“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 grandfather and your mother were born.”

“They were both children of misfortune,” replied Anthony.  “But the fate of my grandfather, although he died upon the scaffold, beneath the cruel gaze of an insulting mob, was a merciful dispensation, to the death by inches which awaited his unhappy child.”

“That room,” resumed Frederic, “contains the portraits in oil of your grandfather and your mother.  The one in the prime of life, the other a gay blooming girl of fifteen.  From the happy countenances of both you would never augur aught of their miserable doom.”

“You must let me occupy that chamber, cousin Wildegrave.  If I may judge by my present prospects, I am likely to inherit the same evil destiny.”

“These things sometimes run in families.  It is the ’visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children, until the third and fourth generation,’” said Frederic, pulling up his horse at the front gate.  “The mantle of the Wildegrave, Anthony, has not descended upon you alone.”

On the steps of the house they were welcomed by a very fair interesting-looking girl of sixteen; but so fragile and childlike that she scarcely seemed to have entered upon her teens.  She blushed deeply as she received the stranger and her brother.

“Anthony, permit me to introduce you to another cousin.  This is my sister Clarissa.”

“You did not inform me that you had a sister.  This is indeed an unexpected and happy surprise,” said Anthony, shaking hands with the young lady.

“I thought it best to introduce all my pets together,” returned Wildegrave, patting his sister’s meek head.  “Clary is a shy, timid, little creature, very unlike your sparkling Juliet, with whom I happen to be personally acquainted; but she is a dear good girl, and the darling of her brother’s heart.  Her orphan state seems to press painfully upon her young mind.  She seldom smiles, and I can never induce her to go into company.  But we must try and break her of these monastic habits, for she is not so young as she looks, and by this time she should know her position in society.”