“I thought that you would have been so glad to find him innocent, papa,” said Juliet, the tears again stealing down her cheeks, “and I am disappointed—­bitterly disappointed.”

“Well, my girl.  I am glad that the lad is not guilty of so heinous an offence.  But I can’t help feeling a strong prejudice against the whole breed.  These Hurdlestones are a bad set—­a bad set.  I have seen enough of them.  And, for your own happiness, I advise you, my dear Juliet, to banish this young man for ever from your thoughts.  With my consent you never shall be his wife.”

“Without it I certainly never shall.”  And Juliet folded her hands together, and turned away to hide the fresh gush of tears that blinded her eyes.  “At the same time, papa, I must think that the ill-will you bear to an innocent person is both cruel and unjust.”

“Juliet,” said the Captain, very gravely, “from the earnestness of your manner, I fear that you feel a deeper interest in this young Hurdlestone than I am willing to believe.  Answer me truly—­do you love the lad?”

“Father, I do love him.  I feel that my happiness is inseparably connected with his.”  This was said with that charming candor which was the most attractive feature in Juliet Whitmore’s character.  It had its effect upon the old man’s generous nature.  He could no longer chide, however repugnant to his feelings the confession she had just made.  He drew her gently to his manly breast, and kissed away the tears that still lingered on her cheeks.

“My poor girl, I am sorry for you—­very sorry.  But I see no chance of your ever becoming his wife.”

“I am contented to remain single, papa; I never can love another as I love him.”

“Stuff and nonsense!  What should hinder you?  Why, child, you will get over this romantic passion.  Few people are able to marry the first person with whom they fall in love; and, in nine cases out of ten, they would be grievously disappointed if they did.  This Anthony Hurdlestone may be a good young man, but his father is a very bad man.  His children may inherit some of the family propensities, which you know, my little daughter are everything but agreeable.  I should not like to be grandpapa to a second edition of Mark Hurdlestone, or even of his hopeful nephew, Master Godfrey.”

“Ah, my dear father,” said Juliet, with great simplicity, “this may be all very true; but how do you know that we should have any children?”

This unexpected confession threw the old Captain, in spite of his grave lecture, into convulsions of laughter, whilst it covered his daughter’s face with crimson blushes.

“Miss Juliet!” cried her aunt, who entered just in time to hear her niece speak her thoughts aloud, “I am perfectly astonished at you.  Have you no sense of decorum?”

“Pshaw, Dolly!” said the Captain, still laughing.  “It was quite accidental.  Your over delicate ladies are the most indelicate people in the world.  I am sure what the child said was perfectly natural.”