ue of yours. It never sounded so harsh and disagreeable to me
before. Look up, my Julee, and kiss your old father."

And Juliet made an effort to raise her head from her father's bosom, and
look in his face. The big tears weighed down her eyelids, and she sank
back upon his shoulder, faintly murmuring, "And I thought him so good."

"Yes," said Miss Dorothy, whose temper was not at all softened by her
brother's reproof; "you never would believe me. You would follow your
own headstrong fancy; and now you see the result of your folly. I often
wondered to see you reading and flirting with that silent, down looking
young man, while his frank, good-natured cousin was treated with
contempt. I hope you will trust to my judgment another time."

"Aunt, spare me these reproaches. If I have acted imprudently I am
severely punished."

"I am sure the poor child was not worse deceived than I have been," said
the Captain; "but the lad's to be pitied; he comes of a bad breed. But
rouse 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 it
all."

"That poor girl!" said Juliet, and a shudder ran through her frame. "How
can I forget her? Her pale face--her sunken eyes--her look of
unutterable woe. Oh, she haunts me continually; and I--I--may have been
the cause of all this misery. My head aches sadly. I will go to bed. I
long to be alone."

She embraced her father, and bade him good night, and curtseying to aunt
Dorothy, for her heart was too sore to speak to her, she sought the
silence and solitude of her own chamber.

Oh, what luxury it was to be alone--to know that no prying eyes looked
upon her grief; no harsh voice, with unfeeling common-place, tore open
the deep wounds of her aching heart, and made them bleed afresh!

"Oh, that I could think him innocent!" she said. "Yet I cannot wholly
consider 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, would
Mary, by her strange conduct, have condemned a man whom she knew to be
innocent? 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 the
bed, but no prayer rose to her lips--an utter prostration of soul was
there, but the shrine of her God was dark and voiceless; the waves of
human passion had flowed over it, and marred the purity of the
accustomed of