To Smeaton, she was an object of great interest--ay, and I must add, of great admiration also. The exquisite beauty of her fate and form was at that moment heightened, not only by a dress which displayed it to the best advantage, but by the attitudes into which the exercise threw her, calling forth innumerable graces, and by the movements of the mind springing from the conversation just past, and filling her eyes with light and eagerness. Their looks met; and, with that sort of sudden sympathy which enables those of like character to read in an instant what is passing in the minds of others, each seemed to divine the feelings of the other. Emmeline's cheek glowed, as if she had been detected in a fault; and Smeaton withdrew his eyes, with a thoughtful look, and made some common-place observation on the scene.
For a few minutes they rode on at the same rapid pace, leaving the servants still farther behind them than they had previously been; and then Emmeline drew in her rein, saying--
"I have had enough of this. You will say I am a capricious girl, Colonel Smeaton. I wanted a gallop when you did not desire one; and I am tired of it as soon as I have got it. But, in truth," she added, "I am anxious that you should go on with what you were saying. I cannot ride fast, in a state of wonder and mystery. You say you can assist me in explaining all the many enigmas of my fate. You say that you have longed to talk with me on this subject, ever since you have been at Ale. You must have very keen eyes, or Sir John Newark must have told you something about me when he saw you in London."
"Neither, dear lady," answered Smeaton, looking behind to see how far off the servants were. "I should have remarked nothing calling for much attention, had I not had previous knowledge; and yet, Sir John Newark would not have suffered me to enter his gates, had he been aware that I possessed any information whatever regarding you."
"Then you do possess information?" exclaimed Emmeline, eagerly.
"You have been an object of interest to me, dear lady," answered her companion, "for some years. This seems strange to you; but it will seem stranger still when I tell you that, most likely, I should not have visited this part of England at all, had you not been here. But, tell me, can you be very discreet? For much depends upon your prudence and your secresy. If I tell you things which have been studiously concealed from you, you must put a guard upon your lips and upon your looks. You must seem as ignorant as ever of all that appertains to your own fate. That bright frankness--that free pouring forth of the heart--must all be checked. You must learn the hard lesson which the world, sooner or later, teaches to all, to conceal the feelings and the thoughts--to hide the treasures of the heart and mind, in short, from the eyes of those who would wrong us. Can you do this?"
"I will try," answered Emmeline, gravely; "though I know not how I shall succeed, for I have never yet been proved. I have no experience in the art of concealment--and yet," she continued, "I fear I have not been altogether so frank as you imagine. I cannot tell why, but there is something in my good guardian--kind and careful of me as he is--which prevents me from telling him all I think--from speaking my wishes or my thoughts upon important things. Any ordinary favour--any common gratification--I could ask, without fear of refusal; but yet the questions I most long to ask I dare not put; the thoughts that are most strong an most busy in my brain I do not venture to pour forth."
"It is an instinct," said Smeaton. "You must, however, try to attain the discretion to which I have alluded; and, perhaps, it may be better for me to say no more till you are more certain of yourself."
"Oh, no, no," said Emmeline. "Do not keep me in long suspense. I will be very prudent, indeed."
"Well, then, first let me ask you a few questions," said her companion; "but pray speak in a low voice; for the men are coming near, and no caution can be too great. Can you recollect anything of your very early years?"