whenever I passed her little garden, and heard her
singing. For the last few weeks, a melancholy change has taken place in
the poor girl's appearance, which gives me pain to witness. Her cheek
has lost its bloom; her step its elasticity; her dress is neglected; and
the garden in which she worked and sang so merrily, and in which she
took so much delight, is overrun with weeds. Her whole appearance
indicates the most poignant grief. When I questioned her to-day upon the
subject, she answered me with a burst of tears--tears, which seem so
unnatural for one of her disposition to shed. Perhaps, Mr. Anthony," she
continued, with an air of increasing interest, "you can tell me
something of the history of this young girl--as she is one of your
uncle's tenants--which may lead me to discover the cause of her grief?"

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

"I wish, Miss Whitmore, that I could satisfactorily answer all your
generous inquiries with regard to Mary Mathews. But I know and hear so
little of the gossip of the village, and with the poor girl's private
history I am totally unacquainted--nay, the girl herself is to me a
perfect stranger. No person is better able to give you the information
you require than my cousin Anthony; he knows Mary well. In spite of my
father's prohibitions, she was always a chosen playfellow of his. He
professes a great admiration for this beautiful peasant, and takes a
deep interest in all that concerns her."

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

That night, Juliet wept herself to sleep. "Is it not evident," she said
to herself, "that this poor Ma