orgive the rash words you uttered. I am sure you
cannot mean what you say."

"You had better leave me," said the girl, gloomily. "Evil thoughts are
rising in my heart against you, and I cannot resist them."

"You surely would not do me any harm?" and Juliet involuntarily glanced
towards her horse, which was quietly grazing a few paces off,
"particularly when I feel most anxious to serve you."

The girl's countenance betrayed the most violent agitation. She turned
upon Juliet her fine eyes, in which the light of incipient madness
gleamed, and said in a low, horrid voice,

"I hate you. I should like to kill you!"

Juliet felt that to run from her, or to offer the least resistance,
would be the means of drawing upon herself the doom which her companion
threatened. Seating herself upon a fallen tree, and calmly folding her
hands together, she merely uttered, "Mary, may God forgive you for your
sinful thought!" and then awaited in silence the issue of this
extraordinary and painful scene.

The girl stood before her, regarding her with a fixed and sullen tone.
Sometimes she raised her hand in a menacing attitude; and then, again,
the sweet mild glance of her intended victim appeared to awe her into
submission.

"Shall I kill her?" she muttered aloud. "Shall I spoil that baby face,
which he prefers to mine?" Then as if that thought aroused all the worst
feelings in her breast, she continued in a louder, harsher tone, "Yes--I
will tread her beneath my feet--I will trample her into the dust; for he
loves her. Oh, misery, misery! he loves her better than me--than me who
love him so well--who could die for him! Oh, agony of agonies! for her
sake I am forgotten and despised!"

The heart of the woman was touched by the vehemence of her own passions.
Her former ferocity gave way, and she sank down upon the ground, and
buried her face in the long grass, and wept.

Her agonising sobs and groans were more than Juliet could listen to,
without offering a word of comfort to the mourner. Forgetful of her
former fears, she sat down by the prostrate weeper, and lifting her head
upon her knees put back from her swollen face the long-neglected
tresses, which, drenched by the heavy rain, fell in thick masses over
her convulsed features. Mary no longer offered any resistance. Her eyes
were closed, her lips apart. She lay quite motionless, but ever and anon
the pale lips quivered; and streams of tears gushed from beneath the
long lashes