ion turn pale, and the
tears tremble in his eyes. Then, all the kindness he had received from
his uncle, all the love he had cherished for him from his earliest
years, all the affection which he had lavished upon his hot-headed
cousin, united to subdue the flame of passion which for a few moments
had burnt so fiercely in his breast. He recalled the solemn promise he
had made to Algernon never to forsake his son, and, dreadful as the
sacrifice was, which Godfrey now called upon him to make, the struggle
was over, the victory over self already won.

"You shall never say, cousin Godfrey, that Anthony Hurdlestone knowingly
destroyed your peace. I love Juliet Whitmore. I believe that she loves
me. But, for my uncle's sake, I renounce my claim."

Joy brightened up the handsome face of Godfrey. He was not wholly
insensible to his cousin's generous self-denial. He embraced him with
warmth, and the idea that he had rendered Godfrey happy partly
reconciled the martyr of gratitude to the sacrifice he had made.

"You spoke of two expedients which might avert the ruin which threatened
my uncle. Your marriage with Juliet Whitmore rests upon no broader basis
than a mere possibility. Name the second."

"In case of the worst, to apply to your father for the loan of two
thousand pounds."

Anthony shook his head, and, without thinking a reply to such a wild
proposition necessary, took up his hat, and tried to still the agitation
of his mind by a stroll in the park.

Anthony tried to reason himself into the belief that, in giving up the
object of his affections, he had achieved a very great and good action;
but there was a painful void in his heart, which all his boasted
philosophy failed to fill.

Unconsciously he took the path that led to the humble dwelling of Mary
Mathews. As he drew near the hawthorn hedge that separated the little
garden from the road, his attention was arrested by some one weeping
passionately behind its almost impervious screen. He instantly
recognised 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 loved
me--but he has ceased to think of me--to care for me--I never loved but
him--I gave him all that I had in my power to bestow--and he has left me
thus."

"Did he ever promise you marriage?" asked the deep voice of William
Mathews.

"Oh yes! a thousand and a thousand times."

"Then," and he