There is something wrong about that
girl. There is no account to be taken of her deeds."

From a child Mary had been an object of deep interest to the young
Hurdlestones. Residing on the same estate, she had been a stolen
acquaintance and playfellow from infancy. She always knew the best pools
in the river for fishing, could point out the best covers for game, knew
where to find the first bird's-nest, and could climb the loftiest forest
tree to obtain the young of the hawk or crow with more certainty of
success than her gay companions. Their sports were dull and spiritless
without Mary Mathews.

As they advanced towards manhood they took more notice of her
peculiarities, and laughed at her boyish ways; but when she grew up into
a beautiful girl they became more respectful in their turn, and seldom
passed her in the grounds without paying her some of those light
compliments and petty attentions always acceptable to a pretty vain girl
of her class. Both would officiously help her to catch and bridle her
horse, carry her pail, or assist her in the hay-field. And this was as
often done to hear the smart answers that pretty Poll would return to
their 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 had
played, like the moth, around the taper until he had burnt his wings,
and was fairly scorched by the flame of love. In spite of the
remonstrances of his more conscientious cousin, he daily spent hours in
leaning over her garden gate, enacting the lover to this rustic Flora.
It was to such a scene as this that Anthony had alluded, and respecting
which Godfrey had given such an indefinite answer.

Capricious in his pursuits, Godfrey was not less inconstant in his
affections; and the graceful person and pleasing manners of Juliet
Whitmore had made a deeper impression upon his fickle mind than he
thought it prudent to avow; nor was he at all insensible to the
pecuniary 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;
Th