“It is—­yes—­it is Mary Mathews!” cried Juliet, without noticing her aunt’s remark.  “What can bring her here?”

“No good, you may be sure,” remarked the Captain.

“Oh! stop the carriage, dear papa, and let us speak to her.  She may know something about the murder.”

“You are right, Juliet; let us ask her a few questions.”

They both left the carriage, and hurried to the spot where Mary, overcome with fatigue and fever, lay insensible and unconscious of her danger by the roadside.

Captain Whitmore lifted up the unhappy girl from the ground, and placed her in the carriage, greatly to the indignation of Miss Dorothy, and conveyed her to the Lodge.  A medical gentleman in the neighborhood was sent for; and Juliet, in the deep interest she felt for the alarming state of the poor sufferer, for a while forgot her own poignant grief.

The next morning, on entering the parlor, she found Frederic Wildegrave in close conversation with her father.

After the usual compliments had passed between them, Juliet asked, with an air of intense anxiety depicted on her fine countenance, if Mr. Wildegrave thought it possible that Anthony Hurdlestone had committed the murder?

He replied sorrowfully, “My dear Miss Whitmore, I know not what to think.”

“Have you seen him since his imprisonment?”

“I have not.  Many sorrows have confined me at home.  This melancholy business has had a sad effect upon the weak nerves of my poor little sister.  Clary is ill.  I fear dying.  She has expressed such a strong desire to see you, Miss Whitmore, once again, that I came over to make known to you her urgent request.  It is asking of you a very great favor; but one, I hope, that you will not refuse to grant to our tears.”

“Juliet is in very poor health herself,” said her father.  “If she could be spared this trying scene, it would be the better for her.”

“Poor, pretty Clarissa; and she is ill—­is dying,” said Juliet, speaking unconsciously aloud.  “This dreadful affair has killed her; and she wishes to see me.  Yes, I will go.”

“My child, you know not what you are about to undertake,” said the old man, coming forward.  “It may be the death of you.”

“Dear papa, I am stronger than you think.  I have borne a worse sorrow,” she added, in a whisper.  “Let me go.”

“Please yourself, Julee; but I fear it will be too much for you.”

Frederic was anxious that Clary should be gratified; and, in spite of Captain Whitmore’s objections, he continued, backed by Juliet, to urge his request.  Reluctantly the old man yielded to their united entreaties.

Before Juliet set out upon her melancholy journey, she visited the sick chamber of the unconscious Mary Mathews, whom she strongly recommended to the care of Aunt Dorothy and her own waiting-woman.  The latter, who loved her young mistress very tenderly, and who perhaps was not ignorant of her attachment to young Hurdlestone, promised to pay every attention to the poor invalid during her absence.  Satisfied with these arrangements, Juliet kissed her father; and begging him not to be uneasy on her account, as for his sake she would endeavor to bear up against the melancholy which oppressed her, she accepted Mr. Wildegrave’s escort to Ashton.