“Then why are you constantly together?” returned Mary, with flashing eyes.  “Did he not ride away the moment he saw me?”

“You have mistaken one Mr. Hurdlestone for the other.  The gentleman that just left me was Mr. Godfrey.”

“And is it not Mr. Godfrey I mean?  Good kind Mr. Anthony would not harm a lamb, much less a poor motherless girl like me!”

Again wringing her hands, she burst into a fit of passionate weeping.  Juliet was dreadfully agitated; and springing from her horse, she sat down upon the bank beside the unfortunate young woman, regardless of the loud roaring of the thunder, and the heavy pouring of the rain, and elicited from her the story of her wrongs.

Indignant at the base manner in which she had been deceived by Godfrey Hurdlestone, Juliet bade Mary follow her to the Lodge, and inform her aunt of the particulars that she had just related to her.

“I will never betray the man I love!” cried Mary, passionately.  “When I told you my secret, Miss Whitmore, it was under the idea that you loved him—­that you meant to tear him from me.  Tell no one, I beseech you, the sad story, which you wrung from me in my despair!”

She would have flung herself at Juliet’s feet; but the latter drew back, and said, with a sternness quite foreign to her nature: 

“Would you have me guilty of a base fraud, and suffer the innocent to bear the brand of infamy, which another had incurred?  Affection cannot justify crime.  The feelings with which you regard a villain like Godfrey Hurdlestone are not deserving of the name of love.”

“Ah, you young ladies are so hard-hearted,” said Mary, bitterly.  “Pride hinders you from falling into temptation, like other folk.  If you dared, you would be no better than one of us.”

“Mary, do not change my pity for your unhappy situation into contempt.  Religion and propriety of conduct can protect the poorest girl from the commission of crime.  I am sorry for you, and will do all in my power to save you from your present misery.  But you must promise me to give up your evil course of life.”

“You may spare yourself the trouble,” said the girl, regarding her companion’s beautiful countenance, and its expression of purity and moral excellence, with a glance of envious disdain.  “I ask no aid; I need no sympathy; and, least of all, from you, who have robbed me of my lover, and then reproach me with the evil which your selfish love of admiration has brought upon me.”

A glow of anger passed over Miss Whitmore’s face, as the girl turned to leave her.  She struggled a few minutes with her feelings, until her better nature prevailed; and following Mary, she caught her by the arm: 

“Stay with me, Mary!  I forgive 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.”