t met him on equal
terms; they played and sang together, and whilst so employed, and only
drinking in sweet sounds, rendered doubly delicious when accompanied by
harmonious 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, Miss
Whitmore, would it breathe into your ear the tender tale which the
musician 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. Godfrey
Hurdlestone, there is no real sympathy between us--nature never formed
us 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 in
common. To love you has become so essential to my happiness that I
cannot think that you can be wholly insensible to my passion."

"You deceive yourself, Godfrey Hurdlestone. The moth is attracted to the
candle, but the union produces misery and death to the unfortunate
insect. Mere admiration is not love. The novelty wears off; the soul is
sated with the idol it worshipped, and its former homage sinks into
contempt. You seek the outward and palpable. I seek that which is unseen
and true. But let us go to my father, he is fishing, and the evening is
growing cold. If he stays out much longer in the damp meadow, he will be
raving 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 I
could not love. I am very young, Mr. Godfrey, too young to enter into
any serious engagements. I esteem you and your cousin, but if you
persist in talking to me in this strain, it will destroy our friendship.
If you really feel any regard for me, never wound my feelings by
speaking to me on this subject again."

As Juliet ran forward to meet her father, she felt like a bird escaped
out of the snare of the fowler, while Godfrey, humbled and mortified,
muttered to himself, "The deuce take these very clever girls; they
lecture us like parsons, and talk like books."

"Why, Julee, love, how you have painted your cheeks," cried the
delighted old man, catching her in his arms, and imprinting a very
audible kiss upon her white forehead. "What has Mr.