Juliet did not for a moment doubt that Anthony Hurdlestone was the author of these lines, and involuntarily she pressed the paper to her lips.  Realities are stern things, but Juliet could not now believe him guilty:  and with all the romance of her nature, she was willing to hope against hope; and she retired to bed, comforted for her past sufferings, and as much in love with Anthony as ever.

While Juliet enjoyed a profound and tranquil sleep, her unfortunate lover was a prey to the most agonising doubts and fears.  “Surely, surely, she cannot think me guilty,” thought the devoted Anthony, as he tossed from side to side upon his restless bed.  “She is too generous to condemn me without further evidence.  Yet, why do I cling to a forlorn hope?  Stronger minds than hers would believe appearances which speak so loudly against me.  But why should I bear this brand of infamy?  I will go to her in the morning and expose the real criminal.”

This idea, entertained for a moment, was quickly abandoned.  What, if he did expose his cousin’s guilt, might not Godfrey deny the facts, and Mary, in order to shield her unprincipled lover, bear him out in his denial; and then his ingratitude to the father would be more conspicuously displayed in thus denouncing his son.  No:  for Algernon’s sake he would bear the deep wrong, and leave to Heaven the vindication of his honor.  He had made an appeal to her feelings; and youth, ever sanguine, fondly hoped that it had not been made in vain.

Another plan suggested itself to his disturbed mind.  He would inform Godfrey of the miserable situation in which he was placed, and trust to his generosity to exonerate him from the false charge, which Mary, in her waywardness or madness, had fixed upon him.  Judging his cousin’s mind by his own, he felt that he was secure—­that, however painful to Godfrey’s self-love, he would never suffer him to bear the reproach of a crime committed by himself.

Confident of success, he rose by the dawn of day, and sought his cousin’s apartment.  After rapping several times at the door, his summons was answered by Godfrey in a grumbling tone, between sleeping and waking.

“I must see you, Godfrey,” cried Anthony, impatiently shaking the door.  “My errand brooks no delay.”

“What the deuce do you want at this early hour?” said Godfrey with a heavy yawn.  “Now do be quiet, Tony, and give a man time to pull his eyes open.”

Again the door was violently shaken.  Godfrey had fallen back into a deep sleep, and Anthony, in his eagerness to gain an audience, made noise enough to have roused the Seven Sleepers from their memorable nap.  With a desperate effort Godfrey at length sprang from his bed, and unlocked the door, but, as the morning was chilly, he as quickly retreated to his warm nest, and buried his head in the blankets.

“Godfrey, do rouse yourself, and attend to me; I have something of great consequence to communicate, the recital of which cannot fail to grieve you, if you retain the least affection for me.”