"
"She is gone!" exclaimed Anthony, in an agony of despair. "She is gone,
and believes me to be a villain!"
Whilst he stood rooted to the spot, Mathew approached, and whispered in
his ear, "Your mean subterfuge has not saved you. We shall meet again."
"I care not how soon," returned Anthony, fiercely; "but why," continued
he, in a softer voice, "should I be angry with you? Man, you have
mistaken your quarry--a matter of little moment to you, but a matter of
life and death to me."
"Death and hell!" exclaimed the ruffian, who at last began to suspect
his error. "If you are not Godfrey Hurdlestone, you must be his ghost!"
"I am his cousin; I never wronged either you or yours; but you have done
me an injury which you can never repair."
"Well, hang me if that is not a good joke!" cried the smuggler, bursting
into a coarse laugh, which quickened the steps of his retreating foe.
"The devil had some mischief in store when he made those chaps so much
alike. I would not wish my own brother to resemble me so closely as all
that, lest mayhap he should murder or steal, and the halter should fall
on my neck instead of his."
CHAPTER XI.
Oh, human hearts are strangely cast,
Time softens grief and pain;
Like reeds that shiver in the blast,
They bend to rise again.--S.M.
"Come, Miss Whitmore, you must rouse yourself from this unwomanly grief.
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