astily looked another way? Juliet was standing in
the balcony, but she was not alone; a tall figure was beside her. It was
Godfrey Hurdlestone, and the sight of him at such a time, and so
situated, sent a pang of anguish through the heart of the young lover.

Frederic Wildegrave marked the deep dejection into which his companion
had fallen, and rightly concluded that some lady was the cause. "Poor
fellow," thought he, "has he, to add to his other misfortunes, been
indiscreet enough to fall in love?"

Wishing to ascertain if his suspicions were true, he began to question
Anthony about the inhabitants of the Lodge, and soon drew from his frank
and confiding cousin the history of his unhappy passion, and the
unpleasant misapprehension that had closed Captain Whitmore's doors
against him.

"Well, Anthony," he said, "it must be confessed that you are an unlucky
fellow. The sins of your father appear to cast a shadow upon the
destinies of his son. Yet, were I in your place, I should write to
Captain Whitmore, and clear up this foul stigma that your treacherous
cousin has suffered to rest upon your character."

"No," said Anthony, "I cannot do it; I am too proud. She should not so
readily have admitted my guilt. Let Godfrey enjoy the advantage he has
gained. I swore to his father to be a friend to his son, to stand by him
through good and bad report; and though his cruel duplicity has
destroyed my happiness, I never will expose him to the only friend who
can help him in his present difficulties."

"Your generosity savors a little too much of romance; Godfrey is
unworthy of such a tremendous sacrifice."

"That does not render my solemn promise to my uncle less binding.
Forbearance on my part is gratitude to him; and my present self-denial
will not be without a reward."

Frederic was charmed with his companion, and could Anthony have looked
into his heart, he would have been doubly convinced that he was right.

They struck into a lonely cross-country road, and half an hour's smart
driving brought them to Wildegrave's residence. It was a pretty
farm-house, surrounded by extensive orchards, and a large upland meadow,
as smooth as a bowling-green. Anthony was delighted at the locality. The
peaceful solitude of the scene was congenial to his feelings, and he
expressed his pleasure in lively tones.

"'Tis an old-fashioned place," said Frederic; "but it will not be
without interest to you. In that chamber to the right, your