“Certainly not.”

“And, in spite of these disadvantages, you would become his wife?”

“That would depend on circumstances.  I might be under the guidance of parents, who, from prudential motives, might forbid so rash a step; and it would be no act of friendship to the man I loved, to increase his difficulties by attempting to share them.”

“And in such a case would you not act upon the decision of your own heart?”

“I dare not.  The heart, blinded by its affections for the object of its love, might err in its decision, and involve both parties in ruin.”

“But you could not call this love?”

“Yes, Mr. Hurdlestone, and far more deserving of the name than the sickly sentiment that so often wears the guise of real affection.”

“This girl is too much of a philosopher.  I shall never be able to win her to my purpose,” said Godfrey, as Juliet quitted the room.

A few days after this conversation, Godfrey proposed taking a ride on horseback with Miss Whitmore.

Juliet was fond of this exercise, in which she greatly excelled.  This evening she did not wish to go, but was overruled by her father and Aunt Dorothy.  The evening was warm and cloudy, and Juliet often looked upwards and prophesied a storm.

“It will not come on before night,” said her companion.  “I remember Anthony and I, when boys, were overtaken on this very spot by a tremendous tempest.”  It was the first time he had suffered the name of his cousin to pass his lips in the presence of Juliet.  It brought the color into her cheeks, and in a timid voice she inquired if he knew what had become of Anthony?

“He had a second cousin, it seems, a Mr. Wildegrave, who is residing in his father’s parish; Anthony has found a temporary home with him.”

Why did Juliet turn so pale?  Did the recollection of the fair amiable girl she had met and loved at ——­ trouble her?  She spoke no more during their long ride.  On their way home, they entered a dark avenue, that led to the Lodge, and passed through Norgood Park.

“I hate this road,” said Godfrey.  “I have never travelled it since the old place passed into the hands of strangers.”

“It was thoughtless in me to propose this path, Mr. Godfrey; let us return by the road.”

She checked her horse as she spoke, when her attention was aroused by a female figure, seated in a dejected attitude beneath an old oak tree.  Her hair hung wildly about her shoulders; and her head was buried between her knees.

Godfrey instantly recognised the person; and looking up at the heavy dark clouds, which had for some time been encroaching upon the rich saffron hues in the west, he said hastily turning his horse, “You are right, Miss Whitmore we are going to have a storm, and you have chosen a dangerous path.  Let us get from under these trees as fast as we can.”

“Stay a few minutes.  I want to speak to this poor woman.”