"
Anthony rose from his humble bed, and asked in subdued tones, "to whom
he had the honor of speaking?"
"To a sincere friend, Anthony Hurdlestone--one who cannot believe you
guilty of the dreadful crime of murder."
The sound of that voice, though months had passed away since its musical
tones had vibrated on his ear, thrilled to the soul of the prisoner.
"Miss Whitmore!" he cried, in an extasy of joy; and sinking at her feet,
he seized her hands, and pressing them to his lips and heart burst into
an agony of tears.
"Anthony!" said Juliet, placing her hand upon his shoulder, as he sat at
her feet with his face upturned and his eyes suffused in tears, gazing
tenderly upon her; "I came here to-night to ask you one simple question.
With many tears I gained my father's consent to this unusual step. Not
without many severe mental struggles I overcame the feelings of maiden
shame, and placed myself in this painful situation in order to receive
from your own lips an answer which might satisfy the intense anxiety
that presses upon my mind. As you value your own and my eternal peace, I
charge you, Anthony, to answer me truly--as truly as if you stood before
the bar of God, and the eye of the Great Searcher of hearts was upon
you; Did you murder your unhappy father?"
"As I hope for salvation, I am as ignorant of the real perpetrators of
the deed as you are.
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