shoneconspicuously the history of the prodigal son, representing in sixdifferent stages a panoramic view of his life, in which the hero figuredin the character of a fop in the reign of the first George, dressed in asky blue coat, scarlet waistcoat, knee breeches, silk stockings, andhigh-heeled shoes, and to crown all, a full bottomed wig. Then therewere the four Seasons, quaintly represented by four damsels, who allstared upon you with round eyes, and flushed red faces, dame Winterforming the only exception, whose grey locks and outstretched handsseemed to reproach her jolly companions for their want of sympathy inher sufferings. 

Over the mantel-shelf hung a looking-glass in a carved frame, darkenedand polished by the rubbing of years, quite a relic of the past, thetop of which was ornamented by a large fan of peacock's feathers, andbunches of the pretty scentless flowers called "Love everlasting. " Acouple of guns slung to the beams that crossed the ceiling; an oldcutlass in its iron scabbard, and a very suspicious-looking pair ofhorse pistols, completed the equipment of the room. The lean-tocontained a pantry and wash-house, and places for stowing away game andliquor. 

The private room was infinitely better furnished than the one justdescribed. It boasted the luxury of a carpeted floor, and a dozen ofpainted cane-bottomed chairs, several mahogany card-tables, and a goodmirror. 

In this room a tall drooping girl was busily employed in wiping the dustfrom the furniture, and placing the cards and dice upon the tables. Sometimes she stopped and sighed heavily, or looked upwards and pressedher hand upon her head, with a sad and hopeless glance; ever and anonwiping away the tears that trickled down her pale cheeks with the cornerof her checked apron. 

The door was suddenly flung open with a sound that made the girl start, and the broad person of Mrs. Strawberry filled up the opening. 

"Mary Mathews!" she shouted at the top of her voice, "what are youdawdling about? Do you think that I can afford to pay gals a shilling aweek to do nothing? Just tramp to the kitchen and wash them potatoes forthe men's supper. I don't want no fine ladies here, not I, I'se can tellyou! If your brother warn't a good customer it is not another hour thatI'd keep you, you useless lazy slut!"

"I was busy putting the room to rights, ma'am, " said Mary, herindignation only suffered to escape her in the wild proud flash of hereye. "I can't be in two places at once!"

"You must learn to be in three or four, if I please, " again bawled thedomestic Hecate. "Your time is mine; I have bought it, and I'll takegood care not to be cheated out of what's my due. Light up them candles. Quick! I hear the men whistling to their dogs. They'll be heredirectly. "

Away waddled the human biped, and Mary, with another heavy sigh, lightedthe candles, and retreated into the bar-room. 

The night was cold and damp, although it was but the first week inOctober. The men were gathered about the fire, to dry their clothes andwarm themselves. The foremost of these was Godfrey Hurdlestone. "Polly!"he shouted. "Polly Mathews, bring me a glass of brandy, and mind youdon't take toll by the way. "

The men laughed. "A little would do the girl good, and raise herspirits, " said old Strawberry. "Never mind him, my dear. He's a stingyone. Take a good sup. Brandy's good for every thing. It's good for thehead-ache, and the tooth-ache, and the heart-ache. That's right, take itkindly. It has put a little blood into your pale face already. "

"I wish it would put a little into her heart, " said Godfrey: "she'sgrown confoundedly dull of late. "

"Why, Master Godfrey, who's fault is that, I should like to know?" saidthe old poacher. "You drink all the wine out of the cask, and then kickand abuse it, because 'tis empty. Now, before that girl came across you, she was as high-spirited a tom-boy as ever I seed. She'd come here atthe dead o' night to fetch home her old dad, when she thought he'd beenhere long enough, and she'd a song and a jest for us all. She couldtake her own part then, and not one of my fellows dared to say a crookedword to her. I thought that she was the last girl in the world to bebrought to sich a pass. "

"Hush, " said Godfrey; "what's the use of ripping up old grievances? Herecomes Mathews with the game!"

"A poor night's work, " said that ruffian, flinging down a sack upon thefloor. "Five hares, three brace of pheasants, and one partridge. It wasnot worth venturing a trip across the herring pond for such a paltryprize. Here, Poll! stow them away in the old place. In two hours they'llbe upon their journey to Lunnon without the aid of wings. Mind, girl, and keep a good look-out for the mail. "

"Tim will take them to the four cross ways, " said Mrs. Strawberry. "Iwant Mary at home. Why, boys, you have hardly earned your supper. "

"If it's ready, let us have it upon trust, mother, " said Godfrey: "thiscold work in the plantations makes a fellow hungry. "

In a moment all was bustle and confusion: the clatter of plates, and theclashing of knives and forks, mingled with blasphemous oaths and horridjests, as the _worthy_ crew sat down to partake of their evening meal. Over all might be heard the shrill harsh voice of Mistress Strawberry, scolding, screaming, and ordering about in all directions. 

The noisy banquet was soon ended; and some of the principals, likeGodfrey and his associate Mathews, retired to the inner room, to spendthe rest of the night in gambling and drinking. Mary was, as usual, inattendance to supply their empty glasses, and to procure fresh cards, ifrequired. 

"I don't think I shall play to-night, Mathews, " said Godfrey, drawinghis companion aside. "I lost all I was worth yesterday; and Skinner isnot here. He's the only one worth plucking; the rest are all minus ofcash just now. "

"By the way, Godfrey, " said Mathews, "what do you mean to do about thatthree hundred pounds you owe to Drew? You would buy the cattle. Theywere not worth half the money you paid for them; but you were drunk, andwould have your own way. You must return the horses at a great loss. "

"That's out of my power. They are gone--lost in a bet last night to thatlucky fool, Skinner. "

"Whew! you are a precious fellow. I am glad that I was not born underthe same star. Why, Drew insists upon being paid, and threatens to takelegal steps against you. "

"I have provided for that, " said Godfrey. "Look here. " They stepped tothe table at the far end of the room, and young Hurdlestone drew fromhis pocket-book a paper which he gave to Mathews. "Will that pass?"

"What is this? An order for three hundred pounds upon the bank of ----, drawn by the Jew, Haman Levi. What eloquence did you employ to obtainsuch a prize?"

"It's forged, " said Godfrey, drawing close up to him, and whispering thewords in his ear. "Did ever counterfeit come so close to reality?"

"Why, 'tis his own hand. "

"Do you think it will escape detection?"

"Old Stratch himself could hardly find it out. You may get the blunt assoon as you like; and, if this succeeds, my boy, you will soon be ableto replenish our empty purses. " And Mathews rubbed his hands together, and chuckled with delight. 

"Have you heard anything of Anthony?" said Godfrey. "Is he still withyoung Wildegrave?"

"I saw him this morning in the lane, by the old yew grove, near thepark. He was walking very lovingly with a pretty little girl. I wonderwhat there is in him to make the girls so fond of him. I raised my hatas he passed, and gave him the time of day, and hang me, if he did notstart, as if he had seen his father. "

"Are they reconciled?"

"Not a bit of it. Wildegrave's man told me that he never goes near theHall. Between ourselves, Mr. Godfrey, this proves your cousin to be ashrewd clever fellow. The only way to get those stingy old chaps toleave their money to their lawful heirs is by taking no notice of them. "

"Oh that this Anthony were out of my path!" said Godfrey, lowering hisvoice to a whisper. "We could soon settle the old man's business. "

"The lad's a good lad, " said the other. "I don't much relish the idea ofhaving his blood to answer for. If we could but get the father and soninto an open quarrel, which would place him in suspiciouscircumstances--do you understand me?--and then do the old man'sbusiness--the blame might fall upon him instead of upon you. "

"I would certainly rather transfer the hemp collar to his neck, if itcould be safely accomplished. But how can it be brought about?"

"The devil will help us at a pinch. I have scarcely turned it over in mymind. But I'm sure your heart would fail you, Godfrey, if it came tomurder. "

"Do you take _me_ for a coward?"

"Not exactly. I was making some allowance for natural affection. "

"Pshaw!" muttered his companion. "Only give me the chance. Affection!What affection do I owe to father or son? Anthony robbed me of myfather's heart, and now stands between me and my uncle's fortune. "

"I owe Anthony something on my own account, if it were only for thecontempt with which he treated me in the presence of Miss Whitmore. By-the-by, Mr. Godfrey, are all your hopes in that quarter at an end?"

"Oh, hang her! Don't name her, Mathews. I would rather have Mary withouta farthing than be domineered over by that pretty prude, and her hideousold aunt. I believe I might have the old maid for the asking--ha! ha!ha!"

"Mr. Godfrey, " said Mathews, taking no notice of his mistimed mirth, "Iwould advise you, as a friend, not to mention our designs on the oldmiser to Mary. "

"She won't peach. "

"I'd not trust her. Women are strange creatures. They will often do themost wicked things when their own interests and passions are concerned;and, at other times, will sacrifice their best friends, from a foolishqualm of conscience, or out of a mistaken feeling of benevolence. If youwish our scheme to be successful, don't let Mary into the secret. "

A wild laugh sounded in his ears: both started; and, on turning round, beheld Mary standing quietly beside them. Mathews surveyed his sisterwith a stern searching glance. She smiled contemptuously; but drew back, as if she feared him. 

"Did you overhear our conversation, Mary?"

"I can keep my own secrets, " said the girl, sullenly. "I don't want tobe burthened with yours. They are not worth the trouble of keeping. Mysleep is bad enough already. A knowledge of your deeds, William, wouldnot make it sounder. "

"It would make you sleep so soundly that evil thoughts would not belikely to keep you awake, " said her brother, clenching his fist in herface. "Betray but one syllable of what you have overheard, and your bedis prepared for you. "

"I do not care how soon, " said Mary; "if you hold out such a temptation, I don't know what I might be tempted to do. They say that the sins ofthe murdered are all visited upon the murderer. What a comfort it wouldbe to transfer mine to you. " This was said in a tone of bitter irony;and, however unwilling to betray himself, it seemed to produce a strangeeffect upon the mind of the ruffian. 

"Who talks of murder?" he said. "You are dreaming. Go to your bed, Mary. It is late; and don't forget to say your prayers. "

"Prayers!" said the girl with a mocking laugh. "The prayers of thewicked never come up before the throne of God. My prayers would sound inmy own ears like blasphemy. How would they sound in the ears of God?"

"Don't talk in that way, Mary; you make my flesh creep, " said Mathews. "I have never said a prayer since I was a boy at my mother's knee, andthat was before Mary was born. Had mother lived I should not have beenwhat I now am; and poor Mary--. " He paused; there was a touch oftenderness in the ruffian's tone and manner. The remembrance of thatmother's love seemed the only holy thing that had ever been impressedupon his mind; and sunk even as he was in guilt, and hardened in crime, had he followed its suggestions it would have led him back to God, andmade him the protector, instead of the base vendor of his sister'shonor. 

"What is the use of dwelling upon the past?" said Godfrey, pettishly. "We were all very good little boys once. At least my father always toldme so; and by the strange contradictions which abound in human nature, Isuppose that that was the very reason which made me grow up a bad man. And bad men we both are, Mathews, in the world's acceptation, and we mayas well make the most we can of our acquired reputation. "

"Now I would like to know, " said Mathews, gloomily, "if you have everfelt a qualm of conscience in your life?"

"I do not believe in a future state. Let that answer you. "

"Do you never fear the dark?" returned Mathews, glancing stealthilyaround. "Never feel that eyes are looking upon you--cold, glassy eyes, that peer into your very soul--eyes which are not of this world, andwhich no other eyes can see? Snuff the candles, Mary. The room looks asdismal as a vault. "

Godfrey burst into a loud laugh. "If I were troubled with such oculardemonstrations I would wear spectacles. By Jove! Bill Mathews, waking orsleeping, I never was haunted by an evil spirit worse than yourself. Buthere's Skinner at last! Fetch a bottle of brandy and some glasses to yonempty table, Mary. I must try to win back from him what I lost lastnight. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

 Oh! speak to me of her I love, And I shall think I hear The voice whose melting tones, above All music, charms mine ear. --S. M. 

Whilst Godfrey Hurdlestone was rapidly traversing the broad road thatleads down to the gates of death, Anthony was regaining his peace ofmind in the quiet abode of domestic love. Day after day the youngcousins whiled away the charmed hours in delightful converse. Theywandered hand in hand through green quiet lanes, and along sunny paths, talking of the beloved. Clary felt no jealous envy mar the harmony ofher dove-like soul, as she listened to Anthony's rapturous details ofthe hours he had spent with Juliet, his poetical descriptions of herlovely countenance and easy figure. Nay, she often pointed out graceswhich he had omitted, and repeated, with her musical voice, sweetstrains of song by her young friend, to him unknown. 

Was there no danger in this intercourse? Clarissa Wildegrave felt none. In her young heart's simplicity, she dreamed not of the subtle essencewhich unites kindred spirits. She never asked herself why she loved tofind the calm noble-looking youth for ever at her side; why she prizedthe flowers he gathered, and loved the songs he loved; why the sound ofhis approaching steps sent the quick blood glowing to her pallid cheek, and lighted up those thoughtful dreamy eyes with a brilliancy which fellwith the serene lustre of moon or star-light upon the heart of hercousin--to him as holy and as pure. 

She loved to talk of Juliet, for it brought Anthony nearer. She loved topraise her, for it called up a smile upon his melancholy face; theexpression of his brow became less stern, and his glance met hers, fullof grateful tenderness. She loved to see her own girlish face reflectedin the dark depths of those beautiful eyes, nor knew that the mysteriousfire they kindled in her breast was destined to consume her young heart, and make it the sepulchre of her new-born affections. 

"It must be a blessed thing to be loved as you love Juliet, Anthony, "she said, as they were sitting together beneath the shadow of the greatoak which graced the centre of the lawn in front of the house. "Couldyou not share your heart with another?"

"Why, my little Clary, what would you do with half a heart?" saidAnthony, smiling; for he always looked upon his fragile companion as achild. "Love is a selfish fellow, he claims the whole, concentrates allin himself, or scatters abroad. "

"You are right, Anthony. I am sure if I had the half, I should sooncovet the whole. It would be a dangerous possession, and stand betweenme and heaven. No, no, it would not be right to ask that which belongsto another; only it seems so natural to wish those to love us whom welove. "

"I do love you, sweet Clary, and you must continue to love me; though itis an affection quite different from that which I feel for Juliet. Youare the sister whom nature denied me--the dear friend whom I sought invain amidst the world and its heartless scenes; my good angel, whosepure and holy influence subdues the evil passions of my nature, andrenders virtue more attractive. I love you, Clary. I feel a better andhumbler creature in your presence; and when you are absent, your gentleadmonitions stimulate me to further exertions. "

"I am satisfied, dear Anthony, " said Clary, lifting her inspiredcountenance, and gazing steadily upon him. "As yon heavens exceed inheight and glory the earth beneath, so far, in my estimation, does thelove you bear to me exceed that which you feel for Juliet. One is of theearth, and like the earth must perish; the other is light from heaven. Evermore let me dwell in this light. "

With an involuntary movement, Anthony pressed the small white hand heheld in his own to his lips. Was there the leaven of earth in that kiss, that it brought the rosy glow into the cheek of Clary, and then paled itto death-like whiteness? "Clary, " he said, "have you forgotten thepromise you made me a few days ago?"

Clary looked up inquiringly. 

"To show me Juliet's portfolio. "

"Oh, yes, and there are some lines about love, that I will sing and playto you, " said Clary, rising. 

"Have you got the music?"

"It is all here, " said the fair girl, placing her hand upon her breast. "The heart is the fountain from which all my inspiration flows. " And shebounded off to fetch her harp and the portfolio. 

Anthony looked after her, but no regretful sigh rose to his lips. Hisheart was true to the first impression to which love had set his seal;its affections had been consecrated at another shrine, and he felt thathis dear little cousin could never stand in a tenderer relation to him. 

Clary returned quite in a flutter with the exertion she had used. Anthony sprang forward to relieve her of the harp, and to place it in aconvenient situation. 

"Juliet had a great fear of being married for her money, " said Clary. "Iused to laugh at her, and tell her that no one who knew her would everremember her money; the treasures of her mind so far surpassed the drossof the world. Yet, for all that, she wrote and gave me this ballad thenext morning. I felt very much inclined to scold her for her want offaith. "

"Do let me hear it. "

"Patience, Mr. Anthony. You must give me time to tune my harp. Such atheme as love requires all the strings to sound in perfect unison. Therenow--let me think a few minutes. The air must be neither very sad, noryet gay. Something touching and tender. I have it now--"

 THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. 

 In all the guise that beauty wears, Well known by many a fabled token, Last night I saw young Love in tears, With stringless bow and arrows broken. Oh, waving light in wanton flow, Fair, sunny locks his brows adorn, And on his cheeks the roseate glow With which Aurora decks the morn. 

 The living light in those blind eyes No mortal tongue could ere disclose; Their hue was stol'n from brighter skies, Their tears were dew-drops on the rose. Around his limbs of heavenly mould A rainbow-tinted vest was flung, Revealing through each lucid fold The faultless form by poets sung. 

 He sighed; the air with fragrance breath'd; He moved; the earth confess'd the god; Her brightest chaplets nature wreath'd, Where'er his dimpled feet had press'd the sod. "Why weeps Love's young divinity alone, While men have hearts, and woman charms beneath Tell me, fair worshipp'd boy of ages flown, Is ev'ry flowret faded in Love's wreath?"

 With that he raised his dewy, azure eyes, And from his lips words of soft music broke; But still the truant tears would crowding rise, And snowy bosom heave before he spoke. "Oh, come and weep with me, " he cried, "fair maid Weep that the gentle reign of Love is o'er; Come, venture nearer--cease to be afraid, For I have hearts and worshippers no more. 

 "In vain I give to woman's lovely form All that can rapture on the heart bestow; The fairest form no dastard heart can warm While gold has greater power than Love below. In vain I breathe a freshness on her cheek; In vain the Graces round her footsteps move, And eyes of melting beauty softly speak The soul-born, silent eloquence of Love. 

 "It was not thus, " the urchin, sighing, said, "When hope and gladness crowned the new-born earth. In Eden's bowers, beneath a myrtle's shade, Before man was, Love sprang to birth. While Heaven around me balmy fragrance shed, With rosy chains the infant year I bound; And as my bride young Nature blushing led In vestal beauty o'er the verdant ground. 

 "The first fond sigh that young Love stole Was wafted o'er those fields of air, To kindle light in man's stern soul, And render Heaven's best work more fair. Creation felt that tender sigh, And earth received Love's rapturous tears, Their beauty beamed in woman's eye, And music broke on human ears. 

 "Whether I moved upon the rolling seas, Or sank on Nature's flowery lap to rest, Or raised my light wings on the sportive breeze, The conscious earth with joy her god confess'd. While Mirth and Gladness round my footsteps play'd, And bright-haired Hope led on the laughing Hours. As man and beast in holy union stray'd To share the lucid streams and virgin flowers. 

 "Ah, useless then yon shafts and broken bow Till man abused the balm in mercy given; Whilst gold has greater charms than Love below, I flee from earth to find a home in heaven!" A sudden glory round his figure spread, It rose upon the sun's departing beam; With the sad vision sleep together fled: Starting, I woke--and found it all a dream!

"When I try to compose music for love songs, " said Clary, suddenlyturning to Anthony, whom she found buried in profound thought, "I neversucceed. If you understood this glorious science of music, and couldmake the harp echo the inborn melodies that float through the mind, youwould not fail to give them the proper effect. "

"Why do you think that I should be more fortunate than your sweet self, Clary?"

"Because you 'love one bright, particular star, ' with your whole heart, Anthony. The heart has a language of its own. It speaks in music. Thereare few that can comprehend its exquisite tones; but those who are sogifted are the best qualified to call them forth. Love must have existedbefore Music. The first sigh he breathed gave birth to melodious sounds. The first words he spake were song; so Juliet tells us, in this littlepoem, and surely she is inspired. "

"What else have we here?" said Anthony, peeping into the portfolio anddrawing out a sheet of paper. "Is this bold energetic-looking hand mybeautiful Juliet's autograph?"

"You are disappointed, cousin Anthony. You expected to find an elegantflowing hand, as fair and graceful as the white fingers that held thepen. Now, be it known unto you, my wise cousin, that persons of genius, especially those who deal in rhymes, rarely write fine hands; theirthoughts flow too rapidly to allow them the necessary time and carerequired to form perfect characters. Most boarding-school misses writeneat and graceful hands, but few of such persons are able to compose atruly elegant sentence. The author thinks his ideas of more consequencethan his autograph, which is but the mechanical process he employs torepresent them on paper. "

"What sort of a hand do you write, Clary?"

"Why, cousin Anthony, it just hangs between the two extremes. Not goodenough to deserve much praise, nor bad enough to call forth muchcensure. In this respect it corresponds more with my character thanJuliet's does. "

"You are no judge of your mental qualifications, Clary, and I am notgoing to make you vain by enumeration. Can you compose music for thislittle ballad?" and he placed one before her. 

"That? Oh, no, I can do nothing with that. But hark! I hear my brothercalling me from the house. Let us go to him. " She ran forward, andAnthony was about to follow her, when he was addressed in a rudefamiliar manner, and turning round, he beheld the burly form of WilliamMathews, leaning over the slight green paling that separated the lawnfrom the road. 

"Good day to you, Mr. Anthony. You have been hiding from us of late. Apleasant place this. "

"Have you any business with me, Mr. Mathews?" said Anthony, in a voice, and with a look, which rendered his meaning unmistakeable. 

"Ahem! Not exactly. But 'tis natural for one to inquire after the healthof an old neighbor. Are you living here, or with the old 'un?"

"Good morning, Mr. Mathews, " said Anthony, turning coldly upon his heel. "I make a point of never answering impertinent questions. "

"Curse you for a proud fool, " muttered the ruffian, as Anthony enteredthe house. "If Bill Mathews does not soon pull you down from your highhorse, may his limbs rot in a jail. " And calling to an ugly black cur, that was prowling round the garden, and whose physiognomy greatlyresembled his own, the poacher slunk off. 

"Anthony, " said Frederic Wildegrave, as his cousin, in no very gentlemood, entered the house, "unexpected business calls me away for someweeks to a distant county. You must make yourself as comfortable as youcan during my absence. Clary will do the honors of the house. By-the-by, I have just received four hundred pounds for the sale of the big marsh. I have not time to deposit the money in the bank; but will you see to itsome time during the week. There is the key of my desk. You will findthe money and the banker's book in the second drawer. And now, Clary, don't look so grave, but give me a kiss, and wish me back. "

"I don't think that you will have any, " said Clary flinging her armsround his neck. "My heart fills with gloom at the thought of your goingaway--and so suddenly. "

"I shall come back as soon as I possibly can. What in tears. Sillychild!"

"Don't go, dear Fred. "

"Nonsense! Business must not be neglected. "

"Something tells me that this journey is not for good. "

"Dear Clary, I could quarrel with you for these superstitious fears. Farewell, my own darling--and joy be with you. "

Kissing again and again the tears from Clarissa's cheek, and shakingAnthony warmly by the hand, the young master of the mansion sprang tohis saddle and was gone, leaving Anthony and Clary to amuse themselvesin the best manner they could. 

"You must not forget, Anthony, that Fred has left you his banker. He isso generous that the money will be safer in your hands than in his own. "

Anthony laughed, and put the key of the desk into his pocket. What tohim was the money? had it been four thousand, or forty thousand, hewould not, in all probability have given it a second thought. 

The next morning Clary was seriously indisposed, and her cousin took hisbreakfast alone. After making many anxious inquiries about her, andbeing assured by old Ruth that she only required rest to be quite wellagain, he retired to Frederic's study; and taking up a volume of a newwork that was just out, he was soon buried in its contents. 

A loud altercation in the passage, between some person who insisted uponseeing Mr. Hurdlestone and old Ruth, broke in upon his studies. 

"Will you please to send up your name, sir?" said Ruth, in no verygentle tones; "Mr. Hurdlestone is busy. "

"No. I told you before that I would announce myself. "

Anthony instantly recognised the voice, and before he could lay asidethe book, Godfrey Hurdlestone stood before him. 

How changed--how dreadfully changed he was, since they last met. Thewicked career of a few months had stamped and furrowed his brow with thelines of years. His dress was mean and faded. He looked dirty andslovenly, and little of his former manly beauty and elegance of personremained. So utterly degraded was his appearance, that a cry of surprisebroke from Anthony's lips, so inexpressibly shocked was he at analteration so startling. 

"I suppose you know me, Anthony, " said Godfrey, with a sarcastic smile;"I can't be so changed as all that?"

"You are greatly changed. "

"For the worse, of course. Yes, poverty soon brings a man down who hasnever been used to work. It has brought me down--down to the very dust. "

"I am sorry to hear you say so. I thought that you were comfortablysettled with the Whitmores until you could procure a tutorship. Withyour education and abilities, Godfrey, you should not appear thus. "

"I left the Whitmores a long time ago. I thought you had heard thatpiece of ill news, for such stories travel apace. You must know that, asill-luck would have it, Juliet learned from Mary all the particulars ofthat unfortunate business, and I, of course, had to decamp. Since thenthe world has gone all wrong with me, and one misfortune has followedupon another, until I stand before you a lost and ruined man; and ifyou, Anthony, refuse to assist me, I must go headlong to destruction. "

In spite of all his affected boldness, it was evident that the speakerwas dreadfully agitated. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his finefeatures swollen and distorted, and his face as pale as ashes. 

Anthony continued to gaze upon him with eyes full of pity andastonishment, and cheeks yet paler than his own. Could it be AlgernonHurdlestone's son that stood before him--that cousin whom he had swornto love and cherish as a brother, and to help to the uttermost in timeof need? The solemn vow he had taken when a boy was the uppermostthought that moment in his mind; and his eyes slowly filled with tearsas turning to Godfrey he said, "If I can help you I will do so to theutmost of my power. Like you, however, I am a poor man, and my power islimited. "

Godfrey remained silent. 

"What can have happened to agitate you thus? What have you done that canwarrant such dreadful words? Sit down, cousin. You look faint. GoodHeavens! how you tremble. What can occasion this terrible distress ofmind?"

"I shall be better presently. Give me a glass of brandy, Tony, to makeme speak steadily. I never felt nervous before. "

His teeth chattered audibly and prevented him from speaking further. Anthony gave him the stimulant he desired. It seemed to possess somemiraculous power. Godfrey rose from his chair, and coming quite close upto his cousin, he said with apparent calmness:

"Anthony, I have committed forgery. "

Anthony recoiled backward. He caught the table convulsively to keephimself from falling, as he gasped out:

"This is too dreadful! Oh, my poor uncle! Thank Heaven, you are sparedthe agony of this. Godfrey, Godfrey, what could induce you to perpetratesuch a crime?"

"Necessity. But don't torture me with questions. I am punished enoughalready. The deed is done and the forfeit must be paid. Haman Levi, theJew, in whose name the check was drawn, has detected the fraud. Fortunately for me he is a rascal, a man without any principle, in whomavarice is a more powerful feeling than justice. He knows that he willgain nothing by hanging me; but something considerable by a compromisethat will save my life. The sum drawn by me was for three hundredpounds. Haman came to me this morning, and told me that if I paid himfour hundred down within twelve hours he would acknowledge the order, and stop the prosecution; but if I refused to comply with his terms, thelaw should take its course. I have no money, Anthony. I know not whereor how to obtain such a large sum in the given time, and if I sufferthis day to expire, the season for mercy is past. Rescue me, Anthony, from this frightful situation--save me from a death of shame--and therest of my life shall be devoted to your service!"

"Alas, Godfrey, I have already borne your shame, and though your victimhas pronounced me innocent, the world considers me guilty. What can I doin this dreadful business? I have no money. And my cousin who might, perhaps, for my sake have helped you in this emergency, left us lastnight, and will be some weeks absent. "

"You have a father--a rich father, Anthony!" said Godfrey, writhing indespair. "Will you not go to him and make one effort--one lasteffort--to save my life. Think of our early years. Think of my generousfather--of his love and friendship--of all he sacrificed for yoursake--and will you let his son be hung like a dog, when a few words ofpersuasion might save him. "

The criminal bowed his head upon his hands, and wept long andpassionately. Anthony was deeply affected by his misery. Had Fredericbeen at home, he thought, they might have done something to rescue him. They might have gone to the miser, and together represented thenecessity of the case, and by offering large interest for the loan ofthe money, have obtained it. What was to be done? Confounded andbewildered, he could think of no plan at all likely to succeed. 

Alas for Anthony! The money which had been left in his hands by FredericWildegrave, at that unlucky moment flashed across his mind. It wasexactly the sum. He was sure that Frederic would lend it to him at hisearnest request. Anthony was young and inexperienced, he had yet tolearn that we are not called upon, in such matters, to think for others, or to do evil that good may come of it. He looked doubtfully in thehaggard face of the wretched suppliant. 

"Have you no means of raising the money, Godfrey?"

"Yes--in a few days, perhaps. But it will be too late then. "

"Cannot you persuade the Jew to wait?"

"He is inexorable. But, Anthony, if you can borrow the money for meto-day, I will repay it to-morrow night. "

"Can you promise me this?"

"I swear it. I will sell the reversion of the legacy left me by my auntMaitland, which falls due at her husband's death. It is eight hundredpounds; I will sell it for half its value to meet the demand. But toaccomplish this, more time is required than I can just now command. Willthis satisfy you?"

"It will. But woe to us both if you deceive me!"

"Can you imagine me such an ungrateful scoundrel?"

"You have betrayed me once before. If you fail this time, Godfrey, youwill not die alone. "

Anthony went to the desk, and unlocked it with a trembling hand. As heopened the drawer which contained the money, a sudden chill creptthrough his veins, and he paused, irresolute how to act. "It is nottheft, " he argued to himself; "it is but a loan, which will soon berepaid. A few hours cannot make much difference. Long before Fredericrequires the money, it will be replaced. "

He had gone too far to recede. Godfrey was already at his side andeagerly seized the golden prize. With tears of real or feigned gratitudehe left the house, and Anthony had leisure to reflect upon what he haddone. 

The more he pondered over the rash act, the more imprudent and criminalit appeared; and when, by the next post, he received a letter fromFrederic, informing him that he had made a very advantageous purchase ofland, and requested him to transmit the money he had left in hiskeeping, his misery was complete. 

"Unfortunate Anthony!" he cried. "Into what new dangers will yourunhappy destiny hurry you!"

Snatching up his hat, he rushed forth in quest of his unprincipledrelative. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 Strange voices still are ringing in mine ears, Something of shame, of anguish, and reproach; My brain is dark, I have forgot it all. --S. M. 

In the miserable attic over the kitchen in the public-house alreadydescribed, there was a sound of deep, half-suppressed, passionateweeping--a young mother weeping for her first-born, who would not bepacified. The deepest fountain of love in the human heart had beenstirred; its hallowed sources abused, and violently broken up; and theshock had been too great for the injured possessor to bear patiently. Her very reason had yielded to the blow, and she lamented her loss, as aforward child laments the loss of some favorite plaything. Had she notbeen a creature of passionate impulses, the death of this babe of shamewould have brought a stern joy to her bereaved mind. She would havewept--for nature speaks from the heart in tears; but she would haveblessed God that He had removed the innocent cause of her distress frombeing a partaker of her guilt, a sharer of her infamy, a lasting sourceof regret and sorrow. 

Mary Mathews had looked forward with intense desire for the birth ofthis child. It would be something for her to love and clingto--something for whose sake she would be content to live--for whom shecould work and toil; who would meet her with smiles, and feel itsdependence upon her exertions. She thought, too, that Godfrey wouldlove her once more, for his infant's sake. Rash girl! She had yet tolearn that the love of man never returns to the forsaken object of hisselfish gratification. 

The night before this event took place, violent words had arisen betweenMary and her brother. The ruffian was partially intoxicated, and urgedon by the infuriated spirit of intemperance, regardless of theentreaties of the woman Strawberry, or the helpless situation of theunfortunate girl, he had struck her repeatedly; and the violent passioninto which his brutal unkindness had hurried his victim producedpremature confinement, followed by the death of her child, a fine littleboy. 

Godfrey was absent when all this occurred; and though the day was prettyfar advanced, he had not as yet returned. 

As to William Mathews, he wished that death had removed both mother andchild, as he found Mary too untractable to be of any use to him. 

"My child! my child!" sobbed Mary. "What have you done with him? wherehave you put him? Oh! for the love of Heaven, Mrs. Strawberry, let melook at my child!"

"Hold your peace, you foolish young creature! What do you want with thecorpse? You had better lie still, and be quiet, or we may chance to buryyou both in the same grave. "

"Oh!" sighed the girl, burying her face in the pillow, and giving way toa fresh gush of tears, "that's too good to happen. The wretched neverdie; the lost, like me, are never found. The wicked are denied the rest, the deep rest of the grave. Oh, my child! my blessed child! Let me butlook upon my own flesh and blood, let me baptize the unbaptized with mytears, and I shall feel this horrible load removed from my heart. "

"It was a sad thing that it died, before it got the sign of the cross, "said the godless old woman. "Sich babes, I've heard the priest say, never see the light o' God's countenance; but the blackness of darknessabides on them for ever. Howsomever, these kind o' childer never come tono good, whether they live or die. Young giddy creatures should think o'that before they run into sin, and bring upon themselves trouble andconfusion. I was exposed to great temptation in my day; but I neverdisgraced myself by the like o' that. "

"Oh, you were very good, I dare say, " said Mary, coaxingly; "and I willthink you the best and kindest woman that ever lived, if you will butlet me see the poor babe. "

"What good will it do you to see it? it will only make you fret. Youought to thank God that it is gone. It was a mercy you had no right toexpect. You are now just as good as ever you were. You can go into agentleman's service, and hold up your head with the best of them. Iwould not stay here, if I were you, to be kicked and ordered about bythat wicked brother of yours, nor wait, like a slave, upon this Mr. Godfrey. What is he now? not a bit better than one of us. Not a shillinghas he to bless himself with, and I am sure he does not care onefarthing for you, and will be glad that the child is off his hands. "

"Oh, he loves me; indeed, indeed, he loves me and the child. Oh, he willgrieve for the child. Mrs. Strawberry, if ever you were a motheryourself, have pity upon me, and show me the baby. "

She caught the woman by the hand, and looked up in her face with suchan expression of longing intense desire, that, harsh as she was, itmelted her stony heart; and, going to a closet, she returned with thebabe in her arms. It was dressed in its little cap, and long whitenight-gown--a cold image of purity and perfect peace. 

"Oh, mine own! mine own!" wailed the young mother, pressing the coldform against her breast, as she rocked to and fro on the pillow. "Myblessed innocent boy! You have left me for ever, and ever, and ever. Mychild! my infant love! I have wept for you--prayed for you--while yetunborn, have blessed you. Your smiles would have healed up the deepwounds of my broken heart. Together we would have wandered to somedistant land, where reproaches, and curses, and blows, would never havefound us; and we would have been happy in each's other's love--so happy!Ah, my murdered child! I call upon you, but you cannot hear me! I weepfor you, but you are unconscious of my grief. Ah, woe is me! What shallI do, a-wanting thee? My heart is empty; the world is empty. Itspromises are false--its love departed. My child is dead, and I amalone--alone--alone. "

"Come, give me the babe, Mary! I hear your brother's step upon thestair. "

"You shall not have it!" cried the girl, starting up in the bed, hereyes flashing fire. "Hush! your loud voice will waken him. He is mine. God gave him to me; and you shall not tear him from me. No other handshall feed and rock him to sleep but mine. 

 "Lullaby, baby! no danger shall come, My breast is thy pillow, my heart is thy home; That poor heart may break, but it ever shall be True, true to thy father, dear baby, and thee!

 "Weep, mother, weep, thy loved infant is sleeping A sleep which no storms of the world can awaken; Ah, what avails all thy passionate weeping, The depths of that love which no sorrow has shaken?

 "All useless and lost in my desolate sadness, No sunbeam of hope scatters light through the gloom; Instead of the voice of rejoicing and gladness, I hear the wind wave the rank grass on thy tomb. "

Partly moaning, and partly singing, the poor creature, exhausted by anight of severe pain, and still greater mental anxiety, dropped off intoa broken slumber, with the dead infant closely pressed to her bosom. 

"Well, there they lie together: the dead and the living, " said Mrs. Strawberry. "'Tis a piteous sight. I wish they were both bound to theone place. We'll have no good of this love-sick girl; and I have somefears myself of her brutal brother and the father of the brat. I hearhis voice: they are home. Well, they may just step up, and look at theirwork. If this is not murder, I wonder what is?"

With a feeling of more humanity than Mrs. Strawberry was ever known todisplay, she arranged the coarse pillow that supported Mary's head, andsoftly closing the door, descended the step-ladder that led to thekitchen; here she found Godfrey and Mathews in close conversation, thelatter laughing immoderately. 

"And he took the bait so easily, Godfrey? Never suspected that it wasall a sham? Ha! ha! ha! Let me look at the money. I can scarcely believemy own senses. Ha! ha! ha! Why, man, you have found out a moreexpeditious method of making gold than your miserly uncle ever knew. "

"Aye, but I have not his method of keeping it, Bill; but you may welllaugh. This proud boy is in our toils now. I have him as sure as fate. Imust say that I felt a slight pang of remorse when I saw him willing todare so much for me; and he looked so like my father, that I couldalmost have fancied that the dead looked through his eyes into my soul. I have gone too far to recede. What must be, must be; none of us shapeour own destinies, or some good angel would have warned Anthony of hisdanger. "

"What the devil has become of Mary?" said Mathews, glancing round thekitchen. "She and I had some words last night; it was a foolish piece ofbusiness, but she provoked me past endurance. I found her dressed upvery smart just at nightfall, and about to leave the house. I asked herwhere she was going so late in the evening. She answered, 'To hear theRanters preach in the village; that she wanted to know what they had tosay to her soul. ' So I cursed her soul, and bade her go back to herchamber, and not expose her shame to the world; and she grew fierce, andasked me tauntingly, who it was that had brought her to that shame, andif I were not the greater sinner of the two; and I struck her in myanger, and drove her up stairs. "

"Struck her!" said Godfrey, starting back. "Struck a woman! That womanyour sister, and in her helpless situation! You dared not do such acowardly, unmanly act?"

"I was drunk, " said Mathews, gloomily; "and she was so aggravating thatI am not sure that you would have kept your hands off her. She flew atme like an enraged tiger-cat, with clenched fists and eyes flashingfire, and returned me what I gave with interest; and I believe therewould have been murder between us, if Mrs. Strawberry had not draggedher off. What has become of her, mother. How is she now?"

"You had better go up and see, " said the woman, with a bitter laugh. "She is not very likely to fight again to-day. "

There was something mysterious in the woman's manner that startled theruffian. "Come up with me, Godfrey, and speak to her. One word from youwill make my peace with Mary. I did not mean to hurt the girl. "

Mary had been sleeping. The sound of their steps broke in upon herfeverish slumber; but she still kept her eyes closed, as if unwilling torouse herself from the stupor of grief in which she had fallen. 

"She is sleeping, " said Mathews, approaching the bed. "By Jove! Ithought she was dead. How still she lies. How deadly pale she looks--andwhat is that upon her breast?"

"A child! my child!" cried Godfrey, stepping eagerly forward. "PoorMary! she is safe through that trial. But the child--"

"Is dead, " said Mathews. "Yes, dead. Godfrey you are in luck. What afortunate thing for us all. "

"Dead!" said the young father, laying his hand upon the cold pale cheekof his first born. "Aye, so it is. She was so healthy, I dared not hopefor this. Poor little pale cold thing, how happy I am to see you thus!What a load of anxiety your death has removed from my heart! What ablessing it would have been if it had pleased God to take them both!"

This from the man she loved--the father of her child--was too much. Maryopened her large tear-swollen eyes, and fixed them mournfully upon hisface. He stooped down, and would have kissed her; but she drew back withill-disguised horror. The love she had so madly cherished for him wasgone--vanished for ever in those cruel words, and nought but the blankdarkness and horror of remorse remained. She turned upon her pillow, andfixing her eyes upon the dead infant, mentally swore that she would livefor revenge. She no longer shed a tear, or uttered the least complaint, but secretly blessed God that the babe was dead. She had lived to hearthe father of that child, for whose sake she had borne the contempt ofher neighbors, the reproaches of conscience, and the fears of eternalpunishment, rejoice in the death of his first-born; and without a tearor sigh, wish that she might share the same grave. Could such things be?Alas! they happen every day, and are the sure reward of guilt. 

"My poor Mary, " said the hypocrite. "You have suffered a good deal formy sake; but do not cry. God knew best when he took the child from us. It is painful for us to part with him, but depend upon it, he is muchbetter off where he is. "

"I know it now, " said the young mother. "Yes, Godfrey Hurdlestone, he isbetter off where he is; and for some wise end, God has spared myworthless life. Is that you, William? The murderer of my child has nobusiness here. "

"Mary, it was the drink. I did not mean to hurt either you or the child;so shake hands, and say that you forgive me. "

He leant over the bed and held out his hand. Mary put it contemptuouslyaside. "Never, " she said firmly; "neither in this world, nor in theworld to come. "

"Do you know what you say?" said Mathews, bending over the pillow anddoubling his fist in his sister's face, whilst his dark grey eyesemitted a deadly light. 

"I am in my senses, " returned Mary, with a bitter laugh, "although youhave done your best to drive me mad. You need not stamp your foot, norfrown, nor glare upon me like a beast of prey. I defy your malice. WhatI said I will again repeat; and may my curse and the curse of anoffended God cleave to you for ever!"

"I will murder you for those words!" said the fiend, grinding his teeth. 

"Death is no punishment. Threaten me, William, with something that Ifear. I am helpless, now, but I shall soon be strong and well, and myarm may be a match for the feeble drunkard--the cowardly destroyer ofwomen and children. "

"Unhand me, Godfrey Hurdlestone!" roared out the villain, struggling inthe powerful grasp of his colleague in guilt. "For by all the fiends ofhell! she shall answer for those words!"

"Hold, Mathews! You are mad! I will stab you to the heart if you attemptto touch her. "

He spoke to the winds, for throwing him back to the wall, Mathews seizedthe knife from his hand, and sprang upon his intended victim. Risingslowly up in the bed, with an air of calm solemn grandeur, she held upthe pure pale form of the dead child between herself and the murderer. 

Not a word was spoken. With an awful curse the man reeled back as if hehad been stung by a serpent, and fell writhing upon the floor, and Marysunk back upon her pillow, and covered her face with her hands, muttering as she did so, --"How strong is innocence! The wicked are likethe chaff which the wind scatters abroad. Oh, God, forgive the past, which is no longer in my power; and let the future be spent in thyservice. I repent in dust and ashes. Oh, woe is me, for I have sinned!"

Rousing Mathews from the fit into which he had fallen, and in no veryenviable state of mind, Godfrey left the chamber, and joined a set ofnotorious gamblers in the room below. 

From this scene of riot and drunken debauchery, he was summoned by Mrs. Strawberry to attend a gentleman who wished to speak to him in the outerroom. With unsteady steps, and a face flushed with the eager excitementof gambling. Godfrey followed his conductress, and ruffian as he was, his cheek paled, and his eyes sought the ground when he found himself inthe presence of his injured cousin. 

Shocked at the situation in which he found him, Anthony briefly statedthe difficulty he had had in tracing Godfrey to this infamous resort, and the awkward circumstances in which he was placed with youngWildegrave; and he claimed the promise made to him by his cousin on thepreceding day, to relieve him from the impending danger. 

"I told you that to-night, Anthony, the money should be repaid. Theclock has not yet struck for eight. If I have luck, it shall be returnedbefore twelve to-night. "

"Luck!" reiterated Anthony, gasping for breath, as he staggered to thewall for support. "Is it on such a precarious basis that my honor andyour honesty must rest? You talked yesterday of the sale of yourreversionary property. "

"I did. But the Jew was too cunning for me. He became the purchaser, andthe money just satisfied his demand, and covered an old debt of honor, that I had forgotten was due to him, and I am worse off than I wasbefore. "

"But you can restore the money you got from me last night, as Haman wassatisfied by the sale of the legacy. "

"I could if you had called two hours ago. I was tempted to try my luckin the hope of gaining a few pounds for my self, and--"

"It is lost at the gaming table?"

Godfrey nodded his head. 

"It is well, " said Anthony, bitterly. "You have saved your own life bytransferring the doom to me. "

He did not wait for further explanation, but walked rapidly from thehouse; and after a thousand severe self-upbraidings, in a fit ofdespair, took the road that led through Ashton Park to the miser'sdwelling. 

After an hour's walk he came in sight of the wretched hovel. It was nowevening, and a faint light, shed from a rush candle, gleamed through thebroken apertures of the low casement. He paused upon the threshold ofthis abode of want and misery, and for the first time in his life hethought it had been well for him had he never left it. For some time hecontinued knocking loudly at the door, without being able to gainadmittance; at, length, bolt after bolt was slowly withdrawn, and themiser himself let him in. 

"It is well, Grenard, that you are home at last, " growled forth thesurly old man. "If you make a practice of staying out so late at night, we shall both be murdered. "

But when, on holding up the light, he discovered his mistake, andrecognised the features of his son, he demanded in an angry tone, "Whatbusiness he had with him?"

Anthony pushed past him, and entered the house. 

"Father, I will tell you immediately--but I am tired and ill. I must sitdown. "

Without regarding the old man's stern look of surprise and displeasure, he advanced to the table, and sat down upon the empty bench which wasgenerally occupied by Grenard Pike, secretly rejoicing that that worthywas not at home. The awkwardness and difficulty of his situation pressedso painfully upon the young man, that for a few seconds he could notutter a word. A cold perspiration bedewed his limbs, and his kneestrembled with agitation. 

Stern and erect, the old man, still holding the light, stood before him, and though he did not raise his head to meet the miser's glance, he feltthat the searching gaze from which he used to shrink when a boy wasriveted upon him. 

Mark Hurdlestone was the first to break the awful silence. 

"Well, sir! If you are ready to explain the cause of this extraordinaryvisit, I am ready to listen to you. What do you want?"

"Your advice and aid, " at length gasped forth the unhappy youth. "I haveacted very foolishly, and in an hour of great difficulty and danger, Ifling myself upon your mercy, and I beseech you not to turn a deaf earto my prayer. "

Mark sat down in his high-backed chair, and placed the light upon thetable in such a manner as fully to reveal the pale agitated features ofhis son. Had a stranger at that moment entered the cottage, he might forthe first time have perceived the strong family likeness that existedbetween them. The same high features, the same compressed lips andhaughty stern expression of eye. The gloom which overspread thecountenance of the one, produced by the habitual absence of all joyousfeeling; the other by actual despair. Yes, in that hour they lookedalike, and the miser seemed tacitly to acknowledge the resemblance, fora softening expression stole over his rigid features as he continued togaze upon his son. 

"You have acted foolishly, " he said; "no uncommon thing at yourage--and in danger and difficulty you seek me. I suppose I ought toconsider this act of condescension on your part a great compliment. Yourcircumstances must be desperate indeed, when they lead you to make aconfidant of your father, considering how greatly I am indebted to youfor filial love. You have been in my neighborhood, Anthony Hurdlestone, nearly a month, and this is the first visit with which you have honoredme. "

"I should have been most happy to have paid my respects to you, sir, could I have imagined that my visits would have been acceptable. "

"It was worth your while to make the trial, young man. It was not foryou to think, but to act, and the result would have proved to you howfar you were right. But to dismiss all idle excuses, which but aggravateyour want of duty in my eyes, be pleased briefly to inform me, why I amhonored so late at night with a visit from Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone?"

Anthony bit his lips. It was too late to retract, and though he deeplyrepented having placed himself in such a humiliating situation, hefaithfully related to his stern auditor the cause of his distress. Theold man listened to him attentively, a sarcastic smile at times writhinghis thin lips; and when Anthony implored him for the loan of fourhundred pounds, until the return of Mr. Wildegrave, who he was certainwould overlook his unintentional fraud--he burst into a taunting laugh, and flatly refused to grant his request. 

Anthony assailed him with a storm of eloquence, using every argumentwhich the agony of the moment suggested, in order to soften his hardheart. He might as well have asked charity of the marble monuments ofhis ancestors. Stung to madness by the old man's obstinate refusal, hesprang from his seat. 

"Father, relent I beseech you: revoke this cruel decision. My request istoo urgent to admit of a denial!"

He dashed his clenched fist upon the shattered remains of the old oaktable, upon which Mark was leaning, his head resting between his longbony attenuated hands. The blow sent a hollow sound through the emptydesolate apartment. The grey-haired man raised his eyes, without liftinghis head, and surveyed his son with an expression of mocking triumph, but answered not a word. His contemptuous silence was more galling tothe irritated applicant than the loudest torrent of abuse. He wasprepared for that, and he turned from the stony glance and harsh face ofhis father with eyes full of tears, and his breast heaving under thesense of intolerable wrongs. 

At length his feelings found utterance. His dark eyes flashed fire, anddespair, with all her attendant furies, took possession of his heart. 

"I will not reproach you, Mr. Hurdlestone, for giving me life, " hecried, in tones tremulous with passion, "for that would be to insult theGod who made me: but your unnatural conduct to me since the first momentI inherited that melancholy boon has made me consider that my greatestmisfortune is being your son. It was in your power to have rendered it amutual blessing. From a child, I have been a stranger in your house, analien to your affections. While you possessed a yearly income of twohundred thousand pounds, you suffered your only son to be educated onthe charity of your injured brother, your sordid love of gold renderingyou indifferent to the wants of your motherless child. Destitute of ahome without money, and driven to desperation by an act of imprudence, which my compassion for the son of that generous uncle urged me in anunguarded hour to commit, I seek you in my dire necessity to ask theloan of a small sum, to save me from utter ruin. This you refuse. I nowcall upon you by every feeling, both human and divine, to grant myrequest. 

"What, silent yet. Nay, then by Heaven! I will not leave the house untilyou give me the money. Give me this paltry sum, and you may leave yourhoarded treasures to the owls and bats, or make glad with your uselesswealth some penurious wretch, as fond of gold as yourself!"

Mark Hurdlestone rocked to and fro in his chair, as if laboring withsome great internal emotion; at length he half rose from his seat, anddrew a key from beneath his vest. Anthony, who watched all his movementswith intense interest, felt something like the glow of hope animate hisbreast; but these expectations were doomed to be annihilated, as themiser again sunk down in his chair, and hastily concealed the key amongthe tattered remains of his garments. 

"Anthony, Anthony, " he said, in a hollow voice, which issued from hischest as from a sepulchre. "Cannot you wait patiently until my death? Itwill all be your own, then. "

"It will be too late, " returned the agitated young man, whilst hischeeks glowed with the crimson blush of shame, as a thousand agonisingrecollections crowded upon his brain, and, covering his face with hishands, he groaned aloud. A long and painful pause succeeded. At length adesperate thought flashed through his mind. 

He drew nearer, and fixed his dark expanded eyes upon his father's face, until the old man cowered, beneath the awful scrutiny. Again he spoke, but his voice was calm, dreadfully calm. "Father, will you grant myrequest? Let your answer be briefly, yes--or no?"

"No!" thundered the miser. "I will part with my life first. "

"Be not rash. We are alone, " returned the son, with the same unnaturalcomposure. "You are weak, and I am strong. If you wantonly provoke theindignation of a desperate man, what will your riches avail you?"

The miser instinctively grasped at the huge poker that graced thefireplace, in whose rusty grate a cheerful fire had not been kindled formany years. Anthony's quick eye detected the movement, and he tookpossession of the dangerous weapon with the same cool but determinedair. 

"Think not that I mean to take your life. God forbid that I should stainmy hand with so foul a crime, and destroy your soul by sending it sounprepared into the presence of the Creator. It is not blood--but moneyI want. "

"Would not a less sum satisfy you?" and the miser eyed fearfully theweapon of offence, on which his son continued to lean, and again drewforth the key. 

"Not one farthing less. "

Mark glanced hurriedly round the apartment, and listened with intenseanxiety for the sound of expected footsteps. The sigh of the old treesthat bent over the hovel, swept occasionally by the fitful autumnalblast alone broke the deep silence, and rendered it doubly painful. 

"Where can the fellow stay?" he muttered to himself; then as if athought suddenly struck him, he turned to his eon, and addressed him ina more courteous tone. "Anthony, I cannot give you this great, sumto-night. But come to me at this hour to-morrow night, and it shall beyours. "

"On what surety?"

"My word. "

"I dare not trust to that. You may deceive me. "

"When was Mark Hurdlestone ever known to utter a lie?" and a dark redflush of anger mounted to the miser's face. 

"When he forged the news of his brother's death, to murder by slowdegrees my unhappy mother, " said Anthony, scornfully. "The spirits ofthe dead are near us in this hour; silently, but truly, they bearwitness against you. "

The old man groaned, and sunk his face between his hands as his soncontinued;

"I cannot wait until the morrow. This night alone is mine. If you cannotreadily lay your hands upon the money, write me an order upon yourbanker for the sum. "

"I have neither pen, ink, nor paper, " said the miser, eagerly availinghimself of the most paltry subterfuge, in order to gain time until thereturn of Grenard Pike, or to escape paying the money. 

"I can supply you. " And Anthony drew forth a small writing case, andplaced paper before him, and put a pen into his father's hand. 

"Anthony, you had better trust to my word, " said Mark, solemnly. "Goldis a heavier surety than paper, and by the God who made us, I swear tokeep my promise. "

"Aye, but you forget the old proverb, father. 'A bird in the hand isworth two in the bush. '"

The old man eyed him with a glance of peculiar meaning as with atrembling hand he proceeded to write the order. When he had finished, he folded the paper carefully together, and presented it to his son. "You will not trust to my honor. Be it so. Take this paper, AnthonyHurdlestone, for a Hurdlestone you are, and for the first time in mylife I believe that you are my son. But it is the sole inheritance youwill ever receive from me. Go, and let me see your face no more. "

"God bless you, sir, " said the youth, in a faltering voice. "Forgive mylate intemperate conduct; it was influenced by despair. From this momentI will love and respect you as my father. "

The miser's thin lips quivered as his son turned to leave him. He calledfaintly after him, "Anthony, Anthony! Don't leave me alone with thespirits of the dead. To-morrow I will do you justice. At this hourto-morrow. "

His son stopped, but the entrance of old Pike stifled the rising gleamof paternal regard, and dismissed the ghastly phantoms of the past fromthe excited mind of the gold-worshipper. He grumbled a welcome to hisminion, and sternly waved to the unwelcome intruder to quit the house. His wishes were instantly obeyed. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

 Murder most foul hath been committed here, By thee committed--for thy hand is red, And on thy pallid brow I see impress'd The mark of Cain. --S. M. 

A thrilling feeling of joy at having gained the object of his visit toOak Hall, and obtained the means of wiping off the stain he so muchdreaded from his character, was throbbing in the breast of AnthonyHurdlestone, as he reached, about nine o'clock in the evening, hisnominal home. 

He had sold his birthright for a mere trifle, but the loss of wealthweighed lightly in his estimation against the loss of honor. On enteringFrederic's study, he found his cousin Godfrey and the ruffian Mathewsawaiting his return. 

Godfrey had dogged his steps to Ashton, had seen him enter the miser'shovel, and from the length of his visit guessed rightly the cause. Hisanxiety to know the result of this meeting induced him to return a partof the money he had the day before received from his cousin, which hehad neither lost at play, as he had affirmed to Anthony, nor paid to theJew the fictitious debt which he had declared was due to him. Thesefalsehoods had been planned by him and his base companion, in order todraw the unsuspecting young man into their toils, and bring about therupture they desired with his father. 

"My dear Anthony, " he said, shaking him heartily by the hand, as herose to meet him. "I have not enjoyed a moment's peace since we partedthis evening. Here is half the sum you so kindly advanced, and if youcan wait for a few days, I hope to have the rest ready for you. "

With a heavy sigh, Anthony received the notes from his cousin, andcounting them over he locked them up in the desk, doubly rejoiced thathe had the means of replacing the whole sum. 

"You have been to Oak Hall, " said Godfrey, carelessly. "How did the oldplace look?"

"I did not notice it. My mind was too much agitated. When I left youruin stared me in the face; as a last desperate chance to free myself, Idetermined to visit my father, and request the loan of the money. "

"A daring move that, " said Godfrey, with a smile to his companion;"particularly after the rebuff you got from him, when you visited him onbehalf of my poor father. May I ask if you were successful?"

"Here is the order for the money;" and with a feeling of naturaltriumph, Anthony took the order from his pocket-book. 

"Is it possible! The philosopher's stone is no fable, if words of yourscould extract gold from a heart of flint. Brave Anthony! you havewrought a miracle. But let me look at the order. Seeing's believing; andI cannot believe such an improbable thing without I witness it with myown eyes. "

"Nay, convince yourself of the truth, Godfrey. What object can I have inattempting to deceive you? It would be against my own interest so to do, as you are still my debtor for two hundred pounds. "

Godfrey took the paper from his cousin's hand, and went to the table toexamine it by the light. As he glanced over the contents he gave asudden exclamation of surprise, and a smile curled his lip. 

"Do you believe me now?" said Anthony, who knew not exactly how tointerpret the dubious expression of Godfrey's face. 

"Read for yourself, " returned Godfrey, giving back the paper. "When youdeal with such an accomplished scoundrel as Mark Hurdlestone, you shouldgive the devil a retaining fee. "

"What do you mean, Godfrey?" and his cousin eagerly snatched the paperfrom his grasp. "He has not dared to deceive me!"

Still, as he read, his countenance fell, a deadly paleness suddenlypervaded his features, and uttering a faint moan, in which all thebitter disappointment he experienced was visibly concentrated, he sankdown in a swoon at Godfrey's feet. 

"What on earth's the matter with the lad?" said Mathews, as he assistedGodfrey in lifting him to the sofa. "What's in the wind?"

"A capital joke, " whispered Godfrey. "I could almost love the old sinnerfor his caustic humor. The order for the money is drawn up in the usualmanner, but instead of the words '_To pay_, ' the crafty old fox haswritten, '_Not to pay_ the bearer the sum of four hundred pounds. '"

"Excellent! But let old skinflint look to himself; with that malignantjoke he has signed his own death-warrant. "

Anthony by this time had recovered from his swoon. But he sat like onestupefied; his throbbing temples resting upon his hands, and his eyesfixed on vacancy. Godfrey's voice at length roused him to a recollectionof what had happened, and in faint tones, he requested his twocompanions to leave him. 

"Not in this state of mind. Come, Anthony, clear up that cloudy brow. Iam sorry, sorry that I have been the means of drawing you into this uglyscrape, but for my poor father's sake you must forgive me. If you wereto make a second application to your ungracious dad, he might, in thehope of ridding himself of such an importunate beggar, give down the twohundred pounds yet wanting. Such a decrease in your demand might workwonders. What think you? Matters cannot be worse between you than theyare at present. "

Anthony recalled his father's parting look--his parting words. 

"To-morrow, I will do you justice if you come to me, at this hour, to-morrow;" and hope again shed a faint glimmer in his breast. Herepeated these words to Godfrey. Had he noticed the glance which hiscousin threw towards his partner in guilt, he would have been puzzled toread its meaning. Mathews understood it well. 

"Go, by all means, Anthony. I have no doubt that his heart will relent;that he already feels ashamed of his barbarous conduct. At all events, it can do no harm--it may do good. Take that infamous piece of writingin your hand, and reproach him with his treachery. My father's injuredspirit will be near you, to plead your cause, and you must besuccessful. "

"Yes, I will go, " said Anthony. "Either he or I must yield. My mind ismade up upon the subject. Godfrey, good night. "

"He is ours, Mathews, " whispered Godfrey, as they left the house. "Theold man's days are numbered. Remember this hour to-morrow night!"

Glad to find himself once more alone, Anthony continued to pace theroom, revolving over in his mind his interview with his father. He feltconvinced that the old man had repented of the cruel trick he had playedhim; that but for the entrance of Grenard Pike, he would have recalledthe paper and given him the sum he desired. At all events, he wasdetermined to see him at the hour the miser had named, and tell him, without disguise, his thoughts upon the subject. 

In the midst of all this tumult of passion, the image of Juliet glidedinto his mind, and seemed to whisper peace to his perturbed spirit. "Oh, that I had a friend to advise me in this gloomy hour, into whosefaithful bosom I could pour out my whole soul! Shall I tell Clary? ShallI confide to the dear child my guilt and folly?" He rang the bell. OldRuth, half asleep, made her appearance. 

"How is your mistress, Ruth?"

"Better the night, sir. "

"Will you tell her that I wish very much to see her. "

"You won't disturb the poor lamb, sure. Why, Mr. Anthony, she has beenin her bed these two hours. She asked after you several times during theday, and was very uneasy at your absence. Poor child! I believe she ismortal fond of you. "

"Of me, Ruth?"

"Of you, sir. I am sure Miss Clary is over head and ears in love withyou. Arn't it natural? Two handsome young creatures living in the samehouse together, walking, and talking, and singing and playing, all thetime with each other. Why, Master Anthony, if you don't love the dearchild, you must be very deceitful, after making so much of her. "

The old woman left him, still muttering to herself some anathemaagainst the deceitfulness of men; while Anthony, shocked beyond measureat the disclosure of a secret which he had never suspected, threwhimself upon the sofa, and yielding to the overpowering sense of miserywhich oppressed him, wept--even as a woman weeps--long and bitterly. 

"Why, " he thought, "why am I thus continually the sport of a crueldestiny? Are the sins of my parents indeed visited upon me? Is every onethat I love, or that loves me, to be involved in one common ruin?"

And then he wished for death, with a longing, intense, sinful desire, which placed him upon the very verge of self-destruction. He went toFrederic's bureau, and took out his pistols, and loaded them, thenplaced himself opposite to the glass, and deliberately took aim at hishead. But his hand trembled, and the ghastly expression of his facestartled him--so wan, so wild, so desperate. It looked not of earth, still less like a future denizen of heaven. 

"No, not to-night, " he said. "He the stern father may relent, or fill upthe full measure of his iniquities. The morrow; God knoweth what it maybring for me. If all should fail me, then this shall be my friend. Yes, even in his presence will I fling at his feet the loathed life he gave!"

He threw himself upon the sofa, but not to sleep. Hour after hour passedonward towards eternity. One, two, three, spoke out the loud voice ofTime, and it sounded in the ears of the watcher like his knell. 

And she, the fair child--she who had, at sixteen, outlived the fear ofdeath. Had he won her young spirit back to earth, to mar its purity withthe stains of human passion? There was not a feeling in his heart atthat moment so sad as this. How deeply he regretted that he ever hadbeen admitted to that peaceful home. 

But was she not a Wildegrave, and was not misery hers by right ofinheritance? And then he thought of his mother--thought of his owndesolate childhood--of his poor uncle--of his selfish but still dearcousin Godfrey, and overcome by these sad reflections, as the glad sunbroke over the hills, bringing life and joy to the earth, he sunk into adeep, dreamless sleep, from which he did not awaken until the broadshadows of evening were deepening into night. 

When old Ruth dusted out the parlor, she was surprised to find himasleep upon the sofa. He looked so pale and ill, that she flung MissClary's large cloak over him, and went up stairs to inform her mistressof such an unusual occurrence. 

All day Clary had sat beside him, holding, almost unconsciously, hisburning hand in hers. Often she bathed his temples with sal-volatile andwater, but so deep were his slumbers, so blessed was the perfectcessation from mental misery, that he continued to sleep until the sundisappeared behind the oak hills, and then, with a deep sigh, he oncemore awoke to a painful consciousness of his situation. 

Clary dropped the hand she held, and started from the sofa, over whichshe had been leaning, the vivid flush burning upon her cheek, and sprangaway to order up tea. Anthony rose, marvelling at his long sleep, andwent to his chamber to make his toilet; when he returned to the parlor, he found Clary waiting for him. 

"My kind little cousin, " he said, taking her hand, "you have beenill--are you better?"

"I am quite well, and should be quite happy, dear Anthony, if I couldsee you looking so. But you are ill and low-spirited; I read it all inyour dim eye and dejected looks. Come, sit down, and take a cup of tea. You have eaten nothing all day. Here is a nice fowl, delicately cooked, which Ruth prepared for your especial benefit. Do let me see you takesomething. "

"I cannot eat, " said Anthony, pushing the plate from him, and eagerlyswallowing the cup of refreshing tea that Clary presented. "I am ill, Clary, but mine is a disease of the mind. I am, indeed, far from happy;I wish I could tell you all the deep sorrow that lies so death-like atmy heart. "

"And why do you make it worse by concealment?" said Clary, rising andgoing round to the side of the table on which he was leaning; "you neednot fear to trust me, Anthony; there is no one I love on earth so well, except dear Frederic. Will you not let your little cousin share yourgrief?"

"My sweet child, " said Anthony, winding his arm around her slenderwaist, and leaning his head on her shoulder, "you could render me noassistance; the knowledge of my sorrow would only make you miserable. "

"If it is anything about Juliet, tell me freely. Perhaps, you think, dear Anthony, that I am jealous of you and Juliet; oh, no, I love youtoo well for that. I know that I can never be as dear to you as Juliet;that she is more worthy of your love--Good Heavens! you are weeping. What have I said to cause these tears? Anthony, dear Anthony, speak tome. You distract me. Oh, tell me that I have not offended you. "

Anthony's lips moved, but no word issued from them. His eyes were firmlyclosed, his brow pale as marble, and large tears slid in quicksuccession from beneath the jet-black lashes that lay like a shadow uponhis ashen cheeks. And other tears were mingling with those drops ofheart-felt agony--tears of the tenderest sympathy, the most devotedlove, as, leaning that fair face upon the cold brow of the unhappyyouth, Clary unconsciously kissed away those waters of the heart, andpressed that wan cheek against her gentle bosom. She felt his armtighten round her, as she stood in the embrace of the beloved, scarcelydaring to breathe, for fear of breaking the sad spell that had linkedthem together. At length Anthony unclosed his eyes, and looked long andearnestly up in his young companion's face--

"Oh, Clary! how shall I repay this love, my poor innocent lamb? Would toGod we had never met!"

"Do not say that, Anthony. I never knew what it was to be happy until Iknew you. "

"Then you love life better than you did, Clary?"

"I love you, " sighed Clary, hiding her fair face among his ebon curls, "and the new life with which you have inspired me is very dear. "

"Oh, that I could bid you cherish it for my sake, dear artless girl! Butwe must part. In a few hours the faulty being whom you have rashly daredto love, may be no longer a denizen of earth. "

"What do you mean?" cried Clary, starting from his arms, and gazing uponhim with a distracted air. "While I have been idling in my bed somethingdreadful has happened. I read it in your averted eyes--on your sad, sadbrow. Do not leave me in this state of torturing doubt. I beseech you totell me the cause of your distress?"

"Clary, I cannot; I wish to tell you, but the circumstances are sodegrading, I cannot find words to give them utterance; I feel that youwould despise me--that all good men would upbraid me as a weakunprincipled fool; yet I call Heaven to witness, that at the moment Icommitted the rash act I thought not that it was a crime. "

"It is impossible, Anthony, that you could do anything unworthy ofyourself, or that could occasion this bitter grief. You are laboringunder some strong delusion, and are torturing yourself to no purpose. Frederic will be home to-morrow; he will counsel you what to do, and allwill be right. "

"Frederic home to-morrow!" and Anthony gasped for breath. 

"Oh, I am so glad. It seems an age since he left us. By the bye, I havea letter for you, which I quite forgot. It came this morning by thepost. I am sure it is from my brother, for I know his hand. " Going tothe mantel-shelf, Clary handed him the letter. Anthony trembledviolently as he broke the seal; it ran thus:

 "My Dear Anthony, "I know not in what manner to interpret your unkind silence. Your failing to forward the money I left in your hands has caused me great mortification and inconvenience, and will oblige me to leave--to-morrow, without transacting the business that took me from home. 

 "Though I am certain that you will give me very satisfactory reasons for your non-compliance with my very urgent request, I feel so vexed and annoyed by it, that it makes me half inclined to quarrel with you. You would forgive this if you only knew what an irritable mortal I am. I advise you and Clary to frame some notable excuse for your negligence, or you may dread the wrath of your affectionate friend, "Frederic. "

This letter, though written half in joke, confirmed Anthony's worstfears. He imagined that Frederic suspected him of dishonorable conduct, although he forbore to say so in direct terms; and his repugnance toconfess what he had done, to either Clary or her brother, was greatlystrengthened by the perusal. 

It was this want of confidence in friends who really loved him, whichinvolved him in ruin. Had he frankly declared his folly and thrownhimself upon Wildegrave's generosity, he would as frankly have beenforgiven; but pride and false shame kept his lips sealed. 

He was a very young man--a novice in the ways of the world; and even insome degree ignorant of the nature of the crime, the commission of whichhad made him so unhappy. Instead of a breach of trust, he looked upon itas a felonious offence, which rendered him amenable to the utmostseverity of the law. The jail and the gallows were ever in his thoughts;and worse than either, the infamy which would for ever attach itself tohis name. 

He determined to see his father for the last time, and if he failed inmoving his compassion, he had formed the desperate resolution of puttingan end to his own life in his presence; a far greater crime than thatfor which he dreaded receiving a capital punishment. 

"Clary, " he said, hastily thrusting the letter into his pocket, "business of importance calls me away to-night. Do not be alarmed if Ishould be detained until the morning. "

"You cannot go to-night, Anthony. It has rained all the afternoon; theground is wet. The air is raw and damp. You are not well. If you leavethe house you will take cold!"

"Do not attempt to detain me, Clary, I must go. I shall leave a letterfor your brother on the table, which you must give him if I do notreturn. "

"Something is wrong. Tell me, oh, tell me what it is!"

"You will know all to-morrow, " said Anthony, greatly agitated. "I cannotspeak of it to-night. " He took her hand and pressed it sadly to hisheart. "Should we never meet again, dear Clary, will you promise tothink kindly of me; and in spite of the contempt of the world, tocherish your cousin's memory?"

"Though all the world should forsake you, yet will I never desert you, "sobbed Clary, as, sinking into his extended arms, she fainted on hisbreast. 

"This will kill you, poor innocent. May God bless and keep you from aknowledge of my guilt. " He placed her gently upon the sofa, and kissedher pale lips and brow, and calling Ruth to her assistance, sought witha heavy heart his own chamber. 

He sat down and wrote a long letter to Frederic, explaining theunfortunate transaction which had occurred during his absence. Thisletter he left upon the study table, and putting a brace of loadedpistols into his pocket he sallied out upon his hopeless expedition. 

It had been a very wet afternoon. The clouds had parted towardsnightfall, and the moon rose with unusual splendor, rendering everyobject in his path as distinctly visible as at noonday. The beauty ofthe night only seemed to increase the gloom of Anthony Hurdlestone'sspirit. He strode on at a rapid pace, as if to outspeed the quicksuccession of melancholy thoughts, that were hurrying him on to commit adeed of desperation. He entered the great avenue that led up to the backof the Hall, and past the miser's miserable domicile, and had traversedabout half the extent of the darkly shaded path, when his attention wasaroused by a tall figure leaning against the trunk of a large elm tree. A blasted oak, bare of foliage, on the opposite side the road, let in aflood of light through its leafless branches, which shone full upon theface of the stranger, and Anthony, with a shudder, recognised WilliamMathews. 

"A fine evening for your expedition, Mr. Hurdlestone. It might well betermed the forlorn hope; however I wish with all my heart that you maybe successful. " As he spoke he lowered a fowling-piece from his shoulderto the ground. "Do you hear that raven that sits croaking upon therotten branch of the old oak opposite? Does not his confounded noisemake you nervous? It always does me. It sounds like a bad omen. I wasjust going to pull down at him as you came along. I fancy, however, thathe's too far above us for a good shot. "

"I am in no humor for trifling to-night, " said Anthony, stopping andglancing up at the bird, who sat motionless on a decayed branch a fewyards above his head. "If you are afraid of such sounds, you can soonsilence that for ever. "

"It would require a good eye, and an excellent fowling-piece, to bringdown the black gentleman from his lofty perch. I have heard that you, Mr. Hurdlestone, are accounted a capital shot, far before your cousinGodfrey. I wish you would just give me a trial of your skill. "

"Nonsense!" muttered Anthony. "The bird's only a few yards above us. Apistol would bring him down. "

"I should like to see it done, " said Mathews, with a grin. "Here, sir, take my gun. "

Impatient of interruption, and anxious to get rid of the company of aman whose presence he loathed, Anthony drew one of the pistols from hisbreast pocket, and, taking a deliberate aim at the bird, he fired, andthe raven fell dead at his feet. Picking it up, and tossing it over toMathews, he said--"Do you believe me now? Pshaw! it was not worthstaining my hands and clothes with blood for such a paltry prize. "

Mathews laughed heartily at this speech; but there was something sorevolting in the tones of his mirth, that Anthony quickened his pace toavoid its painful repetition. A few minutes more brought him in sight ofthe miser's cottage. No light gleamed from the broken casement, and boththe door and the window of the hovel were wide open, and flapping in thenight wind. Surprised at a circumstance so unusual, Anthony hastilyentered the house. The first object that met his sight rivetted him tothe threshold. 

The moon threw a broad line of silver light into the dusty worm-eatenapartment, and danced and gleamed in horrid mockery upon a stream ofdark liquid which was slowly spreading itself over the floor. And there, extended upon the brick pavement, his features shockingly distorted, hishands still clenched, and his white locks dabbled in blood, lay thecold, mutilated form of his father. 

Overpowered with horror, unable to advance or retreat, Anthony continuedto gaze upon the horrid spectacle, until the hair stiffened upon hishead, and a cold perspiration bedewed all his limbs. 

Still as he gazed he fancied that the clenched hands moved, that abitter smile writhed the thin parted lips of the dead; and influenced bya strange fascination, against which he struggled in vain, he continuedto watch the ghastly countenance, until horror and astonishment involvedevery other object in misty obscurity. 

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but his limbs had lost thepower of motion, his tongue of speech, and he suffered the constables, who entered with Grenard Pike, to lead him away without offering theleast resistance. They placed him in a post-chaise, between two of theofficers of justice, and put the irons upon his wrists, but he remainedin the same state of stupefaction, making no remark upon his unusualsituation, or taking the least notice of his strange companions. Whenthe vehicle stopped at the entrance of the county jail, then, and notuntil then, did the awfulness of his situation appear to strike him. Starting from his frightful mental abstraction, he eagerly demanded ofthe officers why his hands were manacled, and for what crime they hadbrought him there?

When told for the murder of his father, he regarded the men with a lookof surprised incredulity. "My poor father! what interest could I have tomurder my father? You cannot think I committed this horrid crime?"

"We do not know what to think, Mr. Hurdlestone, " said one of the men. "Iam very sorry to see you in this plight, but appearances are very muchagainst you. Your father was an old man and a bad man, and it is littleyou owed to his parental care. But he could not have lived many years, and all the entailed property must have been yours; it was an act ofinsanity on your part to kill him. A fearful crime to send him sounprepared into the presence of his God. "

"You cannot believe me guilty, " said Anthony. 

The men shook their heads. "I condemn no man until the law condemns, him, " returned the former spokesman. "But there is evidence enough inyour case to hang a hundred men. "

"I have one witness in my favor. He knows my innocence, and to Him Iappeal, " said Anthony, solemnly. 

"Aye, but will he prove it my lad?"

"I trust He will. "

"Well, time will show. The assizes will be held next week, so you havenot long to remain in doubt. I would be inclined to think you innocent, if you could prove to me what business you had with loaded pistols inyour possession--why one was loaded, and the other unloaded, and howyour hands and clothes came stained with blood--why you quarrelled withthe old man last night, and went to him again to-night with offensiveweapons on your person, and at such an unseasonable hour? These arestubborn facts. "

"They, are indeed, " sighed the prisoner. A natural gush of feelingsucceeded, and from that hour Anthony resigned himself to his fate. 

CHAPTER XX. 

 O dread uncertainty: Life-wasting agony! How dost thou pain the heart, Causing such tears to start As sorrow never shed O'er hopes for ever fled!--S. M. 

What a night of intense anxiety was that to the young Clary! Hour afterhour, she paced the veranda in front of the cottage; now listening forapproaching footsteps, now straining her eyes to catch through the gloomof the fir-trees the figure of him for whom she watched and wept invain. The cold night wind sighed through her fair locks, scattering themupon the midnight air. The rising dews chilled the fragile form, butstilled not the wild throbbing of the aching heart. 

"Oh, to know the worst--the very worst--were better than this soreagony. " Years of care were compressed into that one night of wearywatching. "He will never come. I shall never, never see him again. Ifeel now, as I felt when my sisters were taken from me, that I shouldsee them no more on earth. But I cannot weep for him as I wept for them. I knew that they were happy, that they were gone to rest, and I felt asif an angel's hand dried my tears. But I weep for him as one withouthope, as for one whom a terrible destiny has torn from me. I love him, but my love is a crime, for he loves another. Oh, woe is me! Why did weever meet, if thus we are doomed to part?"

She looked up at the cold clear moon--up to the glorious stars of night, and her thoughts, so lately chained to earth, soared upwards to theFather of her spirit, and once more she bowed in silent adoration to herSaviour and her God. 

"Forgive me, holy Father!" she murmured. "I have strayed from thy fold, and my steps have stumbled upon the rough places of the earth. I havereared up an idol in thy sacred temple, and worshipped the creature morethan the Creator. The love of the world is an unholy thing. It cannotsatisfy the cravings of an immortal spirit. It cannot fill up theemptiness of the human heart. Return to thy rest, O my soul! I dedicatethee and all thy affections to thy God!"

She bowed her head upon her hands and wept; such tears purify the sourcefrom whence they flow, and Clary felt a solemn calm steal over heragitated spirit, as, kneeling beneath the wide canopy of heaven, sheprayed long and earnestly for strength to subdue her passion forAnthony, and to become obedient in word, thought, and deed, to the willof God; and she prayed for him, with a fervor and devotion which lovealone can give--prayed that he might be shielded from all temptation, from the wickedness and vanity of the world, from the deceitfulness ofhis own heart. 

She was still in the act of devotion, when the sound of rapidlyapproaching footsteps caused her to start suddenly from her knees. A manran past at full speed, then another, and another: then a group of womenwithout hats and shawls, running and calling to one another. What couldall this mean, at that still hour of night, and in that lonely place?

Clary's heart beat tumultuously. She rushed to the garden gate, thatopened from the lawn into the main road. She called aloud to one of theretreating figures to stop and inform her what was the matter. Why theywere abroad at that late hour, and whither they were going? No oneslackened their speed, or stayed one moment to answer her enquires. Atlength an old man, tired and out of breath, came panting along; one whomClary knew, and springing into the road she intercepted his path. 

"Ralph Hilton, what is the matter? Is there a fire in the neighborhood?Where are you all going?"

"Up to the Hall, Miss Clary. Dear, dear, have you not heard the news?The old man has been murdered. Murdered by his son. Alack, alack, 'tis adesperate piece of wickedness! The coroner is up at the old cottage, sitting upon the body, and I want to get a sight of the murdered man, like the rest of 'un. "

"Who is it you mean? Who has been murdered?" gasped out the terrifiedgirl. 

"Why old Squire Hurdlestone. He has been shot dead by his own son--thatyoung chap who has been staying here so long. They have got him safe, though. And by this time he must be in jail. Oh, I hope they will hang'un. But hanging is too good. He should be burnt alive. "

And here the old man hobbled on, eager to get a sight of the frightfulspectacle, and to hear all the news from the fountain head. 

The first blush of the red dawn was glowing in the east; but Clary stillremained in the same attitude, with her hand resting upon the half-opengate, her eyes fixed on vacancy, her lips apart, a breathing image ofdespair. The stage coach from ---- drove briskly up. A gentleman sprangfrom the top of the vehicle. A portmanteau was flung down to him by theguard. --"All right, " and the horses were again at full gallop. 

"Clary, dear Clary, who would have thought of your being up so early tomeet me?"

That voice seemed to recall the wandering spirit of the pale girl backto its earthly tabernacle. With a long wild cry, she flung herself intoher brother's arms. "Hide me in your heart, Frederic, hide me frommyself. I am sick and weary of the world!"

Unable to comprehend the cause of this violent agitation, FredericWildegrave carried his now insensible sister into the house, and callingRuth, who was busy kindling the fires, he bade her awake Mr. Anthony. The woman shook her head mysteriously. 

"He's gone, sir. He left us suddenly last night, and Miss Clary has beenup ever since. "

"I fear it is as I suspected. He must have robbed me. Yet, if he hasdeceived me, I never will trust to physiognomy again. "

He opened his desk, and found two hundred pounds in notes, and turningto the window to examine them, he recognised the letter addressed to himby Anthony that was lying on the table. 

With feelings of compassion and astonishment, he hastily glanced overthe affecting account it contained of the thrilling events of the pastweek. Several times the tears sprang to his eyes, and he reproachedhimself for having suspected Anthony of having eloped with the moneyleft in his charge. He knew what agony of mind his cousin must haveendured before he could prevail upon himself to petition his relentlessfather for the loan of the sum he had imprudently lent to Godfrey. Heonly blamed him for the want of confidence which had hindered him fromcommunicating his situation to his friend. Fearing that he had beeninduced to commit some desperate act, he did not wait to change hisdress, or partake of the breakfast old Ruth had provided, but mounting ahorse, rode full speed to Ashton. 

Long before he reached the village he learned the dreadful tale of themurder, and though he did not like to believe Anthony guilty, he knewnot how to get satisfactorily over the great mass of circumstantialevidence, which even his own letter contained against him. Every personwith whom he talked upon the subject held the same opinion, and many whobefore had execrated the old man, and spoke with abhorrence of hisconduct to his son, now mentioned him with pity and respect, and decriedthe young man as a monster, for whom hanging was too good, who deservedto die a thousand deaths. 

Deeply grieved for his unfortunate relative, Wildegrave at firstdefended him with some warmth, and urged as an excuse for his conductthe unnatural treatment he had from infancy received from his father. 

"Sir, " said an old farmer, who had formed one of the jury during theinquest, "with all his faults, old Mark was an honest man, and doubtlesshe had good reasons for his conduct, and knew the lad better than wedid, as the result has proved. "

"It has not been proved yet, " said Frederic, "and I believe, howeverstrongly appearances are against him, that Anthony Hurdlestone nevercommitted the murder. "

"Mr. Wildegrave, I am sorry to contradict a gentleman like you, but didnot Grenard Pike see him with his own eyes fire at the old man throughthe window? And has he not known the lad from a baby?"

"He will be hung, " said another farmer, riding up; "and that's not halfpunishment enough for such a villain!"

"He should be torn to pieces, " cried a third. 

"He was a queer little boy, " said a fourth; "I never thought that hewould come to any good. "

"His uncle was the ruin of him, " said a fifth. "If he had never takenhim from his father, the old man would have been alive this day. "

"Oh hang him!" cried another. "I don't pity the old miser. He deservedhis death--but 'twas terrible from the hand of his own son. "

"Old Mark is to have a grand funeral, " said the first speaker. "He is tobe buried on Monday. All the gentlemen in the county will attend. "

"It would break his heart, if he were alive, " said another, "could hebut see the fine coffin that Jones is making for him. It is to becovered all over with silk velvet and gold. "

"How old was he?" asked some voice in the group. 

"Just in his sixty-fifth, and a fine hale man for his years; he mighthave lived to have been a hundred. "

"Did they find any money in the house?" whispered a long-nosed, sharp-visaged man; "I heard that he had lots hidden away under thethatch. Old Grenard knows that a box containing several thousand goldguineas was taken away. "

"Then the devil, or old Grenard, must have flown away with it, " said thesexton of the parish, "for I was there when they seized the poor lad, and he had not a penny in his possession. "

"Will they bury him with his wife?" asked the old farmer. 

"He'll never rest beside her, " said a man near him. "He treated herabout as well as he did her poor boy. "

"How can the like o' him rest in the grave?" chimed in a female voice. "I've no manner of doubt but he'll haunt the old Hall, as his father didafore him. Mercy on us, sirs! what an awful like ghost he will make!"

"Was old Squire Anthony ever seen?" said another woman, in a mysteriouswhisper. 

"Ay, scores of times. I've heard that the old miser met him one nighthimself upon the staircase, and that was the reason why he shut up theHall. "

"Who'll heir the property?" asked the old farmer. 

"Algernon's son Godfrey; a fine handsome fellow. He'll make ducks anddrakes of the miser's gold. We shall have fine times when he comes tothe Hall. "

"He'll lower the rents and the tithes upon us. Come, my lads, let's goto the public-house and drink his health. "

The male portion of the group instantly acceded to the proposal; andFrederic Wildegrave set spurs to his horse and rode off, disgusted withthe scene he had witnessed, and returned to his home with a sorrowfulheart. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

 All the fond visions faithful mem'ry kept, Rush'd o'er his soul; he bow'd his head and wept, Such tears as contrite sinners pour alone, When mercy pleads before the eternal throne, When naked, helpless, prostrate in the dust, The spirit owns its condemnation just, And seeks for pardon and redeeming grace, Through Him who died to save a fallen race. --S. M. 

By the light of a solitary candle, and seated at a small table in theattic of a public-house, and close to the miserable bed in which MaryMathews was tossing to and fro in the restless delirium of fever, twomen were busily engaged in dividing a large heap of gold, which had beenemptied from a strong brass-bound box, that lay on the floor. 

"Well, the old fellow died game, " said Mathews. "Did you see howdesperately he clenched his teeth, and how tightly he held the key ofhis treasures. I had to cut through his fingers before I wrenched itfrom his grasp. See, it is all stained with blood. Faugh! it smells ofcarrion. "

"He took me for Anthony, " said Godfrey, shuddering; "and he cursedme--oh, how awfully! He told me that we should meet in hell; that thegold for which he had bartered his soul, and to obtain which I hadcommitted murder, had bought us an estate there. And then helaughed--that horrid, dry, satirical laugh. Oh, I hear it yet. It wouldalmost lead me to repentance, the idea of having to pass an eternitywith him. "

"Don't feel squeamish now, man. This brave sight, " pointing to the gold, "should lay all such nervous fancies to rest. The thing was admirablymanaged; and between ourselves, I think that, if we had not pinked him, that same virtuous son of his would. What did he want with pistols? Itlooks queer. "

"It will condemn him. "

"Let us drink to his rising in the world, " said the ruffian, handing thebrandy bottle to his companion in guilt. "How much money is there?"

"Two thousand five hundred pounds in gold. "

"A pretty little fortune. How do you mean to divide the odd hundreds?"

"I want them for a particular purpose. There is a thousand; I think youought to be satisfied. It was my bullet that unlocked the box, when Ibrought the old man down. "

"You don't mean to say, that you intend to appropriate five hundredpounds for the mere act of shooting the old dog, when I ran as much riskas you?"

"Sit down, Bill;" for the smuggler had sprung to his feet, and stoodbefore his colleague in a menacing attitude; "and don't look so fierce. It won't do for you and I to quarrel. I meant it for a marriage portionfor Mary; surely you don't wish to rob her?"

"It's just the same as appropriating it to yourself, " growled thevillain; "you know that she can't keep anything from you. "

"Mary, my pet, " said Godfrey, now half intoxicated with the brandy hehad drank, taking up a handful of the money and going up to the bed, "Iheard you say a few days ago that you wanted a new frock; look, here isplenty of money to buy you a score of smart dresses. Will you not giveme a kiss for all this gold?"

The girl turned her wide wandering eyes upon him, glanced at his hands, and uttered a wild scream. 

"Why, Mary! what the deuce ails you?"

"What's that upon your hands, Godfrey? What's that upon your hands? It'sblood--blood! Oh, take it away! don't bring to me the price of blood!"

"Nonsense; you are dreaming, girl--gold can gild every stain. "

"I have been dreaming, " said Mary, rising up in the bed, and puttingback the long hair which had escaped from under her cap, and now fell inrich neglected masses round her pallid face. "Yes. I have beendreaming--such an awful dream! I see it before me yet. "

"What was it, Mary?" asked her brother, with quivering lips. 

"It was a lonesome place, " continued the girl, "a dark lonesome place;but God's moon was shining there, and there was no need of the sun, orof any other light, for all seemed plain to me as the noon day. 

"I saw an old man with grey hairs, and another man old and grey wasbeside him. The countenances of both were dark and unlovely. And one oldman was on his knees--but it was not to God he knelt; he had set up anidol to worship, and that idol was gold; and God, as a punishment, hadturned his heart to stone, so that nothing but the gold could awaken theleast sympathy there. And whilst he knelt to the idol, I heard a cry--aloud, horrid, despairing cry--and the old man fell to the earthweltering in his blood; but he had still strength to lock up his idol, and he held the key as tightly as if it had been the key of heaven. AndI saw two young men enter the house and attack the old man, while hiscompanion, whom they did not see, stole out of a back door and fled. Andthey dashed the wounded old man against the stones, and they marred hisvisage with savage blows; and they trod him underfoot, and tore from himhis idol, and fled. 

"And I saw another youth with a face full of sorrow, and while he weptover the dead man, he was surrounded by strange figures, who, regardlessof his grief, forced him from the room. And while I pondered over thesethings in my heart, an angel came to my bed-side, and whispered a messagefrom God in my ears. And I awoke from my sleep; and lo, the old man'sidol was before me, and his blood was upon your hands, GodfreyHurdlestone. "

"Is this a dream?" cried Godfrey, glancing instinctively at his hands, on whose white well-formed fingers no trace of the recently enactedtragedy remained, "did you really witness the scene you have justdescribed; tell me the truth. Mary, or by ----"

"Could these feeble limbs carry me to Ashton, " said the girl, interrupting the dreadful oath ere it found utterance, "or could thisrocking brain steady them, were I, indeed, able to rise from my bed--"

"Mathews, " cried Godfrey, "what do you think of this?"

"That we should be off, or put such dreamers to silence. "

"Be off! That's impossible. It would give rise to the suspicion that wewere the murderers. Besides, are we not both subpoenaed as witnessesagainst him. "

"I don't like it, " said Mathews, gloomily. "The devil has revealed everycircumstance to the girl. What if she were to witness against us?"

"Nonsense! Who would take the evidence of a dream?" said Godfrey. 

"I'm not so sure that it was a dream. You know her of old. She's verycunning. "

"But the girl's too ill to move from her bed. Besides, she never wouldbetray me. "

"I'm not so sure of that. She's turned mighty religious of late. It wasonly last night that I heard her pray to God to forgive her sinful soul;and then she promised to lead a new life. Now I should not wonder if shewere to begin by hanging us. "

"If I thought so, " said Godfrey, grasping a knife he held in his hand, and glancing towards the bed. "But no. We both do her injustice. Shewould die for me. She would never betray me. Mary, " he continued, goingto the bed-side, "what was the message that the angel told you?"

"It was in the unknown tongue, " said Mary. "I understood it in my sleep, but since I awoke it has all passed from my memory. " Then laughing inher delirium, she burst out singing:

 His voice was like the midnight wind That ushers in the storm, When the thunder mutters far behind On the dark clouds onward borne; When the trees are bending to its breath, The waters plashing high, And nature crouches pale as death Beneath the lurid sky. 'Twas in such tones he spake to me, So awful and so dread; If thou would'st read the mystery, Those tones will wake the dead. 

 * * * * *

"She is mad!" muttered Godfrey, resuming his seat at the table. "Are youafraid, Bill, of the ravings of a maniac? Come, gather up courage andpass the bottle this way; and tell me how we are to divide the rest ofthe spoil. "

"Let us throw the dice for it. "

"Agreed. Who shall have the first chance?"

"We will throw for that. The lowest gains. I have it, " cried Mathews, clutching the box. 

"Stop!" said Mary. "Fair play's a jewel. There are three of you at thetable. Will you not let the old man have one chance to win back hisgold?"

"The Devil!" cried Mathews, dropping the box, and staggering to his seat, a universal tremor perceptible in his huge limbs. "Where--where is he?"

"At your elbow, " said Mary. "Don't you see him frown and shake his headat you? How fast the blood pours down from the wound in his head! It isstaining all your clothes. Get up, William, and give the poor old manthe chair. "

"Don't mind her, Mathews, she is raving, " said Godfrey. "Do you seeanything?"

"I thought I saw a long, bony, mutilated hand, flitting to and fro, overthe gold. Ah! there it is again, " said Mathews, starting from his chair. "You may keep the money, for may I be hanged if I will touch it. Leavethis accursed place and yon croaking fiend. Let us join the boys downstairs, and drink and sing, and drive away care. "

And so the murderers departed, leaving the poor girl alone with thegold, but they took good care to lock the door after them. When theywere gone, Mary threw an old cloak about her, which formed part of thecovering to the bed, and stepped upon the floor. 

"They are gone, " she said; "I have acted my part well. But, alas, thisis no place for me. I am called upon by God himself to save theinnocent, and the mission shall be performed, even at the expense of myworthless life. 

"They think not that I followed them to the spot--that, weak as I am, God has given me strength to witness against them. I feel ill, veryill, " she continued, putting her hand to her head. "But if I could onlyreach the Lodge, and inform Captain Whitmore, or Miss Juliet, it mightbe the means of saving his life. At all events, I will try. "

As she passed the gold that glittered in the moonbeams, she paused. "Iwant money for my journey. Shall I take aught of the accursed thing? No. I will trust in Providence to supply my wants. I have read somewherethat misery travels free. "

Then slowly putting on her clothes, and securing a slice of coarsebread, that Mrs. Strawberry had brought for her supper, in herhandkerchief, Mary approached the window. The distance was not great tothe roof of the lean-to, and she had been used to climb tall foresttrees when a child, and fearlessly to drop from any height. She unclosedthe casement and listened. She heard from below loud shouts andboisterous peals of laughter, mingled with licentious songs and profaneoaths. 

When the repentant soul is convinced of sin, how dreadful does thelanguage once so familiar appear! The oath and the profane jest smiteupon it with a force which makes it recoil within itself; and it fliesfor protection to the injured Majesty it so often wantonly defied. "Alas, for the wicked!" said Mary. "'Destruction and misery are in theirpaths, and the way of peace they have not known. ' How long have I, inword, thought and deed, blasphemed the majesty of the Most High, andrebelled against his holy laws! Ought I then to condemn my fellows ininiquity? Am I in reality any better than they? I will go to the graveof my child--that sight will make me humble--that little mound of darkearth holds all that the world now contains for me. "

She dropped from the window to the ground. The watch-dog knew her andforbore to bark. He thrust his cold nose into her wasted hand, andwagging his tail looked up inquiringly into her face. There wassomething of human sympathy in the expression of the generous brute. Itwent to the heart of the poor wanderer. She leant down and kissed theblack head of the noble animal. A big bright tear glittered among hisshaggy hair, and the moonbeams welcomed it with an approving smile. 

Like a ghost Mary glided down the garden path, overgrown with rankweeds, and she thought that the neglected garden greatly resembled thestate of her soul. A few necessary wants had alone been attended to. Theflower-beds were overgrown and choked with weeds--the fruit-trees barrenfrom neglect and covered with moss. "But He can make the desolate placeinto a fruitful field, " said Mary. "The wilderness, under his fosteringcare, can blossom like the rose. "

She crossed the lane, and traversing several lonely fields she came tothe park near the old Hall, within whose precincts the gothic church, erected by one of the ancestors of the Hurdlestones, reared aloft itsvenerable spire. How august the sacred building looked in the moonlight!how white the moonbeams lay upon the graves! Mary sighed deeply, buthers was not a mind to yield easily to superstitious fears. She hadlearned to fear God, and there was nothing in his beautiful creationwhich could make her tremble, save the all-seeing eye which she now feltwas upon her. 

Passing the front of the church, where all the baptized children of thevillage for ages had found their place of final rest, she stepped behinda dark screen of yews at the back of the church, and knelt hastily uponthe ground beside a little mound of freshly turned sods. Stretchingherself out upon that lowly bed, and embracing it with passionatetenderness, the child of sin and sorrow found a place to weep, andpoured out her full heart to the silent ear of night. 

The day was breaking, when she slowly rose and wiped away her tears. Regaining the high road, she was overtaken by a man in a wagon, who hadbeen one of the crowd that had been to look at the murdered man. Heinvited Mary to take a seat in the wagon, and finding that he was goingwithin a few miles of Norgood, she joyfully accepted the offer--andbefore Godfrey and her brother recovered from their drunken debauch, orfound that she was missing, she was near the end of her journey. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

 The lyre is hush'd, for ever hush'd the hand, That woke to ecstacy its thrilling chords; And that sweet voice, with music eloquent, Sleeps with the silent lyre and broken heart. --S. M. 

"Why do you look so sad, Juliet, " said Captain Whitmore to his daughter, as they stood together at the open window, the morning after herperilous meeting with Mary Mathews in the park. "Have _I_ said anythingto wound your feelings?"

"I thought that you would have been so glad to find him innocent, papa, "said Juliet, the tears again stealing down her cheeks, "and I amdisappointed--bitterly disappointed. "

"Well, my girl. I am glad that the lad is not guilty of so heinous anoffence. But I can't help feeling a strong prejudice against the wholebreed. These Hurdlestones are a bad set--a bad set. I have seen enoughof them. And, for your own happiness, I advise you, my dear Juliet, tobanish this young man for ever from your thoughts. With my consent younever shall be his wife. "

"Without it I certainly never shall. " And Juliet folded her handstogether, and turned away to hide the fresh gush of tears that blindedher eyes. "At the same time, papa, I must think that the ill-will youbear to an innocent person is both cruel and unjust. "

"Juliet, " said the Captain, very gravely, "from the earnestness of yourmanner, I fear that you feel a deeper interest in this young Hurdlestonethan I am willing to believe. Answer me truly--do you love the lad?"

"Father, I do love him. I feel that my happiness is inseparablyconnected with his. " This was said with that charming candor which wasthe most attractive feature in Juliet Whitmore's character. It had itseffect upon the old man's generous nature. He could no longer chide, however repugnant to his feelings the confession she had just made. Hedrew her gently to his manly breast, and kissed away the tears thatstill lingered on her cheeks. 

"My poor girl, I am sorry for you--very sorry. But I see no chance ofyour ever becoming his wife. "

"I am contented to remain single, papa; I never can love another as Ilove him. "

"Stuff and nonsense! What should hinder you? Why, child, you will getover this romantic passion. Few people are able to marry the firstperson with whom they fall in love; and, in nine cases out of ten, theywould be grievously disappointed if they did. This Anthony Hurdlestonemay be a good young man, but his father is a very bad man. His childrenmay inherit some of the family propensities, which you know, my littledaughter are everything but agreeable. I should not like to be grandpapato a second edition of Mark Hurdlestone, or even of his hopeful nephew, Master Godfrey. "

"Ah, my dear father, " said Juliet, with great simplicity, "this may beall very true; but how do you know that we should have any children?"

This unexpected confession threw the old Captain, in spite of his gravelecture, into convulsions of laughter, whilst it covered his daughter'sface with crimson blushes. 

"Miss Juliet!" cried her aunt, who entered just in time to hear herniece speak her thoughts aloud, "I am perfectly astonished at you. Haveyou no sense of decorum?"

"Pshaw, Dolly!" said the Captain, still laughing. "It was quiteaccidental. Your over delicate ladies are the most indelicate people inthe world. I am sure what the child said was perfectly natural. "

"Nature, Captain Whitmore, is not the best book for young ladies tostudy, " said Miss Dorothy, drawing herself up to her full height. "If wewere to act entirely from her suggestions, we should reduce ourselves toa level with the brutes. Young ladies should never venture a remarkuntil they have duly considered what they have to say. They should knowhow to keep the organ of speech in due subjection. "

"And pray, Dolly, will you inform me at what age a lady should commencethis laudable act of self-denial? for I am pretty certain that yourfirst lesson is still to learn. "

Oh, how poor Aunt Dorothy flounced and flew, at this speech! how she lether tongue run on, without bit or bridle, while vindicating her injuredhonor from this foul aspersion, quite forgetting her own theory in theredundancy of her practice! There never was, by her own account, such adiscreet, amiable, well-spoken, benevolent, and virtuous gentlewoman!And how the cruel Captain continued to laugh at, and quiz, and draw herout: until Juliet, in order to cause a diversion in her aunt's favor, pinched her favorite black cat's ear. But this stratagem only turned thewhole torrent of the old maid's wrath upon herself. 

"How cruel you are, Miss Juliet!" she cried, snatching the ill-useddarling to her bosom. "You never think that these poor animals can feelill-treatment as severely as yourself. I despise young ladies who writepoetry, and weep and whine over a novel, yet are destitute of the commonfeelings of humanity. "

"Puss will forgive me, " said Juliet, holding out her small white hand tothe cat, which immediately left off rubbing herself against AuntDorothy's velvet stomacher, to fawn upon the proffered peace-offering. 

The old Captain, who had remained for some minutes in deep thought, nowsuddenly turned from the window, and said:

"Juliet, would you like to visit London?"

"What, at this beautiful season of the year!" And Juliet left offcaressing the cat, and regarded her father with surprise, not unmixedwith curiosity. 

"The flowers of the gay world, Julee, always blossom at the same timewith those in the country; only the latter have always this advantage, that they are never out of season, and blossom for the day, instead offor the night. But, my dear child, I think it necessary for you to go. The change of scene and air will be very beneficial to your health, andtend to invigorate both your mind and body. Now, don't pout and shakeyour head, Juliet; I do most earnestly wish you to go. The very bestantidote to love is a visit to London. You will see other men, you willlearn to know your own power; and all these idle fancies will beforgotten. Aunt Dorothy, what say you to the trip?"

"Oh, sir, I am always ready at the post of duty. Juliet wants a littlepolishing--she is horribly countryfied. When shall we prepare for thejourney?"

"Directly. I will write to her Aunt Seaford by tonight's post. She willbe delighted to have Juliet with her. The little sly puss is the oldlady's heir; but she is quite indifferent to her good fortune. "

"I never covet the possession of great wealth, " said Juliet. "MarkHurdlestone is an awful example to those who grasp after riches. I donot anticipate much pleasure in this London visit, but I will go, dearpapa, as you wish it. "

"There's a dear good girl!" and the old man fondly kissed her. "I wish Icould see the rose's blush once more upon this pale face. You look solike your mother, Julee, it makes my heart ache. Ah! just so thin andpale she looked, before I lost her. You must not leave your poor oldfather in this cold-hearted world alone. "

Juliet flung her arms round his neck. "Do not make my heart ache, dearpapa, as I know not how soon we may part. You once loved poor Anthony, "she whispered: "for Julee's sake, love him still. "

"She will forget him, " said the Captain looking fondly after her, as sheleft the room, "she will forget him in London. "

And to London they went. Juliet was received by her rich aunt with themost lively demonstrations of regard. She felt proud of introducing tothe notice of the gay world a creature so beautiful. Admired for hergreat personal attractions, and courted for her wealth, Juliet soonfound herself the centre of attraction to a large circle of friends. Butah! how vapid and tasteless to the young lover of nature were theartificial manners and the unmeaning flatteries of the world. Professions of attachment, breathed into her ears by interestedadmirers, shocked and disgusted her simple taste, and made her thoughtsturn continually to the one adored object, whose candid and honestbearing had won her heart. His soul had been poured forth at the sameshrine, had drunk inspiration from the same sacred fount, and hissympathies and feelings were in perfect unison with her own. 

How could she forget Anthony whilst mingling in scenes so uncongenial toher own pursuits? Was he not brought every hour nearer to her thoughts?Was she not constantly drawing contrasts between him and the worldlybeings by whom she was surrounded! Did not his touching voice thrillmore musically in her mental ear, when the affected ostentatious tonesof the votary of fashion and pleasure tried to attract her attention bya display of his accomplishments and breeding? There was a want ofreality in all she heard and saw that struck painfully upon her heart;and after the first novelty of the scene had worn off, she began to pinefor the country. Her step became less elastic, her cheek yet paler, andthe anxious father began to watch more closely these hectic changes, andto tremble for the health of his child. 

"I am sick of this crowded place, of these sophisticated people, papa. Ishall die here. Let me return to the country. "

Frightened at the daily alteration in her appearance, the Captainpromised to grant her request. Her aunt gave a large party the nightbefore they were to leave town; and Juliet, to please her kind relative, exerted herself to the utmost to appear in good spirits. 

"There has been a shocking murder committed in your neighborhood, MissWhitmore, " said the officer, with whom she had been dancing, as he ledher to a seat. "Have you seen the papers?"

"No, " said Juliet, carelessly. "I seldom read these accounts. They areso shocking; and we read them too much as matters of mere amusement andidle curiosity, without reflecting sufficiently upon the awful guiltwhich they involve. "

"This is a very dreadful business indeed. I thought you might knowsomething of the parties. "

"Not very likely. We lead such a secluded life at the Lodge, that we arestrangers to most of the people in the neighborhood. "

"You have heard of the eccentric miser, Mark Hurdlestone?"

"Who has not?" and Juliet started, and turned pale. "Surely he has notbeen murdered?"

"Yes; and by his own son. "

"His son? Oh, not by his son! His nephew, you mean?"

"His son. Anthony Hurdlestone. The heir of his immense wealth. "

He spoke to a cold ear. Juliet had fainted. 

How did that dreadful night pass over the hapless maiden? It did pass, however, and on the morrow she was far on her journey home. 

"I never thought he could be guilty of a crime like this, " said theCaptain to his sister as she sat opposite to him in his travellingcarriage. His arm encircled the slender waist of his daughter, and herpale cheek rested on his shoulder. But no tear hung in the long, dark, drooping eyelashes of his child. Juliet was stunned; but she had notwept. 

"He is not guilty, " she cried, in a passionate voice. "I know and feelthat he is not guilty. Remember Mary Mathews--how strong thecircumstantial evidence against him in that case. Yet he wasinnocent--innocent, poor Anthony!"

The Captain, who felt the most tender sympathy for the state of mindinto which this afflicting news had thrown his child, was willing tosoothe, if possible, her grief. 

"If he is innocent it will be proved on the trial, Julee darling. Wewill hope for the best. "

"It will be proved, " said Juliet, sitting upright, and looking herfather earnestly, if not sternly in the face. "I am so confident of hisinnocence that, on that score, I have not shed a single tear. Ah! we aredrawing near home, " she continued with a sigh. "Dear home! why did Ileave it? There is something pure and holy in the very air of home. See, papa! there is the church spire rising above the trees. The dear old elmtrees! We shall have time to think here, to hope, to pray; but who isthat woman lying along the bank. She is ill, or dead. "

"Perhaps she is intoxicated, " said Miss Dorothy. 

"It is--yes--it is Mary Mathews!" cried Juliet, without noticing heraunt's remark. "What can bring her here?"

"No good, you may be sure, " remarked the Captain. 

"Oh! stop the carriage, dear papa, and let us speak to her. She may knowsomething about the murder. "

"You are right, Juliet; let us ask her a few questions. "

They both left the carriage, and hurried to the spot where Mary, overcome with fatigue and fever, lay insensible and unconscious of herdanger by the roadside. 

Captain Whitmore lifted up the unhappy girl from the ground, and placedher in the carriage, greatly to the indignation of Miss Dorothy, andconveyed her to the Lodge. A medical gentleman in the neighborhood wassent for; and Juliet, in the deep interest she felt for the alarmingstate of the poor sufferer, for a while forgot her own poignant grief. 

The next morning, on entering the parlor, she found Frederic Wildegravein close conversation with her father. 

After the usual compliments had passed between them, Juliet asked, withan air of intense anxiety depicted on her fine countenance, if Mr. Wildegrave thought it possible that Anthony Hurdlestone had committedthe murder?

He replied sorrowfully, "My dear Miss Whitmore, I know not what tothink. "

"Have you seen him since his imprisonment?"

"I have not. Many sorrows have confined me at home. This melancholybusiness has had a sad effect upon the weak nerves of my poor littlesister. Clary is ill. I fear dying. She has expressed such a strongdesire to see you, Miss Whitmore, once again, that I came over to makeknown to you her urgent request. It is asking of you a very great favor;but one, I hope, that you will not refuse to grant to our tears. "

"Juliet is in very poor health herself, " said her father. "If she couldbe spared this trying scene, it would be the better for her. "

"Poor, pretty Clarissa; and she is ill--is dying, " said Juliet, speakingunconsciously aloud. "This dreadful affair has killed her; and shewishes to see me. Yes, I will go. "

"My child, you know not what you are about to undertake, " said the oldman, coming forward. "It may be the death of you. "

"Dear papa, I am stronger than you think. I have borne a worse sorrow, "she added, in a whisper. "Let me go. "

"Please yourself, Julee; but I fear it will be too much for you. "

Frederic was anxious that Clary should be gratified; and, in spite ofCaptain Whitmore's objections, he continued, backed by Juliet, to urgehis request. Reluctantly the old man yielded to their united entreaties. 

Before Juliet set out upon her melancholy journey, she visited the sickchamber of the unconscious Mary Mathews, whom she strongly recommendedto the care of Aunt Dorothy and her own waiting-woman. The latter, wholoved her young mistress very tenderly, and who perhaps was not ignorantof her attachment to young Hurdlestone, promised to pay every attentionto the poor invalid during her absence. Satisfied with thesearrangements, Juliet kissed her father; and begging him not to be uneasyon her account, as for his sake she would endeavor to bear up againstthe melancholy which oppressed her, she accepted Mr. Wildegrave's escortto Ashton. 

During the journey, she found that Frederic was acquainted withAnthony's attachment to her; and the frank and generous sympathy that heexpressed for the unhappy young man won from his fair companion herconfidence and friendship. He was the only person whom she had ever metto whom she could speak of Anthony without reserve, and he behaved toher like a true friend in the dark hour of doubt and agony. 

The night was far advanced when they arrived at Millbank. Clary wassleeping, and the physician thought it better that she should not bedisturbed. 

The room allotted to Miss Whitmore's use was the one which had beenoccupied by Anthony. Everything served to remind her of its late tenant. His books, his papers, his flute, were there. Her own portfolio, containing the little poems he so much admired, was lying upon thetable, and within it lay a bunch of dried flowers--wild flowers--whichshe had gathered for him upon the heath near his uncle's park; but whatpaper is that attached to the faded nosegay? It is a copy of verses. Sheknows his handwriting, and trembles as she reads--

 Ye are wither'd, sweet buds, but love's hand can portray On memory's tablets each delicate hue; And recall to my bosom the long happy day When she gathered ye, fresh sprinkled over with dew. Ah, never did garland so lovely appear, For her warm lip had breathed on each beautiful flower; And the pearl on each leaf was less bright than the tear That gleamed in her eyes in that rapturous hour. 

 Ye are wither'd, sweet buds, but in memory ye bloom, Nor can nature's stern edict your loveliness stain; Ye are fadeless and rich in undying perfume, And your sweetness, like truth, shall unaltered remain. When this fond beating heart shall be cold in the grave, Oh, mock not my bier with fame's glittering wreath; But bid on my temples these wither'd buds wave, Through life fondly cherish'd, and treasured in death. 

And had he really kept these withered flowers for her sake? How did hersoul flow up into her eyes, to descend upon those faded blossoms infloods of tears, as sadly she pressed them to her lips and heart!

Then came the dreadful thought--He whom you thus passionately love is amurderer, the murderer of his father! The hand that penned those tenderlines has been stained with blood. Shuddering, she let the flowers fallfrom her grasp. She turned, and met the mild beautiful eyes of hismother. The lifeless picture seemed to reproach her for daring for amoment to entertain such unworthy suspicions of her child, and shemurmured for the hundredth time, since she first heard the tale ofhorror, "No, no, I cannot believe him guilty. "

She undressed and went to bed. The bed in which he had so lately slept, in which he had passed so many wakeful hours in thinking of her; informing bright schemes of future happiness, and triumphing in idea overthe seeming impossibilities of his untoward destiny. His spiritappeared to hover around her, and in dreams she once more wandered withhim through forest paths, eloquent with the song of birds, and brightwith spring and sunshine. 

Oh, love! how strong is thy faith! How confiding thy trust. The world invain frowns upon the object of thy devotion. Calumny may blacken, andcircumstances condemn, but thou, in thy blind simplicity, stillclingest, through storm and shine, to the imaginary perfections of thyidol. 

To believe in the innocence of Anthony Hurdlestone was to hope againsthope; yet Juliet firmly, confidingly, and religiously believed himguiltless. Oh, who might not envy her this love and faith!

The robin red-breast from his fading bower of hawthorns warbled in theearly dawn of the cold, bright, autumnal day. The first rays of the sungilded the gay changing leaves of the vine that clustered about thewindows with hues of the richest dye, and the large bunches of grapespeeping from among the leaves looked more temptingly ripe, bathed in dewand brightened in the morning beam. A slight rap at her chamber doordispelled Juliet's slumbers, and Ruth Candler entered the room. 

"Is anything wrong, Ruth?"

"My mistress is awake, and wishes to see you, Miss, " said Ruth, burstinginto tears. "It's the last morn. I'm thinking, that she'll ever see onearth. She's in no pain, she says, but she is so pale, and her eyes donot look like the eyes of the living. Alas! alas! what shall we do whenshe is gone? The dear sweet young creter!"

Ruth wept aloud with her face to the wall while Juliet hurried on herclothes, and, with a full heart, followed the old woman to the chamberof the invalid. 

She found Clary sitting up in the bed, supported by pillows. Cold as itwas, the casement was open to admit the full beams of the rising sun, and the arms of the dying girl were extended towards it, and hercountenance lighted up with an expression of angelic beauty and intenseadmiration. Her brother was seated upon the bed, his face concealed inthe pillow, while ever and anon a deep sob burst from his full laboringheart. 

He had watched there through the long night--had watched and prayedwhile the dear one slept her last sleep on earth; and he knew that theyoung spirit had only roused itself to look once more upon the lovelycreation of God before it plumed its bright wing for its final flight. 

"Sun, beautiful sun! I shall see thee no more, " said the child. "Thouglorious emblem of the power and love of God. But I go to him who is theSun of the spirit-world, the life and light of the soul. There is joy inmy heart--deep joy--joy which no mortal tongue can express, for thehappiness I feel is not of the world. The fresh breezes of morning fanmy brow; to-morrow they will sigh over my grave. The earth returns tothe earth, the spirit to the God who gave it. Weep not for me, dearbrother. For this hour I was born. For this hour I came into the world, and you should rejoice and be exceedingly glad that I have so soonobtained my passport to the skies. "

"Ah, my sister, what will life be to me, when you are gone? You are thelast kindred tie that binds me to earth. "

"There will be another strong tie to draw you towards heaven, mybrother. Our spirits will not be divided. I shall still live in yourmemory--still visit you in dreams. Your love for me will grow stronger, for it will never know diminution or decay. "

She paused for a few seconds, and folded her poor wasted handstogether, whilst a serene smile passed over her wan features, lightingthem with a holy joy. 

"I had a dream last night, Frederic. A beautiful dream. If I havestrength I will try and tell it to you. I thought much of Death lastnight, and my soul shrunk within me, for I felt that he was near. I didnot fear Death while my heart was free from earthly love, but now heseemed to wear a harsh and terrible aspect. I prayed long and ferventlyto God to give me strength to enable me to pass tranquilly through thedark valley; but in my heart I felt no response to my prayer. Soon afterthis, the pains, that had racked me all yesterday, left me, and I fellinto a deep sleep. And then me-thought I stood in a narrow pass betweentwo vast walls of black rock, that enclosed me on either side, andappeared to reach to the very clouds. The place was lighted by a dimtwilight that flowed through an enormous arch that united in the fardistance these gigantic walls; an arch, high and deep enough to havesustained the weight of the whole world. I felt like an atom inimmensity, alone in that strange place. Still as I gazed in bewilderedawe upon that great gateway, a figure rose like a dim mist out of thedarkness, and it grew and brightened into a real and living presence;its dazzling robes of snowy whiteness shedding a sort of gloriousmoonshine all around. Oh, the beauty, the surpassing beauty of theheavenly vision! it filled my whole soul with light. 

"Whilst I continued to gaze upon it with increasing awe and admiration, it addressed me in a voice so rich and melodious that it awoke echoes ofsoft music from those eternal rocks. 

"'Child of earth, ' he said, 'is my aspect so terrible that men shouldshrink from me in horror?'

"'Not so, ' I exclaimed, in an extasy of joy. 'Your face is like theface of the angel of the Lord, when he welcomes the beloved with a smileof peace into the presence of God. '

"'Yet I am he whom men regard as their worst enemy, and shrink from withcowardly fear. Yes, maiden, I am Death! Death, the friend of man, theconqueror of grief and pain. I hold in my hand the keys of the unknownworld. I am the bright spirit who unlocks for the good the golden gatesof eternal joy. '

"He took my out-stretched hands, and drawing me forward, bade me lookthrough the black archway into the far eternity. Oh, that glorious land, those rivers of delight--those trees and flowers, and warbledsongs--that paradise of living praise! I long, my brother, to breakthese bonds asunder, to pass the dark archway, and tread that heavenlyshore. "

"Happy Clary, " said Juliet, softly approaching the bed. "Dear blessedgirl, who would wish to detain you in this cold miserable world, whenheaven offers you a brighter home?"

"You are come to see your poor friend, my Juliet, " said Clary, twiningher thin white arms about her neck. "The sight of you recalls me back toearth, filling my mind with sad thoughts and dark forebodings. Brother, "she continued, turning to Frederic, "leave us for a few minutes. I mustspeak to Juliet Whitmore, for a short space, alone. "

For some seconds the two young creatures remained locked in each other'sarms. Clary was the first to speak. 

"The thoughts of heaven, " she said, "are full of rapture; therecollections of earth, full of anguish and tears. It is not for myself, Juliet, I weep. It is for the living I mourn --for the friends I leavebehind. For me--I have lived long enough. It is better for me to go, Juliet; I am dying; will you kiss me once more, and tell me that youforgive your poor little Clary for having dared to love one whose wholeheart was given to you, and who was by you beloved again?"

"Was Anthony dear to your gentle heart, Clary?" said Juliet, stoopingdown, and kissing fervently the cold damp brow of the dying girl. "Oh, dearer far dearer are you to me, in having thus shared, to its fullextent, all the deep sorrow that weighs down my spirit. "

"My love, Juliet, was full of hope and joy, of blissful dreams andvisions of peace and happiness. The storm came suddenly upon me, and thefeeble threads that held together my frail existence parted in theconflict. I am thankful and resigned, and bless the hand that, in mercy, dealt the blow. " After a few minutes' silence, she said very solemnly, "Anthony Hurdlestone is accused of having perpetrated a great crime. Doyou, Juliet, believe him guilty?"

"When you believe that yon burning orb of fire is a mass of coldunmeaning ice, " said Juliet, pointing to the sun, "then will I suspectthe man I love to be a base unnatural monster, a thief and a parricide. "

"Then you, and you alone, Juliet, are worthy of his love. And he lovesyou. Ah! so truly, so well, that I feel that he is innocent. A voicefrom heaven tells me so. Yes, dearest Juliet, God will yet vindicate hisinjured servant, and you and Anthony will meet again. "

"In heaven, " said Juliet, weeping. 

"On earth, " returned Clary in feebler accents. "When you see each other, Juliet, tell him that Clary loved him and prayed for him to the last;that dying she blessed him, and believed him innocent. To you, Juliet, I leave my harp, the friend and companion of my lonely childhood. Whenyou play the sweet airs I loved so well, think kindly of me. When youwander by sparkling brooks, and through flowery paths, listening to thesong of birds, and the music of forest shades, remember me. Ah! I haveloved the bright and beautiful things of this glorious earth, and mywish has been granted, that I might pass hence with sunshine about mybed, and the music of Nature's wild minstrels ringing in my ears. Sun ofearth, farewell. Friends of earth we shall meet again. See, heavenopens. Its one eternal day streams in upon my soul. Farewell. 

 "Happy spirit, welcome in; Hark! the song of seraphim Hails thy presence at the throne-- Earth is lost, and Heaven is won! Enter in. "

The voice died away in faint indistinct murmurs; the eye lost the livingfire; the prophetic lip paled to marble, quivered a moment, and wasstill for ever. The spirit of Clary had passed the dark gateway, and wasthe new-born of heaven. 

"My sister; oh, my sister! Is she indeed gone from me for ever?"exclaimed Frederic, bursting into the room, and flinging himself uponthe bed beside her. "Clary! my angel! Clary! What! cold and dead? Oh, mypoor heart!"

"Oh, how I envy her this blessed change!" said Juliet. 

"Aye, 'tis a sin to weep for her. But grief is selfish, Miss Whitmore;it will have its way. Oh! sister, dear sister, why did you leave mealone, the last survivor of an unfortunate race?"

And thus sorrow poured forth its querulous wailings into the cold earof death. The storm which bereaves us of our best affections passesover; the whirlwind, the thunder, and the shower, desolating our harvestof expected joys; but the sun bursts forth again. Hope blossoms afreshin its beams, and the heart of man revives to form new schemes of futureenjoyment. Such is life. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

 And hast thou sought me in this dreary cell, This dark abode of guilt and misery; To win my sadden'd spirit back to earth With words of blessed import?--S. M. 

The assizes were rapidly approaching. Conscious of his innocence, as faras the murder of his father was concerned, Anthony Hurdlestone lookedforward to his trial with firmness and composure. There never was agreater mass of circumstantial evidence brought against a prisoner thanin his memorable case. 

Holding an elevated position in society, his trial created a greatamount of interest and curiosity among all ranks, and the court wascrowded to excess. The youth of the criminal, his gentlemanly bearing, his fine expressive countenance, his thoughtful mild eye and benevolentbrow excited surprise in the beholders, and gave rise to many doubts asto his being the murderer; and the calm dignified manner in which helistened to the evidence given against him tended greatly to increasethe interest which was expressed by many in his awful situation. 

Grenard Pike was the first witness called, and he deposed, That on the evening of the tenth of October, between the hours of eightand nine, he and the elder Hurdlestone were seated at a table countingmoney into a mahogany brass-bound box. He (Grenard) saw a tall figurepass the window. Mr. Hurdlestone instantly called out, "Grenard, did yousee that man?" and he (the witness) answered, "Yes, it is your son. " Mr. Hurdlestone replied, in some alarm, "I told him to come to-night; but Idid not think that he would take me at my word. What can he want withme?" The next moment a pistol was fired through the casement. The ballpassed through Mr. Hurdlestone's shoulder. He fell to the floor acrossthe money-box, exclaiming, "My son! my cruel son! He has murdered me formy money; but he shall not have my money!" Witness looked up, and sawthe murderer, by the light of the moon, standing by the window. He couldswear to the person of Anthony Hurdlestone. Thinking his own life indanger he made his escape into a back room, and got out of the window, and ran as fast as he could to the village, to give the alarm andprocure a surgeon. When he returned he found the prisoner leaning, apparently conscience-stricken, over the corpse. He offered noresistance when seized by the constables; he had no money in hispossession. A pair of pistols was found in his coat pocket. One had beenrecently used; the other was still loaded; and there were stains ofblood upon his hands and clothes. 

He then related Anthony's previous visit to the cottage; the manner inwhich he had threatened his father; and the trick the miser had playedoff upon him, which circumstance had been faithfully detailed to him byold Mark, who regarded the latter as an excellent joke, although, Grenard dryly remarked, "It had cost him his life. "

During Pike's evidence, the prisoner was greatly agitated, and wasobserved to lean heavily upon the dock for support. But when his cousinGodfrey and William Mathews appeared to add their testimony against him, his fortitude entirely forsook him, and he turned away, and covered hisface for some minutes with his hands. 

Godfrey's evidence was most conclusive. He stated that Anthony hadborrowed from him, before his uncle's death, the sum of four hundredpounds, to settle some college debts which he had concealed from ColonelHurdlestone's knowledge. Godfrey, willing to oblige him, had raised upona note the greater part of the money. It became due and he (Godfrey)being unable, from his altered circumstances, to meet it, went to hiscousin, to beg him to do so, if possible. He was surprised that theprisoner was able to give him the sum at once, though he afterwardslearned that it was money left in his charge by Mr. Wildegrave that hehad taken for that purpose. Anthony told him that Mr. Wildegrave hadwritten to him for the money, and that he was greatly perplexed what todo. In this emergency, he (Godfrey) advised him to go to his father andstate to him the difficulty in which he was placed, and, in allprobability, the old man would rescue him from his unpleasant situation. He then related the result of the prisoner's interview with his father, the manner in which he had been repulsed, and the threatening languagewhich the prisoner had used; his (Godfrey's) discovery of the trickwhich the hard old man had played off upon his son, and Anthony'sdetermination to visit him again on the night of the tenth of October, and force him to terms. He concluded by saying, that he had every reasonto believe that the intended visit had taken place at the very time thatthe murder was committed. He spoke of his cousin with much feeling, andtried to excuse his conduct, as being the result of his father'sill-treatment and neglect; and he commented upon Anthony's solitaryhabits, and sullen uncommunicative disposition, as having been fosteredby these unfortunate circumstances. 

His evidence was given in so frank and manly a way, and he seemed tosympathize so deeply in his cousin's unfortunate position, that hecreated quite a sensation among his listeners. No one imagined him to bein any way implicated in the crime. 

The statement of William Mathews corroborated all that had been advancedby Godfrey Hurdlestone. He related his accidental meeting with Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone on his way to the miser's cottage, but he omittedthe conversation that passed between them; only stating, that heobserved the muzzle of a pistol protruding from the pocket of theprisoner--a circumstance which, knowing the peaceable habits of theprisoner, astonished him at the time. 

Long before Mathews had concluded his deposition, there remained not adoubt on the minds of the jury that Anthony Hurdlestone was themurderer. Even Captain Whitmore, who had greatly interested himself onbehalf of the young man, believed him guilty. 

One witness still remained unheard, and Anthony still clung to hope;still anxiously anticipated that the evidence of Frederic Wildegravewould go far to save him. Alas! how great was his disappointment, whenthe circumstances related by his friend were more conclusive of hisguilt than all the false statements that had been made by his enemies. His own letter, too, which was read in court, alone would have condemnedhim in the opinion of all unprejudiced men. 

 "October 10th, 1790. 

 "My Dear Frederic, "I am certain that I have forfeited your good opinion, by omitting to send you the money you left in my keeping: I have forfeited my own. How shall I find words to tell you the dreadful truth, that the money is no longer in my possession; that, in a moment of excitement, I gave the deposit entrusted to my care to another?

 "Yet listen to me for a few painful moments, before you condemn me utterly. My cousin Godfrey came to me in great distress; he implored me to save him from ruin, by obtaining for him a temporary loan, for a few hours, of four hundred pounds, which he faithfully promised to replace the following day. Hurried away by my feelings, I imprudently granted his request, and gave him the money you left with me. Do not wholly despise me, Frederic; he looked so like my poor uncle, I knew not how to deny him. 

 "This morning brought your letter. You ask for the money to be sent to you immediately. I have it not to send; my sin has found me out. A thief and swindler! Can it be possible that I have incurred such dreadful guilt?

 "_Night. _--I have seen Godfrey--he has failed me. What shall I do? I must go to my father; perhaps he will relent, and pity my distress. My heart is torn with distracting doubts. Oh, that I could pour into some faithful bosom my torturing situation! Clary is ill--and left to myself, I am lost. 

 "_Midnight. _--I have seen my father. What a meeting. My brain aches while I try to recall it. At first he insulted my agony; taunted me with my misfortunes, and finally maddened me. I cannot describe to you what passed. Wound up to a pitch of fury, I threatened to obtain the money by violence, if he did not write an order upon his banker for the sum required. Cowering with fear, he complied; and I--I, in the fullness of my heart, implored his pardon for the language I had used, and blessed him. Yes, I blessed him, who only a few minutes before had spurned me from his feet--had mocked at my calamity--and cursed me in the savage malevolence of his heart. Some feeling of remorse appeared to touch his cruel breast; as I left the house he called after me, 'Anthony, Anthony, to-morrow night I will do you justice. ' I will go to him no more. I feel that we have parted for ever. 

 "_Thursday evening. _--The old man has deceived me--has jested with my distress. I could curse him, but I have not done so. To-night we shall have a fearful reckoning; yes, to-night he will be forced to do me justice. 

 "Godfrey has been with me. He discovered the cruel trick which the unnatural wretch who calls himself my father had played me--and he laughed. How could he laugh at such a melancholy instance of depravity? Godfrey should have been this man's son. In some things they resemble each other. Yes, he laughed at the trick. Is the idea of goodness existing in the human heart a mere dream? Are men all devils, or have some more tact to conceal their origin than others? I begin to suspect myself and all mankind. I will go once more to that hard-hearted man; if he refuses to grant my request, I will die at his feet. Last night I attempted suicide, but my good angel prevailed. To-night is my hour, and the power of darkness. Will he feel no touch of remorse when he beholds his neglected son--lost--bleeding--dying at his feet?

 "Oh, that you were near to save me from myself! An unseen power seems hurrying, drawing me to perdition. The voice of a friend would dissolve the spell, and set the prisoner of passion free. The clock strikes eight--I must go. Farewell, my friend, my brother; forgive and pity the unfortunate

 "Anthony M. Hurdlestone. "

He went--and the old man was found murdered. What more natural than sucha consequence after penning such a letter? The spectators looked fromone to the other: on every brow rested a cloud; every head was nodded intoken of agreement; every one present, but Frederic Wildegrave, believedhim guilty. He had retained no counsel, preferring to plead in his owndefence. 

He rose; every eye was fixed upon him, men held their breath, wonderingwhat sort of defence could issue from the lips of the parricide. 

He spoke; the clear, rich, mellow, unimpassioned tones of his voicerolled over that mass of human heads, penetrating every heart, andreaching every ear. 

"My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I rise not with the idea ofsaving my life, by an avowal of my innocence, for the evidence which hasbeen given against me is of too conclusive a nature for me to hope forthat; I merely state the simple fact, that I am not guilty of thedreadful crime laid to my charge; and I leave it to God, in whose handsare the issues of life and death, to prove the truth of my words. 

"The greater part of the evidence brought against me is true; thecircumstances recorded against me really occurred; the letter just readwas penned by my own hand; yet, in the face of these overwhelmingfacts, I declare myself innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I knownot in what manner my father met his death. I am as ignorant as you canbe of the hand that dealt the fatal blow. I confess that I sought hispresence with the dreadful determination of committing murder; but thecrime was against myself. For this I deserve punishment--for this I amcontent to die: to this charge, made by myself, I plead guilty. I lookaround me--in every face I see doubt and doom. I stand here a mark andscorn to the whole world; but, though all unite in my condemnation, Istill fearlessly and distinctly declare my innocence. I am neither aparricide nor a murderer! and I now await my sentence with the calmnessand fortitude which a clear conscience alone can give. "

Murmurs of disapprobation ran though the court. 

"What a hypocrite!" muttered some, as the jury left the court to consulttogether about the verdict. 

"Do you observe the striking likeness between the prisoner at the barand his cousin, the second witness against him?" whispered a gentlemanin the crowd to a friend near him. "By Jove, 'tis a fearful resemblance. I would not be so like the murderer for worlds. 'Tis the same face. "

"Perhaps, " said his friend, "they are partners in guilt. I have mydoubts. But 'tis unlawful to condemn any man. "

"He's a bad fellow by his own account, " said the other. "It was he whofirst led the prisoner to commit the theft. I think one of them deservesdeath as much as the other. "

"Whist, man! Yon handsome rogue is the miser's heir. "

"Humph!" said the first speaker. "If I were on the jury--"

"Here they come, there is death in their very looks, I thought as much, he is found guilty. "

The judge rose; a death-like stillness pervaded the court during hislong and impressive address to the prisoner. The sentence of death wasthen pronounced, and Anthony Marcus Hurdlestone was ordered forexecution on the following Monday. 

"This dreadful day is at length over, " he said as he flung himself onhis pallet of straw in the condemned cell, on the evening of thatmemorable day. "Thank God it is over, and I know the worst, and nothingnow remains to hope or fear. A few brief hours and this weary world willbe a dream of the past, and I shall awake from my bed of dust to a newand better existence, beyond the power of temptation--beyond the mightof sin. My God, I thank Thee. Thou hast dealt justly with Thy servant. The soul that sinneth, it must die; and grievously have I sinned inseeking to mar Thy glorious image--to cast the life thou gavest me as aworthless boon at Thy feet. I bow my head in the dust and am silentbefore Thee. Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the chaplain of thejail--a venerable Christian who felt a deep interest in the prisoner, and who now sought him to try and awaken him to a full sense of hisawful situation. 

"My son, " he said, laying his hand upon Anthony's shoulder, "how is itwith you this night? What is God saying to your soul?"

"All is well, " replied Anthony. "He is speaking to me words of peace andcomfort. "

"Your fellow-men have condemned you--" he paused then added with a deepsigh, "--and I too, Anthony Hurdlestone, believe you guilty. "

"God has not condemned me, good father, and by the light of His gloriouscountenance that now shines upon me, shedding joy and peace into myheart, I am innocent. "

"Oh, that I could think you so!"

"Though it has seemed right in the eyes of the All-wise Sovereign of theuniverse that I should be pronounced guilty before an earthly bar, Ifeel assured that He, in His own good time, will declare my innocence. "

"Will that profit you aught, my son, when you are dust?"

"It will rescue my name from infamy, and give me a mournful interest inthe memory of my friends. "

"Poor lad, this is but a melancholy consolation; I wish I could believeyou. "

"What a monster of depravity you must think me, if you can imagine meguilty after what I have just said! Is truth so like falsehood, that aman of your holy calling cannot discern the difference? Do I look like aguilty man? Do I speak like a guilty man who knows that he has but a fewdays to live? If I were the wretch you take me for, should I not beoverwhelmed with grief and despair? Would not the thought of death beinsupportable? Oh! believe one who seeks not to live--who is contentedto die, when I again solemnly declare my innocence. "

"I have seen men, Anthony Hurdlestone, who, up to the very hour of theirexecution, persisted in the same thing and yet, after all their solemnprotestations, owned at the last moment that their sentence was just, and that they merited death. "

"And I too have merited death, " said Anthony mournfully. "God is just. "

The chaplain started; though but a few minutes before he had consideredthe prisoner guilty, yet it produced a painful feeling in his mind tohear him declare it. 

"Is self-destruction murder?" asked Anthony with an anxious earnestglance. 

"Aye, of the worst kind: for deep ingratitude to God, and contempt ofhis laws, are fearfully involved in this unnatural outrage. "

"Then my sentence is just, " sighed Anthony; "I never raised my handagainst my father's life, but I raised it against my own. God haspunished me for this act of rebellion against His Divine Majesty, inrejecting, as a thing of no value, the life He gave. I yield myself intoHis hands, confident that His arm is stretched over His repentantcreature for good; whether I die upon the scaffold or end my dayspeacefully in my bed, I can lay my hand upon my heart and say--'His willbe done. '"

For about an hour the good clergyman continued reading and praying withthe prisoner, and before he left him that evening, in spite of hispre-conceived notions of his guilt, he was fully convinced of innocence. 

Sadly and solemnly the hours passed on that brought the morning of hisexecution, "with death-bed clearness, face to face. " He had joined inthe sacred duties of the Sabbath; it was to him a day of peacefulrest--a forestate of the quiet solemnity of the grave. In the evening hewas visited by Frederic Wildegrave, who had been too ill after the trialto leave his bed before. He was pale, and wasted with sorrow anddisease, and looked more like a man going to meet death than thecriminal he came to cheer with his presence. 

"My dear Anthony, " said Frederic, taking his cousin's hand, "my heartbleeds to see you thus. I have been sick; my spirit is weighed down withsorrow, or we should have met sooner. "

"You do indeed look ill, " replied Anthony, examining, with painfulsurprise, the altered face of his friend; "I much fear that I have beenthe cause of this change. Tell me, Frederic, and tell me truly, do youbelieve me guilty?"

"I have never for one moment entertained a thought to that effect, Anthony; though the whole world should condemn you, I would stake mysalvation on your integrity. "

"Bless you, my friend; my true, faithful, noble-hearted friend, " criedAnthony, clasping the hand he held to his breast, "you are right; I amnot the murderer. "

"Who is?"

Anthony shook his head. 

"That infernal scoundrel, Mathews?"

"Hush! Not him alone. "

"Godfrey?"

"Oh! Frederic; had you seen the triumphant smile that passed over hisface at the moment that my sentence was pronounced, you could entertainno doubt upon the subject. I heard not the sentence--I saw not themultitude of eyes fixed upon me--I only saw him--I only saw his eyeslooking into my soul and laughing at the ruin he had wrought. But hewill not go unpunished. There is one who will yet betray him, and provemy innocence; I mean his hateful accomplice, William Mathews. "

"And can nothing be done to convict them?"

"They have sworn falsely, and perverted facts. I have no proof of theirguilt. Would the world believe my statements? Would it not appear likethe wolf accusing the lamb? For my poor uncle's sake I am ready tosuffer; and for this cause I employed no counsel to plead on my behalf;I would rather die myself than be the means of bringing to the scaffoldthe only son that he adored. Poor Algernon! I have paid a heavy debt forhis generosity to me. Yes, " he continued, more cheerfully, "I will leaveGodfrey to enjoy his ill-gotten wealth, nor waste the few hours whichnow remain to me on earth in vain regrets. How is it with the dearClary? How has she borne up against this dreadful blow?"

Frederic's sole answer was a mournful glance at the sables in which hewas clad. Anthony comprehended in a moment the meaning of that sad, sadlook. "She is gone, " he said--"she, the beautiful--the innocent. Yes, yes--I knew it would kill her, the idea of my guilt. Alas! poor Clary!"

"She never thought you guilty, " said Frederic, wiping his eyes. "Shebade me give you this letter, written with her dying hand, to convinceyou that she believed you innocent. Her faith towards you was as strongas death; her love for you snapped asunder the fragile threads that heldher to life. But she is happy. Dear child! She is better off than thosewho weep her loss. And you, Anthony, you--the idol of her fond youngheart--will receive her welcome to that glorious country, of which, Itrust, she is now the bright inhabitant. "

"And she died of grief. Died--because others suspected of crime the manshe loved. Oh, Clary! Clary! how unworthy was I of your love! You knew Iloved another, yet it did not diminish aught of your friendship, yourpure devotion to me! Oh, that I had your faith--your love!"

He covered his face with his hands, and both were silent for a longtime. 

"Frederic, we must part, " said Anthony, at length raising his head. "Beloved friend, we must part for ever!"

"I shall see you again to-morrow. "

"What! on the scaffold?"

"Aye, on the scaffold! Your place of martyrdom. "

"This is friendship indeed. Time may one day prove to you that AnthonyHurdlestone was not unworthy of your love. "

Frederic burst into tears afresh, and wringing Anthony's hand, hurriedfrom the cell; and the prisoner was once more left alone to commune withhis own thoughts, and prepare for the awful change that awaited him. 

His spirit, weaned as it was from the things of earth, contemplated withmelancholy pleasure the death of the young Clary, which he consideredhad placed his sweet young friend beyond the reach of human suffering. 

"She is with the Eternal Present, " he said. "No dark mysterious futurecan ever more cloud her soul with its heavy shadow. To-morrow--and theveil will be rent in twain, and our ransomed spirits will behold eachother face to face. What is Death? The eclipse for a moment of the sunof human life. The shadow of earth passes from before it, and it againshines forth with renewed splendor. "

His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of the jailor followed byanother person muffled up in a large riding cloak. "A stranger, " hesaid, "wished to exchange a few words in private with the prisoner. "

Anthony rose from his humble bed, and asked in subdued tones, "to whomhe had the honor of speaking?"

"To a sincere friend, Anthony Hurdlestone--one who cannot believe youguilty of the dreadful crime of murder. "

The sound of that voice, though months had passed away since its musicaltones had vibrated on his ear, thrilled to the soul of the prisoner. 

"Miss Whitmore!" he cried, in an extasy of joy; and sinking at her feet, he seized her hands, and pressing them to his lips and heart burst intoan agony of tears. 

"Anthony!" said Juliet, placing her hand upon his shoulder, as he sat ather feet with his face upturned and his eyes suffused in tears, gazingtenderly upon her; "I came here to-night to ask you one simple question. With many tears I gained my father's consent to this unusual step. Notwithout many severe mental struggles I overcame the feelings of maidenshame, and placed myself in this painful situation in order to receivefrom your own lips an answer which might satisfy the intense anxietythat presses upon my mind. As you value your own and my eternal peace, Icharge you, Anthony, to answer me truly--as truly as if you stood beforethe bar of God, and the eye of the Great Searcher of hearts was uponyou; Did you murder your unhappy father?"

"As I hope for salvation, I am as ignorant of the real perpetrators ofthe deed as you are. "

"Both directly and indirectly?"

"The whole affair is involved in mystery. I have, of course, my doubtsand surmises. These I must not name, lest I might accuse persons wholike myself are innocent of the offence. Hear me, Juliet Whitmore! whileI raise this fettered right hand to heaven, and swear by that awfulJudge before whose dread tribunal I must in a few hours appear, that Iam guiltless of the crime for which at the age of one-and-twenty, in thefirst bloom of youth and manhood, I am condemned to die!"

There was a slight convulsion of the features as he uttered the lastwords, and his lips quivered for a moment. Nature asserted her rightover her sentient creature; and the thoughts of death awoke at thatmoment a strange conflict in his breast. So young--so highly gifted--sotenderly beloved; it was indeed hard to die--to die a death of infamy, amidst the curses and execrations of an insulting mob. Oh, how gladlywould he have seen the bitter cup pass from his lips!

Juliet regarded her unhappy lover with a sad and searching glance. Butinnocence is strong; he shrunk not from the encounter. His eyes wereraised to hers in confidence and love, and the glow of conscious worthirradiated his wan and wasted features. Alas! what years of sorrow hadbeen compressed into one short week!

"I believe you, Anthony, to be an injured man. Thank God!" shecontinued, mournfully folding her hands together, "thank God! I have notloved a murderer!"

"Loved!" repeated the prisoner, whilst the deepest crimson for a momentflushed his face; "is it possible that Juliet Whitmore ever loved me!Loved me after witnessing that disgraceful scene in the park. Oh, Juliet! dear generous Juliet! these blessed words would make me toohappy were it not for these bonds. "

"I wronged you, Anthony; cruelly wronged you. My unfortunatemisconception of painful facts may have been the means of rivettingthose irons upon your limbs. I cannot forgive myself for not questioningMary Mathews alone upon the subject. "

"Appearances were strongly against me, Juliet. I have been the victim ofunfortunate circumstances. " He bent his head down upon his fetteredhands, and continued, in a low voice rendered almost inarticulate withemotion: "But you love me, and this assurance ought to atone for all thedreary past. Alas! at this moment it comes to rob me of my fortitude; toadd a bitterness to death!"

"Oh, that it were in my power to save your life, beloved Anthony!" saidJuliet, sinking on her knees beside him, and clasping his fettered handswithin her own. "I have loved you long and tenderly. I shall see you nomore on earth. If my life could ransom yours, I would give it without asigh; but will is powerless; our hands are tied; we are indeed thecreatures of circumstance. All that now remains for us is to submit--tobow with fortitude to the mysterious ways of Providence. To acknowledge, even in our hearts' deep agony, that whatever is, is right. "

"Let us pray, " said Anthony solemnly, holding up her hands in his; "praythat God may give us strength to undergo the trial that awaits us. "

"With tears and sobs and struggling sighs, those unhappy young loverspoured out their full hearts to God. They appealed to his love, hisjustice, his mercy; they cried to him in their strong agony; and even inthat moment of unutterable woe they found peace. 

"Go, my beloved, " whispered Anthony, "I can part with you now. We shallsoon meet again. "

"To part no more for ever!" sobbed Juliet, struggling with her tears. "I have a message for you from one who has already passed the darkvalley--from one who loved you--poor Clary. "

"I cannot bear it now, " said Anthony. "I hope soon to hear a more joyfulmessage from her gentle lips. Farewell, my Juliet--my soul's first andonly earthly love! Live for my sake--live to defend my memory frominfamy. Time will dissipate the clouds that now blacken my name; and theday will come when Juliet Whitmore will not have cause to blush for herunfortunate lover. "

One long and last embrace--one gush of free and heartfelt tears--one sadimpassioned kiss, and Anthony Hurdlestone was once more alone in thecondemned cell, with silence and darkness--mute emblems ofdeath--brooding around him. 

He had all this time unconsciously held Clary's letter strained in hishand; and as his thoughts flowed back to her he longed intensely to readit. The visit of the good chaplain, who brought with him a light, afforded him the opportunity he so much desired. 

A strange awe came over him as he unfolded the paper. The hand that hadtraced it was no longer of earth; the spirit that had dictated it wasremoved to another sphere. Yet he fancied, as he read the paper, thatthe soft blue eyes of Clary looked into his own; that her bright goldenlocks fanned his feverish cheek; that she was actually before him. Several times he started and looked up into the face of the chaplainbefore he could dispel the vision. 

 "Anthony, Dear Anthony, (she wrote. )

 "This will meet you at a time when sorrow for my death will be lost in joy, that we shall so soon meet in heaven. Fear not, Anthony; that hour may be far distant. God is just. You are innocent; trust in him. Trust firmly, nothing wavering, and he will save you. I have wept for you, prayed for you; would that I could die for you! My soul has been poured forth in tears; but never for one moment have I abused our holy friendship by imagining you guilty. Weep not for me, dear Anthony; I am happy. God is taking me from the evil to come, from the anguish of seeing you the husband of another. Death has no sting; I welcome him as a friend. 

 "Why should I dread thee, Death? Stern friend in solemn guise; One pause of this frail breath, And then the skies!

 "When restored to peace, to happiness, and to Juliet, think kindly of me. Remember how I loved you--how I delighted in all that delights and interests you. But not in crowded halls would I have you recall my image;--my heart was solitary amidst the dust and rubbish of the gay world. But in spring, when the earth is bright with flowers, when the sun looks down in love upon creation, when the full streams are flowing on with a voice of joy, when the song of birds makes glad the forest-bowers, when every blade of grass is dressed in beauty, and every leaf and flower glows with the light of life, and the unsophisticated untried heart of youth breathes forth its ardent aspiration to the throne of God--then, Anthony, think of me. My spirit will hover about your path; my voice will murmur in the breeze; and the recollection of what I was, of all my faith and love, will be dear to your heart. 

 "When these eyes, long dimm'd with weeping, In the silent dust are sleeping; When above my lowly bed The breeze shall wave the thistle's head, Thou wilt think of me, love!

 "When the queen of beams and showers Comes to dress the earth with flowers; When the days are long and bright, And the moon shines all the night, Thou wilt think of me, love!

 "When the tender corn is springing, And the merry thrush is singing; When the swallows come and go, On light wings flitting to and fro, Thou wilt think of me, love!

 "When 'neath April's rainbow skies Violets ope their azure eyes; When mossy bank and verdant mound Sweet knots of primroses have crown'd, Thou wilt think of me, love!

 "When the meadows glitter white, Like a sheet of silver light; When bluebells gay and cowslips bloom, Sweet-scented briar and golden broom, Thou wilt think of me, love!

 "Each bud shall be to thee a token Of a fond heart reft and broken; And the month of joy and gladness Shall fill thy soul with holy sadness, And thou wilt sigh for me, love. 

 "When thou rov'st the woodland bowers, Thou shalt cull spring's sweetest flowers, To strew with tender, silent weeping The lonely bed where I am sleeping, And sadly mourn for me, love!"

And thus ended poor Clary's letter. Anthony folded it up carefully, andlaid it next his heart. The hope she had endeavored to inspire did notdesert him at that moment. He was resigned to his fate; he even wishedto die. Her simple child-like letter had done more to reconcile him tohis doom than the pious lectures of the good priest, and his own deepreflections on the subject. The madness of all human pursuits--thevanity and frivolity of life--now awoke in his breast sensations of pityand disgust. But love and friendship--those drops of honey in the cup ofgall--did not their sweetness in this hour of desolation atone for thebitter dregs, and hold him to earth? The mighty struggle was to rendasunder these new-formed and holy ties. For him there existed no hope ofa reprieve. Wise and good men had tried and found him guilty of a crimewhich, in all ages, had been held in execration by mankind. He was not acommon criminal; for him there existed no sympathy, no pity. The voiceof humanity was against him; the whole world united in his condemnation. 

It was his last night upon earth; yet amidst its silent dreary watches, when these thoughts flitted through his mind, he wished it past. Athousand times he caught himself repeating from Dr. Young that memorableline, as if to fortify himself against the coming event, "Man receives, not suffers, death's tremendous blow. "

But it was not the mere death-pang--the separation of matter andspirit--that he shrank from. It was the loathed gibbet; that disgustingrelic of a barbarous age, the revolting exhibition, the public anddisgraceful manner of his death, that made it so terrible. And hesighed, and prayed to God to grant him patience, and fell into a deeptranquil sleep, from which he did not awake until the hour of hisdeparture was at hand. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

 On life's wide sea, when tempests gathering dark Pour the fierce billow on the shatter'd bark, The surge may break, the warring winds may rave, 'Tis God controls the vengeance of the wave; And those who trust in his Almighty arm No storm shall vex, nor hurricane alarm; He is their stay when earthly hope is lost, The light and anchor of the tempest-tost!--S. M. 

At an early hour next morning every avenue and street leading to theplace of execution was thronged with human beings, all anxious to beholdan erring fellow-creature suffer the punishment due to the enormouscrime of which he had been found guilty. The rush of the gatheringmultitude was like the roaring of a troubled sea, when the waters foamand chafe, and find no rest for their tumultuous heavings. Intensecuriosity was depicted on every countenance, and each man strained hisneck eagerly forward to catch a glance of the monster who had murderedhis own father. 

And there was one among that mass of living heads the most anxious, themost eager of all. This was Godfrey Hurdlestone, who could not believehis victim sure until he saw him die. 

"Why, Squire, " whispered a voice near him, "I did not expect to see youhere. Are you not satisfied that he is condemned?"

"No, Bill, " responded the murderer. "I must see him die. Then, and nottill then, shall I believe myself secure. "

"What has become of Mary?" again whispered his companion in guilt. 

Godfrey's hardened face became livid. "She was lying speechless, givenover by the physicians, at Captain Whitmore's, three days ago. Curseher! I have no doubt that she meant to betray us. "

"I wish I had throttled her the night she described the scene of themurder! But mum; here comes the prisoner. By Jove! how well he looks!how bravely he bears up against his fate! Does not the sight of thatproud pale face make you feel rather queerish?"

"Away with your scruples; his death makes rich men of us. "

The prisoner ascended the platform, supported by Frederic Wildegrave andthe good chaplain. A breathless pause succeeded, and he became thecentral point to which all eyes were directed. His hat was off, and theexpression of his face was calm and resigned; the dignity of consciousinnocence was there. He turned his fine dark eyes with a pitying glanceon the upturned faces of the gazing crowd; the hisses and groans withwhich they had greeted his first appearance were hushed; a death-likestillness fell upon that vast assemblage, and many a rugged cheek wasmoistened with tears of genuine compassion. 

"Hark, he is about to speak! Is it to confess his crime?"

In deep clear tones he addressed the multitude. "Fellow-men, you areassembled here this day to see me die. You believe me guilty of adreadful crime; the most dreadful crime that a human creature cancommit--the murder of a parent. Here, before you all, and in thepresence of Almighty God, I declare my innocence. I neither committedthe murder nor am I acquainted with the perpetrators of the deed. Godwill one day prove the truth of my words. To Him I leave the vindicationof my cause; He will clear from my memory this infamous stain. Farewell!"

"He cannot be guilty!" exclaimed some. 

"The hardened wretch!" cried others. "To take God's name in vain, anddie with a lie upon his lips. "

The prisoner now resigned himself to the hangman's grasp; but whilst thefatal noose was adjusting, a cry--a wild, loud, startling cry--brokeupon the crowd, rising high into the air and heard above all othersounds. Again and again it burst forth, until it seemed to embody itselfinto intelligible words; "Stop! stop!" it cried, "stop the execution! Heis innocent! he is innocent!"

The crowd caught up the cry; and "He is innocent! he is innocent!"passed from man to man. A young female was now seen forcing a passagethrough the dense mass. The interest became intense; every one drewcloser to his neighbor, to make way for the bearer of unexpectedtidings, who, arriving within a few yards of the scaffold, again calledout in shrill tones, which found an echo in every benevolentheart--"Godfrey Hurdlestone and William Mathews are the real murderers. I heard them form the plot. I saw the deed done!"

"Damnation!--we are betrayed!" whispered Godfrey to his colleague incrime, as they fled from the scene. 

All was now uproar and confusion. The sheriff and his officers at lengthsucceeded in quieting the excited populace, and removed the prisoneronce more to his cell. 

"I trust, my son, that the bitterness of death is past, " said thechaplain, who accompanied him hither. "The God in whom you trusted hasbeen strong to save. "

"And where, where is my preserver?" asked Anthony, rising from hisknees, after returning humble and heartfelt thanks to God for hispreservation. 

"She is here, " said Mary, kneeling at his feet. "Here to bless and thankyou for all your unremitted kindness to a wretch like me. Oh! I fearedthat I should be too late; that all would be over before my feeble limbswould bring me to the spot. I have been ill, Mr. Anthony, dreadfullyill; I couldn't speak to tell them that you were innocent; but it layupon my heart day by day, and it burnt into my brain like fire. But theydid not comprehend me; they could not understand my ravings. At last Istole from my bed, when they were all absent, and put on my clothes, andhurried out into the blessed air. The winds of heaven blew upon me andmy reason returned; and God gave me strength, and brought me here intime to save your life. Yes, you are saved. Blessed be God's name forever. You are saved, and by me!"

The poor girl, overcome by her feelings, burst into a fit of hystericalweeping, and suffered the chaplain to lead her from the cell and placeher under the protection of the jailor's wife. 

CONCLUSION. 

Little now remains of my sad tale to be told. Godfrey and his infamousaccomplice Mathews were apprehended, convicted and condemned, andsuffered for their crimes on the very spot which had witnessed therescue of Anthony Hurdlestone from a death of unmerited infamy. 

The sole survivor of a rich and powerful family, Anthony left thecondemned cell in the county jail to take possession of his paternalestates. But it was not on a spot haunted by such melancholyrecollections that the last of the Hurdlestones thought fit to dwell. The Hall was sold, and passed into the hands of strangers; and afterremaining two years abroad, Anthony once more returned to his nativeshores, and led to the altar his betrothed bride--the beautiful andtalented Juliet Whitmore. 

The young Squire's character had been fully vindicated to the world, andhis wealthy neighbors took every opportunity of courting hisacquaintance; but a change had come over Mr. Hurdlestone, which thecaresses of the great and the smiles of fortune could not remove. Henever forgot the sad lesson he had learned in ---- jail, or themelancholy fate of his nearest relatives. He had proved the instabilityof all earthly pursuits and enjoyments; and he renounced the gay world, and devoted his time and talents, and the immense riches which heavenhad entrusted to his stewardship, in alleviating the wants and woes ofsuffering humanity. In the wise and virtuous Juliet he found a partnerworthy of his love. One in heart and purpose, their unaffected piety andbenevolence rendered them a great blessing to the poor in theirneighborhood, who never spoke of the rich Squire and his wife withoutcoupling their names with a blessing. 

Amongst his peers, Anthony Hurdlestone was regarded as a singularwayward being, whose eccentricities were to be excused and accounted forby the strange circumstances in which he had been placed. It was amatter of surprise to all, that the son of the miser, Mark Hurdlestone, should know how to use, without abusing, his wealth; that, avoiding theselfish idolatry of the Gold Worshipper and the folly and extravaganceof the spendthrift, he dedicated to the service of God and hisfellow-creatures the riches that, in his father's case, had illustratedthe truth of the heaven-taught proverb:--

"How hardly shall a rich man enter the kingdom of God!"

THE END.